“I’m sorry, sir,” the bartender offered as her cheeks grew red with embarrassment. “We’re short staffed tonight. If you could just give me a moment, I’ll be right with you.”
The man let out an unhappy chuffing sound and hefted his considerable weight off the barstool, revealing the way the buttons on his shirt strained dangerously against his protruding belly. “Fuck that. I’m done with this place. It’s obviously going downhill if you’re the type of person they hire.”
I made a split-second decision that this dickhead was going to be my first mark. I just couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t proud of what I did, stealing from people to help my family get by, but it was all I knew, and it helped to soothe my guilty conscience when I robbed jerkoffs like this dude who clearly deserved it.
As he started trundling in my direction, I calmly rose to my feet and took a step back, right into his path, twisting in his direction so I could “accidentally” bump into him.
“Watch it,” the man barked a split second after we collided. Before he could pull away, I used the contact to relieve him of his wallet like the seasoned pro I was.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I offered as I faked a stumble backward so I could drop my newly acquired wallet into my purse. And I didn’t feel the slightest bit bad about it. “I didn’t see you there.”
His beady eyes narrowed as he scanned me, stopping much longer than necessary on the small bit of cleavage exposed by the V of my dress’s neckline. It was subtle, especially compared to a lot of the dresses my sister wore, but he still leered in a way that made my skin crawl. Having this dude ogle my boobs was major ick, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand how Serenity did it night after night without having to go home and scrub herself with bleach and a steel wool pad.
“Yes, well, watch what you’re doing next time,” he said to my cleavage, and I suddenly felt like I had something slimy trickling across my flesh. I was going to have to keep the water as hot as I could bear it during my shower tonight.
“Of course. And again, I’m really sorry.”
With a humph and one last look at my chest, the fat bastard strode past me and out of the bar. I let out a sigh of relief that my first lift of the evening went so smoothly just as the bartender stopped in front of me.
“Sorry about the wait.”
“Don’t sweat it,” I said with a smile and a conspiratorial wink. “That guy was a dick.”
She returned my grin before asking, “Are you leaving, or do you still want to order something?”
“Just running to the ladies’ room really fast. I’d love a vodka soda with an extra squeeze of lime whenever you have a chance.” I didn’t really have the money to be blowing on cocktails, but if I was going to pull this off tonight, I was going to need a drink or two to calm my heebie-jeebies.
“On it,” she said as I slid the strap of my purse over my shoulder. I could practically feel the wallet inside burning a hole through my cheap bag, silently begging me to pull it out and count the cash. “And thanks for . . . you know,” she finished, tilting her chin in the direction of Fat Bastard’s vacant barstool.
“For not being a dick, you mean?” I asked on a laugh. “Not a problem. It really isn’t all that hard.”
She let out a snort and gave her head a shake. “You’d think, right? But trust me, you’d be surprised.”
I really wouldn’t. I knew more than my fair share of dicks. One of my gifts was being able to spot them from at least a mile away, something that came in handy with my family’s particular line of work.
Not all of the Ryans were as choosy as I was when it came to picking a mark. But the only way I was able to sleep at night was if I chose people I felt deserved to be robbed blind. It made things a bit easier. Kind of like Robin Hood, only, instead of stealing from the rich to give to the poor, I was stealing from the assholes to make sure my family’s debts could be paid. So . . . not exactly the same thing, but I wasn’t really in a place to be splitting hairs at the moment. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that jazz.
“Well, I’m glad to be one of the non-dicks,” I offered before starting toward the restrooms.
I was almost to the mouth of the small alcove that separated the restrooms from the main space of the bar when I suddenly felt a tickling sensation between my shoulder blades. My sixth sense reared its head in a heartbeat, alerting me to the fact that I was being watched.
For all I knew, it could have been totally harmless, just some guy staring at my ass as I walked past, but I’d never been one to ignore my senses.
I couldn’t exactly turn around and scope the place out for a looky-loo without making it obvious, so I hurried to the bathroom and locked myself into the first stall before letting out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding until that very moment.
My hands trembled a little as I pulled out the wallet I’d taken off Fat Bastard. Blowing out a wobbly breath, I flipped it open and pulled out the stack of cash tucked into the billfold. I fanned through it quickly, biting back a smile as I counted: two hundred becoming three, then four, before finally stopping at $567.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
This might just be a new family record.
Two
Stella
Holding back just enough cash to pay for my drink and give the bartender a nice, fat tip, I split the rest of the stack in half and stuffed the bills into both cups of my bra so I wouldn’t come out of the bathroom suddenly looking lopsided. Just as I prepared to leave the stall, my phone vibrated with another text. I quickly pulled it out and saw that it was from my dad on the family thread.
Dad: Hey angel. How you doing?
God, I really hated it when he acted sweet while I was in the middle of a job. As if I wasn’t already struggling with my moral compass, doing what I was doing, then he’d be his normal sweet, jolly self, and I’d remember I couldn’t quit, no matter how badly I wanted to, because without him, we’d all be lost.
He might have done stupid shit from time to time, but there wasn’t a single doubt in any of our minds that Dad loved each and every one of us like crazy. He was the rock of our family, the strong yet gooey center—like a whole bag of M&M’s on the first day of your period—that carried us all through. Without him, we’d all be cast adrift, unable to fight our way to the surface.
I quickly typed out a reply to everyone on the chain.
Me: 1 lift. $560.
My mom hopped on the thread with that.
Mom: Oh, that’s so great, sweetie pie! I think that might be a new record. You just beat out Spence. Proud of you!
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. Where most parents kept trophies of the kids’ Little League tournaments or gymnastics competitions, things like that, my folks celebrated my siblings and me on our scores, mentally keeping track of whose was bigger. Probably not the healthiest way to show pride in their children, but it was what it was. I’d stopped questioning our disfunction a long time ago.
My brother interjected just then, never one to be shoved out of the limelight.
Spencer: That’s only because I accidentally dropped the wallet that had over a grand in it that one time, remember? I still think I should get credit for that. Not my fault I didn’t realize my jacket pocket was torn.