Margaret the Thief

I am a thief, or as the French call us, ‘voleuse’. Additionally, you could also call me a yegg. I’m not sure if this counts as a secret because im sure the people closest to you are supposed to be unaware of such fact and I have no one to hide it from. So really, Im not sure if this counts. I’m trying to be authentic and funny, poignant while chilling. An apparently graceless combination that holds you to a task you created for yourself. I guess maybe what I hoped for was an apparent classic. One where you open you’re the first page and youre immediately transformed into a world you didn’t know you were missing from. 

Before I get ahead of myself and confuse you more than necessary, I need to introduce myself. Line up how who I was has influenced who I am and why you should be interested in that. However, the past in this scenario is mostly irrelevant. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So, the fact that we’ve found each other while I’m knee deep inside our country’s most prestigious jewelry store really has nothing to do with the past of 10 years ago, just everything to do with who I am now.

I stare at the glass case in front of me, wondering whether it’s one of those irritating cases that scream bloody murder once you even think about moving them. I try to think back about what my contact had texted.

The store itself is protected with an alarm system that alerts the police system ten minutes away. However, the individual cases haven’t been secured with the same system yet; they’ve just moved in.

 The possibility that he might have been joking to trick me has run through my mind. The amount of times people that hire me just so they can double-cross me to drum up business for their business, is actually astonishing. You’d think people have better methods than advertising their respective jewelry store/bank/shoe store as thief central. 

I weigh my options. Them being steal or starve (fine, not starve. Merely look down on myself because I failed to complete a gig.) I sigh and reach out to the pristine glass. The rose-gold necklace glitters enticingly, wondering if I will live up to my value.

Fork it. I quickly pull the glass top off of its wooden base and brace myself for the incoming shrill. 0.5 seconds. 5 seconds. No noise is made and better yet, no vibrations are felt. I don’t know if I can count my lucky stars just yet though. Nowadays, some shops go the extra 2 miles and invest in silent alarm systems. Most shops that do this are for the drunken rich. The ones that don’t even exist to the public eye and to the eye of the ordinary man.

I place the transparent top on the cold floor and reach out for my paycheck. I stop myself for a second before leaning in closer and taking a more examining look. The rose gold has started to fade along the outer shells of the piece. A sure marker about the laughable quality of the jewelry and the store itself. It even makes me wonder if the store could even afford a measly door alarm like my contractor proclaimed.

Why would a man that can afford my retainer (a hefty fee) ask me to steal a piece that any novice could steal and/or afford to buy twice?

My detective skills, though somewhat lacking and lackluster, implore me to at least take it to then ask my contact. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

I snatch the piece of threadbare jewelry with a heady anticipation. No alarm blares, no doors lock, no activity happens. The world is as silent as before I decided to be a yegg. Shame really. I debate on whether or not I should test my theory and walk straight out of the front door but I decide not to. My luck has been pushed and if I push it further, you might be unwilling to hear the rest of my tall tale.

I silently curse and push myself up to the minuscule air vent. Cursing the fact that the contact had found me just before I was ready to start my 30-day diet.

I walk around the dark abandoned alley with a sense of purpose and anger. The man squeezed me through an inhumane hole and then asked me to meet him promptly at 3am once I had obtained the treasure (His use of treasure was both un-ironic and creepy. I was half decided to walk away from the deal completely.)

I stare down at my watch and groan once the long finger touches the 6. A full 30 minutes past when I was supposed to get my payment. Maybe the pawn shop could give me something for it. Maybe I should start asking for deposits? I ponder slightly before slipping onto the floor.

A man short man slowly enters my line of sight from the unbearably dim main street. I stare at him wondering why I even bothered to do it. Why I was willing to put myself through the work for a man that didn’t seem like anything I had worked with in the past. There was no long flowing black coat or un-ironic moustache. There were no sunglasses at night time or Rolex premium grade watches. He was an unintimidating man with no markers anywhere. Even his intelligence seemed unremarkable. There were no ingenious plots to take over the tristate area.

“Did you meet any troubles?” He asked politely as if I went to fetch his groceries instead of stealing a low-rent princess necklace imitation. 

I shake my head no and stick my hand out. He looks worriedly at me before anxiously taking it into his for a firm shake.

“Yes, thank you very much for that.” He mutters before gracing me with a nervous smile. I stare at him incredulously before I pull out a small laminated note that says ‘My payment.’ This is why I do everything with conveniently places pigeon holes and text messages. 

Why didn’t I do it now? I wonder to myself as he slowly mouths out the words on the scratchy piece of paper.

“Ah, yes. Sorry, my mistake.” He pulls out a khaki envelope that has the words ‘Payment for Yegg’ on the side of it. I don’t know if I claimed to be the one that came up with ‘yegg’ for myself but no, I saw it from the first text he sent contacting me. How a man this precious found me, I cannot begin to fathom.

“Thank you, thank you. You don’t know what you’ve done for me. How can I contact you if I need anything else done?” He asked before sticking his hand as if waiting for my card. Unfortunately, in all my years of being a voleuse, I’ve never encountered anyone that was this chatty after our transaction and a part of me (the loving but lonely part) couldn’t just leave him here.

I put up my finger in the universal sign of wait, then began to rapidly type on my burner.

I don’t have a card you could use but feel free to put a letter in my pigeon hole at (redacted location ) I’ll try my best to search there for your letter. I show him the message and he nods once he's done. 

“My grandmother used to live there. At (redacted) street I mean, until she died about a year ago and my cousins sold everything.”

I nod compassionately (or at least what I can only guess compassionate looks like. The whole thief gig kind of rids you of that pesky emotion.)

“I’ve been looking for this forever. It’s the one thing she wanted me to have of her and Harvey couldn’t even let me have that.” I’m assuming Harvey is the cousin who sold everything. I awkwardly pat his shoulder and im shocked by how close we’ve gotten together. Very alarming. Maybe that’s his gig; look and act like a soft spoken man with absolutely no courage or backbone then attack once guard is sufficiently lowered. With that alarming thought I, from the sitting position I find myself in, shuffle backwards in the direction of the alley exit. A quick getaway for when he shows his true intentions.

“Look at me babbling about Harvey the baboon. Hope all is well with you?” 

I debate on whether or not to answer this man’s question because it just seems ridiculous. I don’t know where he was raised but he should have been raised better than to engage with national thieves? Though, who am I to judge? I steal for money.

I’m alright. Same soup just reheated. I type. He gives a boisterous laugh before nodding. 

“That’s usually how it is, yeah.”

We sit in oddly compatible silence for two minutes before he gets up. 

“I must get going. I’m supposed to be up in an hour. Thank you again…” He looks up at me apparently embarrassed at not having caught my name.

I didn’t throw it. You’re not supposed to know my name. I’m a nationally wanted thief! I want to capitalize but catch myself before I show him. I type out a much more amicable; 

Its Margaret.

“Just like my Grandmother.” He smiles before slowly exiting the alley way. 

Wasn’t I meant to ask him a question?