Partner in Crime

I. Solo Thievery

     The bar is too loud, and I can't hear anything over the booming speakers blasting out some trashy rap to the rhythm of dancing bodies.
There aren't supposed to be minors here. Security's supposed to be strict, what with the mature activities inside. But Green Night is infamous for letting minors in, provided their parents are bigshots in Sol City, crime capital of Pierra. 

Or, you know, their cousins are bored with tending the bar and require excellent company. 

Mark's sitting at the bar again, grinning when he sees me.
"God it's so boring here. And it smells bad," he says, spinning around in a twirly chair. I hop up to another.
"Why don't you get another job then?" I ask. He rolls his eyes.
"If it were that easy, I would. I didn't sign up for babysitting minors in a bar."
"Whaddya mean?" Sure I'm a minor, but it's not like I drink here or anything. He lowers his voice.
"Like, half of these people wouldn't be here if Daddy wasn't a freaking real estate agents or politicians. So they come over to the bar, and they want a drink, and they're like fourteen? And when I say no, they start shooting themselves up with drugs. Freaking party brats," he hisses. Mark's right. All the other minors there are there because of Daddy's gold Visa, and most of them are too wasted to know what's going on.
I spin a plan around in my head for a few moments. A few drugged teenagers. Carrying credit cards. They don't know what's going on. I grin.

I know what's going to happen.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at the house in a few hours." He waves goodbye lazily.
But I don't leave. I weave around the pulsing, neon lights until I find the perfect target.
You're dancing with some other teens, all drugged up on something or the other. Their eyes are glazed over, and they laugh like hyenas at the smallest joke. Completely wasted.
And most importantly of all, there's a platinum credit card hanging loosely out of your back pocket. Target acquired.

So I swipe that credit card without you noticing, but I do get a good look at you for future reference. A bulky, muscular frame. You've always had food on the table three times a day, whether you were hungry or not. And you've got glinting green eyes, which despite the beer can in hand, are still sharp-looking.

And I'm gone, pulling a hoodie over my head because it's freaking freezing outside. You haven't noticed anything.
Well, that's what I thought.