Deena's Deception

by G. S. Carr

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copy Right

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Deena’s Deception

  G.S. Carr

  Brown Lady Publishing

  Deena’s Deception

  This a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Brown Lady Publishing

  PO Box 681385

  Charlotte, NC 28216

  Copyright © 2020 G.S. Carr

  www.gscarr.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. For information address Brown Lady Publishing.

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York City, 1875

  Two yellow teeth, one brown tooth, and four completely missing.

  Deena Lyon stared into the mouth of the portly man she sat next to, examining his teeth or lack thereof. His thin lips hadn't stopped moving since she asked him the hour. He prattled on and on, swaying in his seat to the rhythm of the horsecar as it traveled down Sixth Avenue. She did her best to keep the annoyance off her face and pretended to listen as she worked. The only reason she'd asked was so she could assess the value of his timepiece.

  Nice clothing could be borrowed—or more likely stolen—making it an unreliable gauge of a man's wealth. But his timepiece told an experienced pickpocket like Deena everything she needed to know. Shiny, well-maintained pieces belonged to men of true means. Fellow thieves never kept such valuable items. The price they fetched was too great, and the cost of bread too high, to hold onto such items.

  Deena took her time moving her left hand low across her belly. One rushed movement, and she’d displace her false arm, exposing her duplicitous behavior.

  "My mother told me not to do it," the man said, his voice filled with mischievous mirth.

  "But I assume you did anyway," Deena replied, encouraging his conversation. The more he spoke, lost in his memories, the easier her job became.

  "Of course, I did." His fleshy chin jiggled with his laughter. "What young boy wouldn't sneak an extra cookie when presented with the perfect opportunity to do so."

  She understood his sentiment. She'd been on her own, stealing to survive for so long, it was almost second nature. Passing up a perfect opportunity to nick a few coins or valuables was unthinkable. Although, in his case, this man pilfered inessential sweets.

  Deena tried to take only what she needed to keep from starving to death.

  "Needless to say, my mother found out. The crumbs on... Oh, dear!"

  Like a blessing from the faceless all-powerful being in the sky that her old master used to tell Deena about, the trolly lurched to a stop, sending her crashing into the man's side. Taking advantage of the disruption, her hand shot out, digging into his pocket and relieving him of his coin purse. Luck seemed to be on her side today. The pouch weighed heavily in her hand.

  "Well," Deena said, recovering quickly and standing. She dipped her chin to her unwitting benefactor. "I do believe this is where I must leave you. Have a lovely day."

  "Oh, um, yes," he sputtered. "You do the same."

  Deena was off the trolly, strolling down the street before he'd finished his farewell. Sometimes it was too easy. But she wasn't complaining, for most of the time, it wasn't. She tucked her newfound wealth into the hidden pocket she'd sewn into the skirt of her dress.

  Another job done. Countless more to go.

  Deena exhaled a long, worn-down breath. Rent was due. Past due. There would be no rest for her until she collected every cent of the unreasonable five dollars her landlord, Mr. Smith, charged for the ramshackle room in the tenement.

  Why did life have to be so hard? New York City was supposed to be like the promised land Moses talked about in the Bible. The land of milk and honey. Overflowing with work and opportunities. That particular Bible story had traveled through the slave quarters of her old plantation like wildfire. It was the main reason many of them kept from spiraling into despair.

  When Deena left Virginia, her heart had been full of hope. Now... Now all she dared hope for was acquiring money in a manner that didn't require her to lay on her back. She slowed her steps. There had to be more to her existence than this.

  Deena stopped in front of a dressmaker’s shop and examined her reflection in the window. Even on her ebony skin, dark circles under her eyes testified to how exhausted she was to anyone willing to pay attention. No one ever did.

  Shallow wrinkles creased the space between her eyebrows. Permanent reminders of her constant state of stress. If this is what she looked like after living twenty-four years, Deena shuddered to imagine her appearance at forty. Her gaze trailed down to the tear in the bodice of her dress. She'd sewn it up several times since stealing the garment three years ago. Although the style was a little out of fashion, it still afforded her the ability to roam around the city without attracting much scrutiny.

  The streets of the city had taught her early on that dirty, unkempt thieves were more likely to get caught. As soon as they came near members of polite society, suspicious scowls tracked their every movement.

  All around her, men and women trudged along to their various destinations, blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotional storm brewing in the woman next to them. Even if they did, how many would care enough to offer her aid?

  Deena lifted her head and straightened her spine. Self-pity was for the weak. She was not a frail lady who fainted at the first sign of conflict. She would endure any obstacle life put in her path. She had to. There was no other option.

