The Girl Thief

by Robert E Cummings

  “It’s a means for you to keep your fee structure while paying Sam what is due.”

  “A thousand is more than enough.”

  “If you initially agreed to pay a thousand, then it would be.”

  “Why are you stepping in on this?” Johnny asked, looking from him to her. “You have a thing for her?”

  “It is simply the honorable thing to do.”

  “The gnome stole me a hot-air balloon when all I wanted was one with a string.”

  Sammy sneered at Johnny. “Hop in the basket, Johnny, and I’ll send you on your way.”

  “Isn’t there a lawn you can decorate? The dogs will love you.”

  “I knew I should’ve brought those two dead rats. It might’ve helped you fill out that thing on your head.”

  Leo raised his hand. “It might be more productive if we try to remain civil.”

  Sammy leaned back in the chair. “He started it.”

  Johnny rolled his eyes and poured another drink.

  “You pay her the thousand-dollar finder’s fee and after a few weeks of profit, you can pay her the remaining forty-five hundred. If some of the figures I heard were correct, that amount will seem insignificant.”

  “I’ll pay you, but no new equipment for at least thirty days.”

  Leo nodded. “Agreed, Sam?”

  Johnny sighed. “Is she going to say no to that?”

  Sammy nodded.

  Johnny waved at a girl. It wasn’t Cindy. “Doll, get me my tablet.” He pointed at Sammy as if he were accusing her of something. “You want milk?”

  Good old Johnny, couldn’t resist giving her a dig. “I know your supplies are low, but if you can spare some pineapple juice that’d be great.”

  Johnny sucked on the glass, eyeing her. He pushed the bottle at Leo. “Help yourself.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  Johnny laughed. “Do you pee?”

  “Alcohol. I don’t drink alcohol. It dulls the mind.”

  “It must be all that Johnny drinks.”

  Johnny took a sip of the whiskey, puckering his lips. The girl came back with the tablet and the pineapple juice. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks as Leo jotted down his list. As the list grew, Johnny squirmed in his seat.

  Leo pushed the tablet toward Johnny. “That should do it.”

  Johnny scrolled through the tablet, looking as if a horror show were unfolding. “What is all this shit?”

  “It’s what I’ll need,” Leo said. “I’m familiar with a few companies that do excellent work on remanufacturing.”

  “You need all of this shit to make a few pills?”

  Leo dug into his pocket and held the psychedelics in his palm. “To make these. Yes.”

  “How much room does all the stuff take up?”

  “Nothing on this list is very large. I will need a place to work and a place to sleep.”

  Johnny peered over the tablet at Leo. “Anything else? Maybe a masseuse?” He tossed the tablet onto the table and marched away.

  Sammy stirred the ice with her straw. “He ain’t going to buy all of that stuff. You might as well leave now.”

  “He has no choice. It’s either adapt or perish. Even the lowest of creatures have had to do that.”

  “They don’t get much lower than Johnny,” Sammy said, slurping on the straw.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  _____________________________

  “Was it something you ate?” Cindy asked from the kitchen.

  Sammy lay on the sofa, fighting a chill she couldn’t quite shake. She pulled the blanket up to her chin. “I bet Johnny poisoned the pineapple juice.”

  Cindy stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, he’s a regular saint.”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “I was supposed to get a thousand now. He only gave me a hundred, and that’s only because Leo insisted.”

  “I don’t know if I trust him. He seems sneaky.”

  “Leo?”

  Cindy stuck her head out again. “Doesn’t he seem sneaky?”

  Sammy thought of him as a magician who kept all his tricks locked away. “Don’t care what he is as long as I get my money.”

  Cindy came out with a plateful of food. “Are you sure you don’t want any? It’s really good. It’s some kind of French dish I can’t pronounce.”

  Sammy covered her mouth, gagging at the smell of it. “Get that away from me.”

  “I can take the mushrooms out if you don’t like them.”

  “Don’t tell me what it is,” Sammy said, shooing her away.

