Canvas

2| The Thief

A boy of maybe twelve stood on his tiptoes on the busy street corner, waving a folded paper in the air, beckoning to the crowd that teemed around him like someone trying desperately to hail a cab. His newsboy hat was pulled low over his eyes but it’s small brim barely shielded him from the biting wind. 

“CAPONE’S COOKED!” he yelled. “Notorious Chicago gangster found guilty and sentenced to six months in the Cook County big house! Read all about it! Just a quarter!” He pulled an arm across his forehead and smudged the dirt left over from the previous day’s work. A business man in a felt fedora stopped and flipped him a silver coin and the boy untied a copy of the print for him. “Thankya, sir.”

Alice ducked around the inky boy as she made her way through the morning crowd of men rushing to work and finely dressed women pining for their attention. They preened like daisies in the summer, leaning towards the men like they were the sun. All the better. The skirts were just the distraction Alice needed to wiggle her fingers in the coat pockets of the bug-eyed men and pull out their wallets. It was harder to pick pockets in the cold because people tightened their coats and capes to themselves against the frigid air. It was difficult, but not impossible.

One fella with slicked hair was so distracted by a Jane that Alice had enough time to steal what cash he had on him and the pocket watch that hung from the front of his vest, an invitation to be stolen. You can’t flaunt that much wealth these days without getting a bit of retribution. She walked up and pretended to trip so she could stumble into him, knocking their shoulders together.

“Awe, sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said slowly, looking up at his round face through her thick lashes for effect. She slipped her two fingers into his pocket where she saw the green of dollar bills peeking out. Her one hand rested on his chest, just inches from the chain of the watch. After she slid the cash up her sleeve, she moved her hand to rest on his elbow, distracting him while she unlatched the watch and palmed it.

He smiled widely, oblivious to her theft and obviously self-satisfied at her proximity. He put his large hands on her shoulders to help her right herself as she tucked the golden watch into her pocket, unseen. “It’s all right, doll. You’d better watch where you’re going or you could hurt yourself. It’d be a shame for such a pretty peach like you to get a bruise.”

She flashed him her biggest smile, nodded and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept moving, threading herself through the crowd until she was far enough away to drop her painted smile. “Nitwit,” she mumbled under her breath as her fingers opened and closed the face of the watch in her pocket with a soft click. She was just out of sight when she heard him find his items missing. 

“Say, wait a minute—” his voice rose loudly over the bustling crowd like a wave pulling back from the ocean. 

She picked up her pace, lifting wallets from pockets and open purses as she slipped around another corner onto a new street of unsuspecting slicked back men and powdered women. 

Alice was careful to pick her victims. She only stole from those who could afford to lose, and there were many who could afford to lose in Washington D.C. Senators and congressmen with their fat cigars and round bellies, who have never missed a meal or had to worry about where they would sleep that night, were her favorites. They were lousy tippers to the small boys who shined their greasy shoes and she’d heard stories of the way they treated women who were down on their luck. She’d known girls who became quiffs to survive; they sold their nights for a few bucks to any lonely man. It was dangerous, especially if the man had a secret temper, but times were hard.

It would never come to that for Alice. She’d never let it. “I’d rather starve to death than sell myself,” she’d whisper to herself each night before she fell asleep. No amount of cash was worth being treated like that, like some cheap item. Luckily, she could use her beauty and charm in better ways.

Men never suspect women to be their undoing, though they nearly always are. It just takes a pretty face, a shy smile, maybe a soft touch and they go goofy. She’s always had more luck picking the pockets of men than women, and she’s found just how to work them best.

The crowds crossing the street parted as a trolley rolled past, filled with women in furs and pearls, probably made of paste. Alice reached her hand into a few deep pockets and lifted three more wallets before rushing further down the street and finding a place to sort through her findings. One by one, she opened the wallets and pulled out the money, counting it. 

“Ace, ace, ace, awe c’mon doesn’t anyone carry anything higher than a one-dollar bill nowadays?” She fanned out the cash. “Ah, there’s good ole Abe!” She folded the five and tucked it into the ribbon of her hat, hiding it for later. 

After emptying the first wallet, she tossed it to the ground, leaving it for someone else to find. Then she moved on to the next, and the next, going through the same motions over and over again. She counted twenty-three dollars in total, plus the golden pocket watch, a small string of real pearls, and a silver compact with a scratched mirror. It’s enough dough to last her another few days, and after pawning the goods, she might be able to buy some gloves. She stretched her stiff, red fingers in the cold. Gloves were a luxury she could only imagine.

She folded the bills and stashed it in the thick garter that kept her torn stockings from dropping to her ankles. A deep voice snapped her to attention.

“Poor little bunny, you lost?” A man with a thick mustache and an outdated bowler hat stood at end of the alley. He was a baby grand, blocking her only escape from the dead-end backstreet with his wide shoulders.

“It’s all jake, really.” She kicked the discarded wallets back, hoping to hide them from his sight.

He smiled and it was like oil spilling across water. It made her heart speed up and she wished she had brought her pocketknife with her today. She rarely needed it when it wasn’t dark, so she’d left it behind. She wouldn’t be making that mistake again. Her fingers twitched at her side. Slowly he made his way over to her. He stood so close that she could smell his cologne, which hung thick and musky between them. She could tell by the large shining buttons on his suit that his was rich. No one could afford such fine adornments for an already expensive pinstripe. His eyes raked over her as he took in her disheveled dress.

“Your dress is torn.”

“Musta caught it on something.” She pulled her coat across her body.

He reached forward, as if to touch her face, but she slapped his hand away, backing up until she hit the brick wall.

“Easy, honey.”

“Go chase yourself,” she hissed.

Her disgust did not deter him. He stepped forward again, his shiny black shoes crushing one of the thin, empty wallets that lay at their feet. He didn’t seem to notice. “I bet we could have a lot of fun. How much?” A wad of cash appeared in his hand. She saw a twenty wrapped around the outside of the bills. 

“I said scram!” She pulled her knee into his groin, folding him in half, and grabbed the money he clutched in his fat mitts.

Faster than she thought possible, she ran out of the alley, across the street and down several blocks. She only slowed when she saw the glinting badge of a police officer. She was panting, out of breath, and the uniformed man turned around to her.

“You okay, miss?”

She adjusted her hat, keeping the money hidden in the sleeve of her coat, and reapplied her painted smile for the cop’s benefit. “Pos-i-tute-ly ducky.”

He nodded and went back to his patrol, swinging his billy club and whistling to himself.