  Focusing back on the task at hand, Deena continued on her way, scanning the individuals walking by. Her eyes lit up when she spotted a thin man walking toward her. His slim-fitting black frock coat and trousers molded to his frame, denoting the exceptional quality of their tailoring. In addition, his vivid sapphire silk brocade waistcoat, further touted that this was a man of means. He kept his head bent, his tall black top hat obstructing his face from Deena's view.

  Wealth and timidity. The perfect mark.

  Deena dipped her chin, clasped her hand over the fake one, and positioned herself to strike. She adjusted her steps, placing herself in his path. A deep whooshing breath escaped Deena's lips when the man slammed into her with more force than she'd been expecting.

  His small frame was deceptive. Although thin, his body was apparently composed mainly of taut, stony muscles. Deena recovered quickly. Her hand shot from beneath the fake arm, diving into his pocket. She snatched up everything her fingers touched.

  "Oh my! So sorry," she apologized in her sweetest voice. "I can be so clumsy sometimes."

  "Get off me," the man growled, in a cold, snide voice. He shoved Deena away, causing her to stumble back.

  She tripped on
the hem on her skirt but caught herself before landing on the pavement. Nervous jolts quickened the thrum of her heartbeat. Before she even looked into the man's eyes, she knew she'd made a mistake.

  Of all the people wandering the city streets, this was the one she shouldn't have crossed.

  When their eyes locked, terror shriveled her stomach, then kicked it down to her toes. A long, jagged scar emerged from his hairline on the right side of his head, zigzagging across his face, cutting through his milky white left eye, before hooking around his ear and disappearing somewhere on the back of his neck.

  Mean. Nefarious. Villainous. Any of those words and many more like them would be accurate descriptions of this man. She needed to put as much distance as possible between them. Right now.

  Deena choked down the lump of panic lodged in her throat. She held up her hands and backed away slowly. "Pardon me. No harm done. I'll leave you to it."

  A menacing snarl was the man's only response. His good eye tracked her every movement. Deena watched him watching her, as she took one step back, then another, and another. She refused to turn her back on him. He seemed like the kind of guy who not only carried a set of knives in a secret compartment in his waistcoat but never missed his target when he threw them.

  After an almost never-ending stare down, the man finally whipped around and stalked away. Every bone in Deena's spine splintered, then crumbled into a pile of ash. Never in her life had she come closer to death. She was sure of it.

  Deena removed her fake arm and tucked it into the hidden pocket of her skirt. She hugged herself, hunching forward and rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward off the last frigid tendrils of fear. Perhaps it was time to bring her day to an end. She was a jittery mess. Attempting to steal from someone in such a state would only result in her making mistakes. Mr. Smith could wait a few more days for the rent. Besides, it would be better to be homeless than in prison.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Deena peered through the window of the pawnbroker's shop she'd been pacing in front of for the last ten minutes. She looked again every so often to check on the happenings inside.

  Benny, the shop owner, was hunched beneath the front counter, rummaging around for something. She wished he'd hurry up and rise so she could get a good look at him to gauge his mood. The tall, stocky German man always had a smile for her, but sometimes that smile couldn't be trusted.

  Some days he pretended as if she were any other client, asking no questions about the procurement methods of the items she brought him. Other times he subjected her to an inquisition.

  There seemed to be no particular pattern to Benny's shifting moral compass. At least none that Deena could decipher. If she could, she wouldn't be wasting time fretting about if she should bring him the day's spoils now or wait until tomorrow.

  When she'd gone home, she'd seen Mr. Smith standing outside the tenement building hassling residents for rent. Most of the coin purses she'd collected today were closer to empty than full. If she wanted to placate Mr. Smith with a partial rent payment and eat this evening, she'd need to negotiate a sale with Benny.

  However, due to her lily-livered reaction to Mr. Scar, in order to pay Mr. Smith the remaining balance, she'd have to make a second exchange tomorrow after she finished working. Even if Benny accepted what Deena had today, he might not be as agreeable tomorrow.

  Deena stomped her foot. Enough of this. Standing outside the shop agonizing over what to do left her doing nothing at all. One day, she wouldn't have to make these kinds of decisions. She didn't know how she’d get there, but Deena couldn't imagine being an old woman still picking pockets to get by.

  Somehow, she'd change her destiny.

  Until then, the grumble of her stomach made the present choice clear. Pasting on her friendliest smile, Deena opened the shop door, decorated with three golden spheres painted on the pane of glass, and stepped inside.

  "Hello, Benny," Deena said in her sweetest voice. "How's my favorite pawnbroker doing on this fine day?"

  Benny straightened. "Hallow my darling 'Eena," he beamed in his thick German accent. His expression warm, he held his arms out wide as if he were greeting an old friend. "I am doing exceptionally vell today. How are you?"

  He was in a good mood. Excellent. He’d even thrown an endearment in front of the mispronunciation of her name that she'd deemed his nickname for her.