  Cindy turned around. “Okay, I’ll eat in the kitchen.”

  Sammy ran a sleeve over the sweat beading her forehead.

  “You should eat something. I have crackers that came with the soup.”

  Sammy said no, but it came out like a croak. She’d go hoarse from shouting to go with everything else.

  “Want me to get Mama to look at you?”

  “Ain’t she still delivering that baby?”

  “How long does it take?” Cindy asked, sounding as if she was chewing on something.

  “There’s no set time,” Sammy said in a low voice, doubting Cindy heard her.

  “I can check if she’s there if you want?”

  Sammy closed her eyes. The darkness felt soothing. Maybe that was all she needed— a little darkness and sleep. Cindy was talking, but Sammy wasn’t paying attention.

  “Sam?” Cindy was close now with a hint of panic in her voice.

  Sammy opened her eyes into slits. She must look like shit by the way Cindy was staring at her.

  Cindy swallowed. “I’ll get Mama. Just stay there.”

  Where would she go? She pushed the pillow up against the sofa’s arm and raised her head. A crunching sound followed as if eggshells were being crushed. She reached under her head and something stiff broke apart. It looked like dried clumps of hair. What the hell? She patted her head. The hair fell away like thin dry twigs snapping off.

  “It can’t be true. It can’t be true,” she whispered. “It’s those psychedelics. Yeah, it’s those damned psychedelics.”

  She turned her head from side to side, feeling the threads of the pillowcase on the back and sides of her head. If this was a psychedelic trip, it was damned convincing.

  Voices rolled toward her like a distant wave. Sammy pushed deeper into the cushions of the sofa, hoping to make herself small and unseen.

  “Might be infection,” Mama said. “I have pill for that.”

  Cindy came around to the other side of the table. “She’s right—” Cindy stared at the sofa for a moment.

  She must look truly hideous.

  “She was just here.”

  “If she is as sick as you say, she could not go far.”

  Cindy called out to her. Her voice had a tremble of worry. “I’ll check the bedroom.”

  “I’m right here,” Sammy said in barely a whisper.

  Cindy returned a moment later. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

  “You look outside. I will wait here. I am too tired to help. Baby could not make up his mind if he wanted to be born.”

  “If something happened to her…” Cindy said, dashing out.

  Sammy tried to wiggle her hand out, but the blanket was wrapped too tight.

  “I will rest,” Mama said, dropping into the chair across from Sammy.

  Sammy watched Mama, waiting for her to jump out of the seat and shout, “Here she is!”

  Mama’s head dropped back. The whistling sound of air being pushed through her lips felt soothing.

  Sammy felt as if she were shrinking into a mere speck on the sofa. Mama, the table, the walls, and everything seemed to drift away. The chasm seemed frighteningly wide. Even the light seemed unable to bridge the divide, everything turning dim and dull until the shapes were no longer visible.

  ●●●

  Sammy opened her eyes to the dim room. It appeared to be
a cloudy morning. Mama sat in the chair, chest rising and falling to sonorous snores as Cindy occupied the other end of the sofa with the blanket pulled partially away from Sammy to cover herself.

  Sammy rolled the rest of the covers away and sat up. She raised her hand to check her head, then dropped it back and thought it’d be better to see if she was bald. She shuffled into Cindy’s room to the full-length mirror attached to the sliding closet door. The room was dim enough to mute any hysteria.

  “Please don’t be bald,” she whispered, picturing herself as she was before. Sammy closed her eyes and stepped in front of the mirror. She opened her eyes, holding her breath. Her head looked bald in the dimness of the room. Then the edges of the hair along the sides emerged.

  She exhaled, tapping her hair. It felt thicker and stiffer than she remembered.

  “Sam?” Cindy asked, standing by the door. “Where were you?”

  “I thought I lost my hair. I thought I was bald.”

  “Sam, I was worried. I looked all over for you.”

  “I was on the sofa.”

  “Where did you go after that?”

