Thief for Hire

by Jillianne Hamilton

  “Ruby is so much fun.”

  “Yeah. She’s a good friend.” I shrugged. “This isn’t really my thing. She kind of dragged me out here.”

  She turned around to face me and leaned her elbow against the railing. “This music is so cheesy. I prefer something with a little more of an edge.” Stray pieces of her short black hair fell in front of her dark eyes.

  I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

  I stood up to watch our friends, finishing off my drink with one swig.

  “I know a club a few blocks from here,” Tegan said, slipping her hand around my hip. “Why don’t we go check it out?”

  A lot of Ruby’s friends are gay and bisexual, and I hang out with her revolving door of fabulous friends a lot, but none of them had ever hit on me before.

  “Um, no thanks. I think I’d better stay here. Unless Ruby wants to go—”

  Tegan stepped closer to me. “Come on. Let’s ditch ‘em. We could have some fun.” She raised an eyebrow.

  I was feeling pretty tipsy but not quite tipsy enough to start batting for the other side. This chick was certainly hot but just not my type. That is to say, she wasn’t a dude.

  I held up my empty glass. “I’m gonna go get another drink.”

  I shuffled my way through the people downstairs, the music pumping so loudly I could feel it in my chest, and made it to the bar. I ordered two long tubes of lime green something—not even sure what it was—and downed them fast.

  If I’m going to actually have fun tonight, I’d better drink up.

  And I did.

  I pushed my way through the crowd again and found Ruby and her friends. I let the combination of liquor and remixed Britney Spears take me away in its late-night, techno-drenched arms.

  I was dancing close to Silas when Ruby grabbed my hand and pointed across the bustling dance floor.

  It was Nate. I stopped dancing and just stared at him. I couldn’t even tell you what song was playing at this point. Everything just went blank.

  Ruby looked back at me. Silas shrugged and went off to dance with a shirtless guy nearby. She pulled me aside.

  “Are you gonna go talk to him?”

  I nodded, my head heavy.

  “How drunk are you?”

  I nodded again.

  “Good. You’re ready,” she said, giving me a not-so-gentle push in Nate’s direction.

  I wove in between people and found him standing with his friends. He was holding a beer and already had a rosy shine to the top of his cheeks. He was laughing hard at something someone said.

  He’s drunk too. Awesome. It was meant to be.

  He spotted me and the smile tumbled from his face. He glanced at his friends and they went off towards the bar. I stood in front of him, giving a shy wave. It seemed the better option between that and screaming “I am so uncomfortable!” directly into his ear.

  “How are you?” he asked, shifting his feet.

  “I’m good.”

  Liar.

  “Are you having a good time? This isn’t really your kind of place.” He sipped his beer.

  “Ruby persuaded me. It’s not really your kind of place either.”

  He chuckled. “Logan peer-pressured me.”

  I nodded.

  This is so awkward.

  He put his empty beer bottle on a nearby table. “Do you want to dance?”

  I nodded. He took my hand and led me to the dance floor, crammed with drunk twenty-somethings and smelling of Axe body spray, perfume and sweat. It was less than romantic. We danced close together. I felt his breath on my cheek and then his lips on my neck. I pulled him closer and kissed his mouth. He was delicious, a magical mixture of liquor and whatever spectacular ingredient makes Nate the man he is.

  Ruby, also pretty drunk now, squealed when she saw us. “Ew! I don’t want to see my cousin making out with my friend!”

  I laughed and Nate blushed. He lowered his mouth to my ear.

  “Come home with me.”

  “To our apartment?”

  “No. I don’t live there.”

  That’s right. He doesn’t live with me anymore.

  “I moved into a new place yesterday.” He kissed my cheek and repeated, “Come home with me.”

  We bolted out of there, hailed a cab and attacked one another in the back seat. The driver hummed along with his radio and ignored us. Drunken make-outs in the back of his car were probably pretty common.

  I pawed at his chest and kissed him passionately. (Nate, not the taxi driver.) Nate’s hands were all over me. His glasses started fogging up and I giggled like a hyena.

  Nate’s new apartment was on a sketchy street in Brooklyn, not far from the club. It was a basement bachelor apartment with metal bars on the one single window. It couldn’t have been more than 200 square feet. Cardboard boxes were piled high along one wall.

  He threw his keys down on a nearby table and scratched the back of his neck. “This is home. I haven’t finished unpacking yet.”

  The floor was brown carpet, with multiple stains. The walls were burnt orange and cracked from ceiling to floor. The bathroom, although I didn’t look inside, looked barely big enough for a toilet and a sink, let alone a shower. There was certainly no king-size luxury tub, like at my apartment.

  This is what minimum wage looks like. This is what I’m missing out on.

  Nate put his arms around me and kissed my neck. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

  I was frozen. The drunk part of me wanted to push Nate onto that twin size bed in the corner and make muskrat love. But the sober part of me was suddenly very aware of what my life could be like if I decided to change things.

  It was a strange feeling.

  “I can’t do this.”

  He looked down at me, eyebrows raised. “Is something wrong?”

