Picking
pockets on the street is different than it is with a specific mark. On the
street, you look for what’s convenient, for where you can get the easy bucks
without risk of bringing heat down on you. It’s not about size or smarts, but
about where their minds are. You want people that look busy, are preoccupied.
Could be they’re having a conversation, reading the paper, or they’re just
staring at the same three feet of pavement in front of them. Those are the ones
that won’t realize they’ve been lifted until you’re six blocks away.
Specific
marks, though, people with something of value that you need for other reasons,
those are dangerous. The specific lift is something of value beyond money. A
piece of jewelry, keys to special doors, even notebooks socked full of information.
People have a way of touching them through their clothing.
Curt
Spencer was such a man. He kept the first two fingers of his right hand on the
chain to the watch in his vest pocket. He lifted a whiskey sour with his left
hand, but that right never stopped fiddling with the chain.
Eva had
gone in ten minutes before me, and chatted up two men simultaneously at one end
of the bar. She even spared looks for Curt. He noticed, smiling into his drink.
But the only time he stopped fiddling with the chain was when he lifted the
watch out to check the time.
I slid into
the barstool next to him on his right side, out of the sightline to Eva, and
ordered myself a gin and tonic, extra tonic. Never drink more than a sip when you’re lifting. Booze gets into the
fingers awful damn quick.
I watched
him as I sucked an ice cube from my drink. Sucking ice was a good way to avoid taking
a drink while making the drink go down. Curt fell into a pattern of checking
his watch almost every five minutes, and immediately after checking the time, he
didn’t need to fiddle much with the chain.
I continued
to nurse ice out of my G and T as I slipped my right hand into my jacket to get
my palm cutter. The band kept it tight on my palm so I could lift the watch
chain, cut it, and take the watch with one hand.
I caught
Eva’s eye and adjusted my hat with three fingers on the brim, the signal for
her to set up her distraction. Two minutes later, Curt checked the time, and I
adjusted my hat with two fingers. Had I done it with only thumb and forefinger,
we would have skipped out.
Eva gave a
slight yelp, then turned to one of the men she had been chatting up, tossed her
drink in his face and followed it up with a strong slap. Before the man could
react she turned to the other and said in a voice that carried down the bar, “He
fondled me!”
The
distraction caught Curt’s attention, and I made a move, getting fingers on the
chain and slipping it into the cutter’s mouth. I gave a quick squeeze, cutting
a link in half. Before I could take the watch, Curt stood up and went towards
Eva.
It seemed
that the man she had turned to for help didn’t think her plight all that big a
deal, but Curt adjusted his hat, using his right hand, and strode over there
full of chivalrous indignity.
Eva became aware
of Curt moving as the man she slapped gripped her wrist. I pinched the bridge
of my nose and shook my head, telling her I didn’t get the watch. I moved
toward the exit; I didn’t worry about Eva with the two men, despite how they
grinned drunkenly at her. She’ll skin
them alive if they push her. She stomped on the man’s foot with her high
heel, which made the man release her. She broke away and ran toward Curt,
bumping into him.
Curt played
the chivalrous hero, asking her if she was okay to which she gave breathy sighs
and assurances while Curt stared down the two men. The first limped on one foot
while the other slapped the bar in laughter. At least they’re not going to start a fight over it.
Satisfied,
Curt nodded and let Eva on her way. I ducked out ahead of Eva and brought the
car around to pick her up. As soon as we were off, she dangled the watch at me.
“Never send a man to do a woman’s
job,” she grinned.