  “There were eggshells. No, it sounded like eggshells, but it was my hair.”

  “You were outside?”

  Sammy shook her head. “I was on the sofa.”

  “Don’t you think I would’ve seen you?”

  Why didn’t Cindy see her? Could it have been a dream?

  Cindy walked up and hugged her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Was she okay?

  “Mama’s here.”

  Sammy nodded. “She slept in the chair all night. She was tired because the baby didn’t want to be born.”

  “Did she talk to you?”

  “I don’t think she knew I was here either.”

  Cindy dragged her into the living room. “She’s got all kinds of pills.” They stopped in front of Mama. “Mama?”

  Mama’s head shot up. “What? What is it?”

  “I found her,” Cindy said, pushing Sammy up front.

  Mama studied her. “Where were you all this time?”

  “On the sofa.”

  Mama’s gaze veered toward Cindy as if they had secret signals. “Put on light. You sit in chair, and I will stand.”

  The light flooded the room, blinding Sammy.

  Mama waved toward the chair. “Sit. Sit.”

  Sammy sat, cupping her hand to block out the light.

  “Does light bother you?” Mama asked, leaning over and examining her face.

  Sammy nodded.

  “I will put light only on bandage.” Mama pushed down the lamp head and knelt, examining the leg.

  “I can move the table closer if you want,” Cindy said.

  Mama nodded, crawling to Sammy’s side as Cindy pulled the table closer. She swung Sammy’s leg up onto the table and prodded around the bandage. “Any pain?”

  Sammy shook her head. It hadn’t hurt for awhile now.

  Mama stripped off the tape and unraveled the gauze, bobbing her head as she prodded the flesh. “This is joke, yes?”

  Cindy bent down over the leg. “Could it be the other leg?”

  “He bandaged wrong leg?”

  “I saw the blood.”

  Mama propped up the other leg, examining it from one side to the other.

  Sammy felt as if she were a bystander to her own experiences, answering questions that seemed more like guesses. She touched her hair every now and again to make sure it was still there.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  _____________________________

  Sammy had been walking all morning and stopped to get her bearings. She had to get out of the apartment after Cindy kept asking her how she felt. A bullet went through her leg, and she was walking as if nothing happened, so she had to be okay. Maybe she thought she was on the sofa but had been wandering the streets and the whole thing with the hair was a dream. She’d had worse dreams.

  Sammy crossed the street down the block from the Gymnastics Center, where she used to sneak in two or three times a week before the place opened. It was the closest thing to flying she knew. She wanted to fly today and forget about everything.

  She climbed the fire escape, spotting a girl of about twelve on the uneven bars. Sammy was too late.

  The girl leaped from the lower to the higher bar, swinging back and forth to get height. At the top, she held her body straight, ankles touching. Swung down and up again, crossing hands and changing direction.

  Swinging from the top bar was what Sammy enjoyed. The first time she saw a girl doing it, she knew she wanted to try it. It seemed to come easily to her.

  The girl let go, twisted in the air, and landed with only the slightest stumble.

  Sammy didn’t have the guts to do that, afraid she’d break something. She closed her eyes, imagining herself spinning in the air then landing gracefully. She even imagined a cheering crowd.

  The girl pointed at the window. Sammy didn’t think anything of it until she realized the girl was pointing at her. Sammy turned to run, but her legs tangled and she tripped. She grabbed hold of the railing, avoiding a nasty spill.

  The window opened. Sammy froze, hoping she was far enough down.

  The girl stood by the window. “Looked like a creepy guy staring in at me.”

  Creepy guy?

  The lady scanned past Sammy, giving no sign she saw her. “I don’t see anyone.”

  The girl leaned over the windowsill. “What’s that?”

  The woman stared. “Looks like someone left their trousers on the stairs.”

  The girl pointed at something. “And shoes too.”

  “Must’ve scared him out of his shoes.” The lady grinned and closed the window.

  Sammy waited a minute before dashing down the fire escape. Scared him out of his shoes? Very funny.

