Finders Keepers

♙| one

♙ one | (next update -  june16th)♙

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Shoving the last few bands of fifties into my leather shoulder bag, I stood up. The nearly empty bag I'd entered the room with was now filled with sixty grand. I probably could've fit about ten more grand into the bag to be honest, but that would have nearly cleaned him out.

The last party the Livermore twins had thrown, open-door of course, was where Blair, Brooklyn, and I had ransacked Mr. Livermore's office for the safe. So like we'd done in every town after the next, we went back to home base, planned, plotted, and executed.

And if the weighty shoulder bag I was carrying was any indication, we'd executed the plan with utmost perfection. Initially, I wasn't interested in targeting the Livermores. We chose our target families systematically. Which location worked best, how easily accessible the cash inside the house would be, security system check, but most importantly, how filthy stinking rich they were.

The Livermores happened to pass all the criteria with flying colors, and since Mr. Livermore had a problem with strippers, and every other category of showgirl, we knew he'd have his cash on hand. And by hand, I mean a low-security safe that I could break into while Priscilla and Grayson Livermore were throwing their ritual open-door party.

What I never understood was why the richest families and mansions we'd broken into always invested in the minimal security safes. Affording the latest red-bottom Louis Vuitton's, was not a question. But God forbid they invest in a safe without a flimsy linkage, and a nine dead bolt pattern.

Not that I was complaining, as I'd gotten the safe to click open in fifteen seconds flat. Trust me when I say that sixty grand was enough to keep my mouth shut.

Currently, Brooklyn was posing as the average party-goer downstairs, with her short purple-bobbed wig. And if someone were to attempt to head upstairs, she'd start a scene. Something she was an expert at. I mean the girl could throw back body shots faster than the average person could blink. Blair, on the other hand, was mingling around the back door so that when I got downstairs we could make a run for it.

Correction – walk, because nothing screamed armed robbery than three kids in ski masks running from a public scene.

Rummaging around Mr. Livermore's desk, I noticed a calendar under several stacks of paperwork. He was holding some charity event he could probably care less about next Saturday, three days later it was Grayson's birthday, and a week after that he had a "business trip" scheduled. Yeah, right. I knew a cheater, when I saw one.

Walking toward the other end of his office, I paused in front of a mirror, pulling the ski mask I was wearing back over my face. I'd lifted the mask before, so that I could break into the small steel safe that was securely tucked at the bottom of Mr. Livermore's desk. Not secure enough, obviously.

Smiling mischievously, I double-checked that my long dark-brown hair was tucked in conspicuously under the short purple-bobbed wig that Brooklyn had picked out for all three of us in the mall last Friday. We always went with the short wigs; although, the color we chose was always coordinated.

Pulling off the gloves I'd used to break into the safe fingerprint-less, I walked back toward Mr. Livermore's desk. Kicking the safe closed, I congratulated myself on a job well done. There was nothing better than that feeling you had after you'd once again helped achieve a successful payday.

I smelled like money, man. So much fucking money.

Walking out into the hallway, I glanced at my watch.