Thieving Weasels - Billy Taylor Page 0,22

weasel. Shifty eyes, fake smile, hands in the pockets of a trench coat he never took off, this guy was straight out of the juvenile delinquent handbook. He tried to act cool, but he was physically incapable of keeping his eyes off the big pile of coats and pocketbooks sitting on the edge of the dance floor. I knew exactly what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing myself.

Full disclosure: my biggest challenge when I arrived at Wheaton was not robbing the school blind. Old habits die hard, and the place was like a candy store run by blind people. All of the students were rich, nobody locked their doors, and the windows were so feeble you could have jimmied them with a Post-it Note. But I was good. I strolled by unattended laptops in the library, ignored wallets and backpacks, and never so much as borrowed a pencil without asking. I was a model citizen, and the most surprising thing about this was how good it made me feel. I didn’t have as much spending money as the other kids, but that was fine. I was acting like a normal human being, and that’s all that mattered.

This was why I became so angry when I saw that weasel in the trench coat ripping off my classmates. The smart move would have been to notify security and let them handle it, but I wasn’t feeling particularly smart that evening. Or merciful. Besides, it was fun to kick back and watch someone else be the thief for a change. The guy knew the band’s set list, and whenever they played a good dance song, he’d take advantage of the crowd’s enthusiasm and dip into a few pocketbooks. It was a good scam, and within half an hour his pockets were overflowing with wallets and iPhones. Professionally speaking, it was quite a haul.

The band played a slow song to finish their set, and as couples paired up to dance, the weasel headed for the door. This was always my favorite part of a job. There’s something positively electric about those last few seconds when you think you’re about to get away with a scam that makes it all worthwhile. It’s the criminal equivalent of skydiving.

I followed the guy outside and waited for him to think he was home free. Sure enough, halfway to the parking lot he pulled out a cigarette and stopped to light it. This was my cue. I broke into a sprint and aimed for the center of his back. My timing was perfect, and I slammed into him just as the cigarette touched his lips.

“You third-rate slimebag,” I hissed as I dove on top of him and pummeled his face. “You think you can come to my school and steal from my classmates? Well, guess what? You’re wrong.”

“What the hell are you doing?” someone behind me shouted. “You’re hurting him.”

“That’s kind of the point,” I said, looking up.

And that’s how I met Claire.

We’d passed in the halls dozens of times and even had a few friends in common, but this was the first time we actually spoke. Her dress was soaked from dancing, and she’d come outside to cool her feet in the fall grass. Christmas was months away, but for some reason her toenails were painted red and green and this struck me as the most exotic thing in the world. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

“Look at me when I’m yelling at you,” she demanded.

“Your wish is my command,” I said, and pulled out my cell phone. “What’s your phone number?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what’s your phone number?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“A lot. Trust me.”

She gave me her digits, and I punched them into my phone. Two seconds later, a Lady Gaga song blared from the trench coat beneath me.

“Hey,” she said. “That’s my ringtone.”

“Exactly. I saw this lowlife stealing stuff and came out here to stop him.”

Claire’s eyes grew wide. “Then he must have my charm bracelet, too!”

I held up my cell phone. “What’s your charm bracelet’s phone number?”

“Not funny. My grandmother gave me that bracelet when I was seven, and it means more to me than anything.”

“Yo, slimebag,” I said, and slapped the guy on the side of the head. “You come across a charm bracelet on your little crime spree?”

“Eat me.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I stuck my hand in the trench coat and pulled out a couple of cell phones, some crumpled bills, and a