  A couple walked toward Sammy arm in arm, appearing to be melded into a lump. She used to tell her friend, Fanny, “Check out the walking lump.”

  Fanny would laugh, and they’d join arm in arm and imitate the walking lump. Sammy stopped saying it when Fanny started looking wistfully at the lumps and saying, “Wish I had a guy.”

  The lumps looked at her and cracked big smiles as if something was funny. They both laughed a few steps past her.

  Sammy spun around. “Screw you, lumps!”

  They turned back, laughing harder.

  She marched away. What did she care what a lump thought?

  Sammy crossed the street, wondering if she should go back to the apartment. If she waited long enough, she’d miss Cindy and her never-ending questions.

  Up the street was a little girl of maybe five or six, pushing a toy carriage. Her momma or even a nanny stood next to her. Sammy thought about being a nanny if she got tired of stealing. It’d have to be at a place where she could sleep over and have her own space.

  The little girl looked up at her and pointed. Sammy looked behind her but didn’t see anything.

  The lady pushed down the girl’s hand. “It’s not nice to point.”

  Sammy looked back. “What was that all about?”

  The lady nudged the girl to keep walking as the girl kept turning back to stare at Sammy.

  Maybe she’d smudged her face on the fire escape. Sammy looked for a mirror or for a reflection on a storefront window but couldn’t find either. She walked to Midtown with all the jumbo screens. She figured an hour of this, and it’d be safe to go back home.

  Sammy found a seat fairly easily. In about another hour, she’d have to fight the lunch crowd. That’d be her cue to leave. She used to come here a lot when Uncle Danny was strung out. It was best when it was dark and the sun didn’t affect the holo-screens. Her favorite one was the ship caught in a storm and the waves splashing about and spraying up over the ship’s bow. She kept ducking and wondering why she wasn’t wet.

  A group of out-of-towners snaked along the path, looking for the ideal place to sit. Each gave her a sideways glance as they passed. It was the kind of
glance where you shouldn’t look but couldn’t help doing it.

  Sammy spit on her sleeve and wiped her face. If it was a smudge, nothing showed up. Her hand, the back of her hand, had a thick black line running across from her thumb to her pinky. A light gray colored the rest of the hand. Both hands had it, although not quite the same pattern. She rubbed her hand hard against the trouser leg. Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming off.

  Could it be paint? She didn’t remember anything being sticky. She put her hands between her legs, hoping the heat would melt it or something.

  A guy in a T-shirt with arms covered in tattoos stopped a few feet away. “You did the whole face,” he said, stepping closer. “Nice work. What are you trying to say?”

  Get out of my face?

  He studied her. “The bars are saying you’re caged in, right? Mankind is caged in by the machine.” He seemed giddy. “And the gray symbolizes hopelessness.”

  “Have you taken any little green pills lately?”

  “I’d be even more awesome if I had.” He bent down to get a closer look. “Ears too? Who did this?”

  Sammy leaned back. “Do you mind?”

  He stepped away. “Just admiring the work.”

  Sammy rose. “You can admire the bench.”

  He laughed. “So where did you go for the toos?”

  She trotted away. Scenes from an upcoming movie lit up the jumbo holo-screens. It was an old city with cobblestone streets and red-brick buildings. The building beside her exploded, sending bricks raining down. She ducked and leaped over the flying bricks, arms pumping and the back of her hands flashing those stupid bars. Her face must’ve had them too? She kept running, feeling the breeze, hoping it’d blow off whatever was on her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  _____________________________

  Sammy sat on the windowsill, gazing down past the fire escape. She had a good view of the courtyard. The sun was low in the sky. Cindy should be back soon. What would she say? Probably think Sammy was a loon and had her face tattooed.

  Loud Russian voices bellowed out from the floor below. It seemed to be an hourly occurrence. A gray tabby stepped out onto the first-floor fire escape, then gingerly walked to the rail. Would he make the eight-foot leap?