I definitely didn't believe I would ever be inspired to publish a book on murder. Nor did I ever find that I would soon be able to sit down and eat a proper meal in a fancy, five-star restaurant aboard Daniel Ryder's gold trim, custom yacht. But life is full of surprises like that.
Now, the question one should ask is how I could've ever managed to pull off a scheme like I did. Well you're getting your answer, and by God will it be a good one.
~
Sitting beneath a stone bridge on Queenburg's street, my street, I watched people walk on the cobbled path next to the river while I puffed out a plume of smoke from my cigarette. My eyes flicked between plain-clothed workers in search of my next victim.
I wasn't a necessarily wealthy person. Hell, I slept under this bridge a few days out of the week, the others being spent in the church's basement. The only form of a job I could manage to get was at Good Hope Church, when I'd help the carpenters create wooden rosaries to hand out during worship and other such work, but they didn't typically need my help to do those here and there tasks. So due to my lack of wealth and business, I resorted to stealing.
I would patiently scan the street for a long gown or a velvet suit. Someone with a decent amount of riches typically showed off their wealth via feather hats and shiny dress shoes. Higher class people were always my victims. They never deserved the money hidden in their pockets, or the decorative jewelry and watches and rings that adorned wrists and fingers, so I'd take it.
After waiting around for a handful of hours, two women adorned in brightly colored silk dresses rounded a corner onto my street, strolling without seemingly a care in the world towards the bridge. I quickly unraveled my spindly legs and ducked out from my sitting spot in the shadows of the bridge's arch. I tucked my hands into my pockets and spit out my cigarette, stubbing it out with the heel of my foot. I squinted in the burning afternoon sunlight, eyeing my two victims.
Having done this many times over, it wasn't difficult to blend into the teeming pool of workers. Sauntering casually over to the older ladies, I brushed between them and deftly slipped my hands into their pockets to remove the coin purses that lay buried in the folds of cloth.
Before they might be able to notice, I hurried away to an alley that would lead to a different street.
I counted out the few silver dollars and other change while I walked. It wasn't as much as I was hoping for, but it was enough. Placing the coins into my leather satchel, I turned right when I reached a fork in the path to a different alley. By following this path, I'd be led to Shady Tom's shop or what a crook may call the black market.