  My tubes of alcohol were wearing off but Nate was still intoxicated.

  I didn’t want to tell him the truth, that I was scared to death of the possibility of having a normal, regular person’s life. I’d gotten so comfortable in my weird world that clean money just became this theoretical idea and not a physical item.

  Unless my luck doesn’t turn around soon. Then I’m going to have no other choice.

  “I feel nauseous.” I felt fine but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Nate got me a glass of water. We curled up in his tiny bed and watched some terrible kung fu movie on TV then fell asleep together like spoons.

  It was around ten when I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. I was just going to let it go to voice mail, but whoever was calling me kept hitting redial.

  Nate stumbled off the bed and handed it to me, looking like he was in hangover-induced agony. He groaned and put the pillow over his head.

  Caller ID let me know it was one of the many people I had no interest in talking to at the moment—Audrey Fox.

  I put the phone to my cheek. “What could you possibly want?”

  “I thought you should know Paul was shot last night.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I paced my apartment. Two hours had passed since Audrey called me to tell me Paul was shot. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead.

  “Don’t do anything stupid like go to the hospital,” she had said. “I’ll call you when I have more information.”

  Nate offered to make me breakfast but I got out of there as fast as my sparkle-covered flats could carry me.

  You know what’s fun? Not having sex but still having to do the walk of shame in a party dress on the subway the next morning.

  Not knowing Paul’s condition was horrible. I considered using a fake name (and a fake voice but that didn’t seem necessary after I thought about it) and calling the hospital to enquire but decided against it.

  Audrey finally contacted me after lunch. “Paul’s wife just called me from a pay phone. He’s out of surgery and resting now. They don’t know who shot him but they’re hoping to get something from him once he wakes up,” she said. “Don’t go
to the hospital.”

  “What is Deanne’s number? I’m going to call her—”

  “Do not call them. Are you stupid? The police will be watching their every move for a while. You will not call them and you will not go to the hospital, do you understand?”

  As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. It was too risky.

  Could it be the same person who tried to kill me in Oklahoma? Paul must have enemies. It might not be related to me at all.

  But what if it is?

  The thought was agonizing and it kept running around my head, over and over. Sitting around my apartment and staring at the walls wasn’t helping. I got changed and headed to the gym in the basement.

  I attacked the punching bag with every inch of energy I had, although my hangover held me back substantially. A terrible ache formed in my gut. I wanted to call Dad and tell him but didn’t want Audrey to get a busy signal. There was a chance Audrey had told him anyway.

  What if Paul dies because of my fuck-up?

  I pounded harder on the punching bag. My knuckles were starting to hurt within my thick gloves and my upper arms were burning.

  What happened in Oklahoma was not entirely my fault. I could’ve been in and out in minutes. Why would someone want to kill me? And who would know where I was at that exact moment?

  There was a possibility that it was, in fact, another burglar who was assigned the job and they just didn’t know what they were doing. It could have been a rival burglar who wanted to scare off a competitor for the job.

  No. They weren’t just trying to scare me off. That person wanted me dead. They were likely frustrated—furious, even. But why shoot Paul?

  What if they are trying to lure me to the hospital so they can try to shoot me again? I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman.

  I jogged back to my apartment, using the stairwell instead of the elevator.

  What, is there a bomb attached to the elevator now? Stop being an idiot. No one would go through that much effort. You’re not that interesting.

  After a quick look around in my apartment—all clear—I locked my front door and checked all the locks on my windows.

  The mystery gunman didn’t hit me with a bullet but he certainly hit me with fear and paranoia.

  My phone beeped and I jumped out of my skin. It was a text from Nate.

  Nate: Is everything all right? You seemed weird this morning.

  I hesitated. Telling him the truth might scare him off.

  Molly: Something happened to a co-worker, I’m just waiting to hear back. I’m sorry I had to run out this morning. That was not the plan originally, I swear.

  Nate: That’s OK. I get off work at 7. Can I come over after?

  Molly: Sure.

  * * *

  Nate showed up at my door with a six-pack of my favorite beer.

  “What a gentleman,” I said, closing the door behind him.

  “Not a problem.” He cracked one open for me and one for himself, storing the rest in the fridge.

  We sat in our usual spots on the sofa, enjoying a moment of comfortable silence.

  “So, what happened to your co-worker?” Nate said.

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” I wrinkled my nose. “How’s work?”

  “It’s fine.” He hesitated for a moment. “Someone at the restaurant has a friend who works at an office and he said they are looking for someone to fill a junior position right away…”

  I sipped my beer. “But what about the restaurant and your comic book stuff?”

  The corner of Nate’s mouth curled into a shy smile. “Not for me. For you.”

  I stared at him and did my best not to burst out laughing.

  You want me to take a shitty minimum wage job in some shitty office where I’d work with shitty people and, like, shitty staplers?

  “I have this apartment to pay for,” I tried to reason, “I can’t just go from what I make now to a minimum wage job. I just can’t. It’s not that simple.”

  Just as I was reaching over to put my beer on the coffee table, there was a loud thud from the hallway—probably someone slamming a door. I dropped the beer to the floor and it shattered, spraying foam and beer.