  Deena strolled to the counter. "I awoke this morning when many others did not. For that, I am grateful, and find myself in high spirits."

  She held out her gloved hand, which Benny enfolded between his. Ever the gentleman, he kissed her knuckles and patted her hand twice before letting it go.

  "A vonderful outlook to have. How may I help you today?"

  Please, dear heavens, let this work.

  Deena leaned an elbow on the counter, pouring all her charm into a grin and flutter of her lashes. "I have a few new items for you today."

  "Do you seek a loan or final sale?"

  "You know me, Benny. Final sale."

  "Very well. Let's see what you've got."

  Deena silently cheered inside, maintaining her composure on the outside. Until the money was in her hands, nothing about the transaction was guaranteed. She unhooked the velvet chatelaine bag dangling at her waist, pried it open, and upturned its contents onto the counter.

  Out tumbled a gold Albert chain, a silk puff necktie, a pocket watch, and a folded piece of paper. Deena spaced the items out, moving the paper out of the way.

  "This looks promising." Benny took his time examining each object one at a time.

  Deena thrummed her fingers on the wooden counter while she waited. She glanced around the shop, perusing the shelves and tables covered with everything from shoes and clothing to candlesticks and silverware.

  Benny kept the place organized and tidy compared to most pawnbroker shops. That was part of what compelled her to enter more than five years ago. This version of Benny—the pleasant, generally understanding man—was what kept her coming back.

  She peeked at the simple gold band on his finger. Deena had never met Benny's wife. On his more exuberant days, he'd occasionally share a funny story with her about the woman he dubbed “an angel among men.” Whenever he spoke of his wife, joy and admiration infused Benny's entire being.

  What qualities did a woman need to possess in order to make her husband speak so highly of her? Was she as equally pleased with Benny? Did he whisper sweet words to her while they sat at home, wanting nothing more than to make her feel special?

  A prick of jealousy stabbed through Deena. What would it be like to have someone cherish and love her? She'd never know. Marriages, especially happy ones, weren't meant for women like her. Tying herself to a man would be done for the sake of protection and a stable source of income.

  Although tempting, the cost of such an arrangement was too great. She'd promised herself long ago she'd never again be forced to yield to the will and desires of a man. She lived for herself. Even if some days she wondered if surviving was the same as living.

  Shaking off the shroud of melancholy, Deena straightened, fidgeting with the sleeves of her blouse. No point dwelling on things she couldn't change.

  From the corner of her eye, the folded piece of paper caught her attention. She picked it up. Benny still examined her bounty, so she unfurled the paper, grateful for something else to focus on.

  The creases where it was folded were so worn that they'd started to rip in some places. Deena studied the words searching for ones she recognized. Unfortunately, there weren't enough of them for her to guess what the paper said. She did recognize a drawing of an eagle, a portrait of a man with white hair that curled into thick rolls above his ears, and the numbers five, zero, zero, zero. None of which was helpful in figuring out what the paper said or what it was.

  Asking Benny to read it for her crossed her mind, but she quickly tamped that thought down. It was probably best not to ask more from him on a day he was willing to transact with her.
She folded the paper and put it back in her bag. Maybe she'd ask him later.

  "I will give you five dollars for everything," Benny finally said.

  "Five dollars? You can't be serious. This is a fine railroad-grade pocket watch." Deena points at the item in question. "They sell new for nearly seventy-five dollars. You can do better than five dollars."

  "None of these items are new, 'Eena. I have to think of my margins when negotiating with customers. And let's not forget the additional liability I am assuming due to the origins of these things."

  Tarnation. Deena tapped her foot, her fist planted on her hip, thinking over his offer. Should she push him? He was fleecing her, no doubt. Yet he was also doing her a favor.

  "Ten dollars," she countered.

  Benny hooked his thumbs beneath his suspenders, his lips pressing together.

  Oh no. Deena chewed the inside of her cheek. Perhaps she'd gone too far.

  "Seven. And not a penny more."

  "Done."

  Deena held out her trembling hand for payment. Giddiness bubbled in her chest. She'd made enough to pay half her rent and get some food and other essentials. Rarely did she allow herself the pleasure of a sweet treat, but tonight she might stop by the bakery to celebrate this small victory. Maybe life was starting to look up for her.

  Suddenly, a heinous face with a jagged scar cutting through a white eye materialized in her thoughts. On second thought, maybe it was best if she laid low for a while.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ruby Creek, Dakota Territory

  Dark clouds drifted across the early evening sky, blocking out the sun and promising rain. Asa Grantt limped through his wheat field, grateful for the reprieve from the oppressive summer heat. His bum leg had been giving him trouble all day. He wanted, and needed, to be at home lying down, a pillow propped beneath his knee. Making this trek to check on the crops soured his mood, but unfortunately had become a necessity as of late.