Criss cross.
We're both out.
— Beanie
After lunch, Beanie and I headed to Lynwood, where Charles Gunderson had a house at the far end of a cul-de-sac.
Charles? Charlie? Surely not Chuck. He was the mark for my trial run with Beanie. He was a cul-de-sac of shit. A generic tech-bro, living a generic life, with nothing but a generic house to show for it.
I don't understand the desire to live in a neighborhood where every house looks the same. They all looked nice enough, if you only took a glance, but if you looked again, you'd see the street was falling apart, and every house needed work.
As I suspected, everything inside Chuck's house was even more generic than the outside. Falling apart, too. And of course, the TV was mounted way too high. Why do guys do that?
Two of Foke's goons were waiting when we arrived. I didn't know them. Didn't need to. Thanks to my prior incident with the hose, they knew me. Well, they knew of me. But I could tell they had doubts about Beanie.
Didn't matter.
The first goon went in to make sure there were no cameras or a security system. Then he gave the all clear.
He rolled his eyes as Beanie walked in, but I saw his eyebrows go up as she got to work. God, she sliced and diced her way through that house like a surgeon. He was impressed. Hell, I was impressed.
It took her an hour to find the mark's Bitcoin seed words, but she did it without disturbing a damn thing. Everything she touched went back exactly as it was, and she worked fast. Quietly too. Almost eerily so. Then I heard her whisper, "Boom." I watched her slide a piece of metal the size of a credit card out from the underside of the couch. She snapped a pic with the Polaroid and dropped it in the envelope I gave her, and she put the metal thingamabob back where she found it. Then she waved a finger, as if to say, "Not done," as she laid on the floor. She wiggled around, reaching to make sure there wasn't another one hidden too.
When she got up, she ran her fingers across the carpet, making sure there were no clues that she'd been there.
After we left, she said, "Not bad. I'll get better once I'm used to being watched. Usually, I'm all about not being seen."
I was trying to keep my enthusiasm in check, but finally, I had to say it.
"God damn guuuuurl!"
"What? Was I sloppy?"
"Bitch, you handled that house like you were defusing a bomb. Feather-light touch. Absolute precision. Jesus."
"Thanks."
"Are Owen and Yaz as good as you?"
"Yeah, I guess. We're all different. I'm probably more clever. Owen is methodical, but it makes him hard to work with. If something's hidden, he'll find it, and he remembers every step. I think he might be OCD, but like, in a good way. Good for this, anyway. Sometimes I'll see him tapping his finger, and I'm pretty sure he's counting, but like, counting off details he filed in his head somewhere, backtracking to check off a list or something. Yaz is different. He wants you to think he's flashy, so he'll make a show of whatever he's doing if he knows you're watching. But he's precise and he's easy to work with."
"And if I ask them about you, they'll say..."
"They'll say I'm a bitch, but not in a bad way. And besides, I'm not. I just want things done right. I don't tolerate sloppy and I don't tolerate fools. Vic's both. Owen's great, but he expects a partner to work FOR him, not with him. No thanks. But he's good. I work with Yaz sometimes."
"Seriously. What's your name."
"It's Sharon, but don't call me that. I'm good with Beanie. The other lifters call me Drops."
"Drops?"
"Stay here."
She walked away and turned to face me.
She said, "Put the mark's keys in your left hand. Now count with me to five, but not out loud, and blink on each number. On four, pass the keys behind your back from your left hand to your right. On five, drop 'em. Got it? Blink the count. Left to right behind your back on four. Drop 'em on five. Ready?"
"Sure..."
"OK. One... two..."
She walked toward me while looking me in the eye. I felt weird, blinking as I counted, but on my fifth blink, as I let go of the keys, she had 'em without making a sound. It wasn't until she handed them back that I realized I didn't hear her feet.
"Wow, Beanie, that was good."
"You were off," she said. "I almost missed it. When you're counting, you've gotta do it like rhythm. Like music. Put it to a beat so the time between each number's the same. It's like... Blink one, pause... Blink two, pause... Blink three... If your partner's good at timing, you both hit five at exactly the same time, and your blinks make it easier for the person on the drop. Anyway, it's a thing a few of us do."
"As a joke?"
"As a two-man drop on a mark."
"Oh, right."
"Yeah. Yaz spots a mark, from behind. He looks at me and blinks the count. Blink one, blink two. We both walk toward the mark from opposite directions. On four, Yaz lifts the wallet with his left hand and passes it to his right. On five, he drops it and I've got it. Criss cross. We're both out, with Yaz in the mark's line of view and I'm headed the other way with the wallet. Being short means I catch the drops. Anyway, don't call me Susan, and we're not doing drops, so... Beanie works."
"Fuck that. Who do you wanna be?"
"Honestly, I like Beanie. It's already part of my shtick. I mean, look at me. I'm 21 years old but 4'10" and I've got the tits of a teenage boy. I blend in anywhere. With my hair tucked up in a hat, it's like I'm invisible. That's why I'm good at this."
"No, it's not."
"What?"
"Talent is why you're good at this. But you're smart to work with what you've got. Too many people spend their whole lives fighting it, like they're waging a war against themselves."
"Huh. I guess."
I spent too many years fighting a war against myself. I've always known what I am. I've been robbing people since I was six. First grade. A kid named Cole snatched the paper bag with my lunch and threw it over my head, to Jacob, who then threw it back. They thought this was hilarious. The second time it got thrown toward Cole, I kicked his leg and he went down hard. I left my lunch on the floor and snatched his backpack instead. I knew if I could make it to the door, I could slap it shut. That gave me a head start down the hall. He couldn't catch me.
Oh, I got punished, sure, but I knew his lunch was better than mine, and sure enough, it was in his backpack. He had five bucks in there too. I remember staring at it, wondering if it was bad to take the money. I was halfway through eating his lunch when one of the teachers found me.
"Ask him where MY lunch is," I said.
He was an asshole, but somehow, being a boy made that OK. Even at age six, I knew the world wasn't fair. I also knew the five bucks I hid in my shoe was a nice score.
"So... are you a drinker, Beanie? This was a good day. We've got some celebrating to do."
"I am, and I'm buyin'!"
"Hell no, you're not buyin'."
"You're right. Rico Suave is. What kind of idiot goes to a meeting of lifters with a hundred bucks in his wallet? Come on. That's dumb."
"Guys are dumb."
"So dumb."
Giiiiirl.