  “Whoa,” Nate said. “Are you alright?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah! I’m just klutzy.”

  “Your hands are shaking.”

  I held my hands tight in my lap to force the quivering to stop. “No, they’re not. I’m fine.”

  “Molly, are you alright?”

  I honestly don’t know.

  Nate helped me clean up the mess. We chatted a bit then he headed out. He was just about out the door when I stopped him.

  “Wait, Nate.” I sighed, hesitating and feeling like a coward. “Can you text me your friend’s number? I’d like to talk to him a little bit about the job.”

  Nate smiled. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight, kissing me on the cheek. “I’ll let him know you’re interested. Thanks for giving it a chance.”

  I closed the door behind him. I leaned my forehead against it and pounded it softly.

  Are you happy, Universe? You win.

  * * *

  “Hi there! You must be Meagan! I’m Brenda. So nice to meet you. Have you ever worked in an office environment before? Anything in customer service?”

  I stared blankly at the cheerful woman behind the desk. We were in a tight cubicle with three walls. The whole floor of this office building smelled like carpet. The tap-tip-tap of keyboards overpowered any other sound, even ringing phones and low chatter.

  More importantly, I was wearing a suit. A suit.

  Nate had suggested I wear one. I originally bought it for a funeral four years ago and had to brush the dust off the shoulders. It was a little tight around the upper arms but it was good enough for today.

  “It’s Molly,” I said quietly. “And no, I’ve never worked in an office before.”

  Brenda got that “Oh, shit, another newbie” look on her face but it quickly switched back to exaggerated friendliness.

  “Pardon me. It says Meagan on your form.” She frowned and jotted something on the paper. “Are you familiar with Microsoft Office?”

  No.

  “Of course.” I smiled wide.

  “Do you have any other skills that might be useful in an office environment?”

  No.

  “I’m a team player.” I swallowed.

  Fuckfuckfuckfuck. What else did that employment website say?

  “I’m also … motivated.” I nodded. “And I’m, um, a good listener and a good, um … communicator.” I swallowed again. My throat felt like sandpaper.

  I can also climb most buildings with relative ease, break into a safe and tell a real diamond from a fake one.

  “There’s no need to be nervous, Meagan. This isn’t an interview. I’m just figuring out how much training you will need.”

  I smiled weakly.

  “Now, you’ll be doing chat support on our website. When people have a problem with one of our many office supply products, they go to the chat box and speak directly with us.”

  Are you joking? That’s a job? My job?

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual.” Brenda counted on her fingers. “What should I do if my stapler is jammed? My hole punch broke before the warranty was up. Can I get a refund? What should I do if I accidentally eat an eraser? That sort of thing.” I opened my mouth to ask her if a lot of people eat erasers but she kept talking. “Once you’re here for a year or two, then we will likely consider you for a sales position.” She beamed. “I’m going to put you in a cubicle with Allie. She’s great. You’ll love her.”

  “Great,” I said, almost whispering.

  I followed Brenda to a cubicle on the far right. All the big windows were on the left. Instead of a view of the ugly building beside this one, I got a gray wall.

  Allie was typing at her computer with headphones on. She slid them off and gave me a once-
over before giving a little wave.

  “Hi. I’m Allie. Nice to meet you.”

  “I trust you can show Meagan the ropes?” Brenda scurried away before Allie could answer.

  I put my purse on the empty desk across from her. It was so cramped in this cubicle with two desks.

  Allie looked over her shoulder. “Did she give you any account info?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’ll need account info before logging in.” Allie put her headphones back on.

  I sat in my chair and turned on my computer. As expected, it asked for login info. I tapped Allie on the shoulder.

  “Uh … who do I talk to about getting—”

  “You’ll have to get that from Derek.” She turned back to her computer.

  I stared back at the computer screen. I felt like an idiot.

  I cleared my throat. “Who is Derek?”

  “The IT guy.”

  I walked back to Brenda’s desk.

  “Sorry to bother you. Allie told me I need to talk to Derek about getting login info for my computer…?”

  “Oh. He’s on vacation for a couple days. We’ll have an account set up for you when he gets back.” Brenda turned back to her computer and kept working.

  “Is there something I should be doing until then?” The words were barely above a mousey squeak.

  Brenda thought for a moment. “Do you know how to use a shredder?”

  I didn’t. Brenda showed me how, seeming less friendly with every passing moment.

  I stood in the supply room, shredding documents for the rest of the morning. After two hours of shredding, it was hypnotic. The sound of the machine chewing the paper fibers and spitting them out. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The soft crunch made by the shreds when I pushed them further down into the garbage to make room for more. Since I didn’t have to focus on the task at hand, my mind was free to wander to happier places. Family vacations with Mom, my sister and, occasionally, my dad. Joyriding in my car instead of attending geography class on a Friday during my senior year. Stealing a stupidly huge diamond necklace from a Connecticut mansion three years ago. I also thought about Paul in the hospital and how, if he died, I would never forgive myself.