Page 12 of Redd

Pulling a pack of smokes from the inside of his jacket, the man called Dom rested a cigarette between his lips. “Alright, I'm done, I get it. He's got a meeting in Boston tomorrow, so we're going for the night, that's the plan?”

“That's the plan. He hasn't left to go on business since he took it, we can't fuck this up. But, I need you to use your fucking head tonight. He's got strict rules and I'm not going to let you get us killed. We're there to keep an eye on things, no touching. It's an easy ten thousand apiece if we just follow orders.”

I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but I couldn't help it. These men were talking my language, it was like they were whispering sweet easy cash into my hands.

I was a thief. How could I not listen in?

Used to be a thief. You promised no more, you don't have to. Everything is good now.

I had made a promise to myself. But that promise over the years had morphed into an obsession. Every time I stole, I made the next challenge harder. It became a game to me, to see if I could get in and out of a place that was deemed impenetrable.

And my confidence opened up doors to not only stealing for myself, but for others. I'd accept any challenge, for the right price.

The first time, I felt bad, I really did. But I didn't have a choice, times were rough and we needed the money. I was sixteen, and my family was on the verge of being homeless. Having barely enough to get by, I wouldn't allow us to have absolutely nothing.

And each time I did it, it got easier and easier.

I started small, breaking into a convenience store a block over from my home. I didn't get much, a couple hundred dollars and a pocket full of change. But it put food on the table, it paid the electric for another month.

But I still felt horrible about what I had done. I just didn't have a choice, my family was in need. And it wasn't like my father was doing much to help. All he cared about was getting drunk. So I stepped up, I did what he couldn't do.

Thanks Dad. . . Fucking asshole.

The only thing I refused to touch was someone else's house. Doing that was out of the question, I refused to steal from the home of another.

I couldn't take from one and give to myself.

It didn't feel right.

Then my luck changed, I met a man in a bar not much different from this one. I wasn't even old enough to drink, but that shit didn't matter. I guess word had gotten around on the streets about my'talent'.

The man gave me an opportunity, he offered me a lot of fucking cash to steal something for him. It was the deal of a lifetime.

I got to do what I did best. No more trying to sell what I took, risking getting caught in the process. The entire thing was easy as fuck. I did the job, got him what he asked for, and left with cash in my pocket.

Before I knew it, my phone was blowing up with guys who were looking for assistance from me.

I had found the perfect storm.

You're done Redd, you promised.

I was supposed to be retired from the business, but now, temptation was calling me. It was either that or pure ego. An ego that wanted to keep taking, an ego that would whisper taunting words and egg me on.

What could one more hurt?

One last lift, one last score to top them all.

This last one could be for me. Not a portion of what someone else would get.

No one knew me here, no one would suspect it was the lone man at the bar. And it would be the easiest lift I'd ever done. I wasn't going into some rigged up jewelry store, loaded with bells and whistles.

It was a house.You said no to houses.

But they look like thieves themselves in a way.It's still someone's home.

It doesn't sound like the owner holds legal rights to it anyway.Does that matter?

My conscience was fighting with itself, the good and the bad battling a rule I had set up ages ago.

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