Authors: EJ McBride
Mckenzie had always known that something wasn't quite right with Clara. They'd met when the pair of them were sleeping rough a couple of years back, and whilst he'd always felt safe, '
comfortable
' even in her presence, he knew that there was far more to her than most. She had the uncanny knack of knowing every thought that passed through his head, whether he uttered a word or not, whether it was good or bad. It wasn't one of those, '
between friends
' coincidences either. Clara could read him like a book. He'd tried to convince her to prove his theory once, to play the 'what number am I thinking of' game. When she refused, his angry, innermost private thoughts about her bad attitude reduced her to floods of tears. They hadn't spoken about it since, but Mckenzie had learnt that with Clara, it was best to assume that whatever you were thinking, she already knew about it. The safest thing to do was to try and keep your thoughts positive.
The pair glanced around them. Behind them stood a tall, 7-storey apartment building, the kind you could see in any street of any borough of New York, with fire escapes and air conditioning units climbing in formation up the walls. On the opposite side of the street, smaller 3-storey buildings with the bottom floors dedicated to small shops and family-run takeout restaurants. This was essentially Russia town, but even here you couldn't escape New York's multi-cultural attitude, with a Chinese deli, a mexican restaurant and a Starbucks all sharing a strip of retail space no longer than 75ft. The pair knew that this would be the place to spot a sucker, someone they could relieve of some money with minimal fuss or collateral damage. They played the waiting game.
'You know the problem with stopping smoking?', quizzed Clara, not expecting Mckenzie to offer up any kind of response. 'It makes you want to do
everything
else that's bad for your body. Shit you didn't even do that often when you smoked. I swear to God I've had to change my route back to my apartment to avoid the Dunkin' Donuts.'
'The one on 18th?'
Clara glared at the side of Mckenzies' face, unamused at his fairly useless response. 'Yes, that would be the one Sherlock', she snapped. 'Honestly, I'd be the size of an SUV if I went in there as often as I want to. And coffee, my God the coffee. Five minutes off of the nicotine and my body is craving any kind of drug, I swear I'm drinking coffee like it contains an elixir for ever-lasting youth or something.'
Mckenzie glanced across the 4 lanes of traffic at the Starbucks opposite, and by the time his eyes met with Clara she'd already responded to the question he hadn't even asked, at least not verbally.
'Yes please, I'd love one', she ordered, a wide smile across her face.
Mckenzie sighed, and used his elbows to lift himself off of the railings he'd been slouched on, his hands not coming out of his pockets even for a second. He paused as he waited for a couple of cars to pass him, then lifted his right foot to step out into the road, stopping dead in his tracks as a hand grabbed his left arm. Clara pulled him back on to the sidewalk.
'The bakery', she said, her eyes transfixed.
'Alright, on my way back', replied McKenzie.
'No asshole', she snapped, nodding vigorously away from her.
On the opposite side of the street stood a small bakery, one single door leading into a sales room no bigger than the average person's kitchen. There were two counters, each one half full of bread and cakes; it had clearly been a good morning of business for the place. Outside stood an old lady, clearly of Russian descent, her face aged in a way that made it tough to pinpoint exactly how old she was. She wore a long, nondescript beige coat and ushanka hat, although minus the ear covers. Despite her age, she appeared to be pretty mobile, but was clearly struggling with too many bags of groceries. She was gripping one in her right hand, whilst another balanced between her chest and her left arm, while a third was tearing away, the contents slowly tipping down toward the ground, a morning's food shopping about to smack into the pavement. Without speaking, the pair quickly bolted across the street in the direction of the old lady.
'Here', bellowed Mckenzie at the woman, 'let me get that for you'. He grabbed hold of the paper bag, just seconds before the contents would have emptied out onto the sidewalk. He cradled her groceries in his arms like a young child, almost hugging them, and looked at Clara. Clara turned to face the old woman, holding eye contact with her for a couple of silent seconds. 'Where to?', she asked?
'Oh bless you both', replied the lady. 'I was sure I'd be able to carry them but they were just too much. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?'
'Of course not', replied Clara. 'This way?' She pointed up the street in front of the woman. 'Of course it was this way', thought McKenzie.
'Just a couple of blocks, I promise it's not far', insisted the lady. 'Bless you both.'
The trio walked, Clara and Mckenzie being sure to keep the lady engrossed in conversation the entire time. They talked about how they weren't from around here, that they were in town on their honeymoon and had gotten married in Chicago the weekend before. They told her that they'd always wanted to see New York, and that he had family who lived out here so it just made perfect sense for them to visit before his career took off and she would focus on raising their family. It was all nonsense of course, but they needed a good cover story, something that painted them as the sweet and thoughtful couple long enough for Clara to be able to slip her hand inside the woman's bag and remove the $87 she had in her purse, which she did with startling efficiency. When they arrived at her building, even walking up to her apartment and dropping the groceries off on her kitchen counter for her, the old lady couldn't have been more grateful.
'Bless you both', she beamed, reaching into her bag and removing her purse. 'Here, I feel as though I ought to give you...'
Clara reached out and gently gripped the purse, still in the lady's hand, clasping it shut again.
'Please', Clara pleaded. 'We couldn't possibly. Besides, you remind me so much of my Grandmother.' She stared into the old lady's eyes for a moment, pausing, thinking, before trying another approach. 'I'd be insulted if you offered me money.'
'Oh', said the old lady in a defeated tone. She stared a moment longer into Clara's eyes, before looking back down at her purse, removing it from Clara's hand, and placing it gently back into her bag. 'Then at least take some of these', she said as she reached into one of the grocery bags and pulled out a box of Dunkin' Donuts, handing them to Clara. 'I don't know why I buy the damn things, I never eat them all.'
Clara took the box as Mckenzie let out a quiet chuckle, Clara fully aware of the irony. Still, anything to keep the old woman out of her purse long enough for them to leave, something they needed to do quickly before she got much of a better look at them and realised they'd just robbed her.
'Thank you', Clara responded. 'We'll let ourselves out.' And with that, the pair left, hearing the old lady close her apartment door behind them. They exited onto the street, and moved quickly in the direction they'd just arrived, back toward Neptune Avenue.
The next few hours seemed to drag. Clara had long felt that her luck generally came in waves, rather than random pockets of good fortune here and there. If she had a decent score in the morning, that luck would usually carry her through to lunchtime and the afternoon, and on a good day it wasn't unheard of for her to pocket anything up to $1000. Then there were the days where, try as she might, nothing seemed to come together, and she would leave at the end of the day with the same amount that she started with; zero. Clara called it luck, but she suspected there may have been an element of confidence in there too. A decent pocket in the morning got the adrenaline going and made her more alert for the rest of the day. It had been the same ever since she was a kid, always with her parents wrapped around her finger, always better than her brother at the childish games they'd play.
The rest of this particular day should therefore have been a breeze for her, but for whatever reason, nothing happened, and Clara and Mckenzie spent hours standing around, chatting what could only really be described as shit and keeping a close eye on everyone who walked past. It was vital that Clara pick out a target properly; neither of them were skilled in any form of combat, and they hated running. Besides, running was for bank robbers. They didn't consider themselves robbers, because robbers point guns in people's faces and demand their money. They were opportunists. In fact, Clara's insistence on picking targets who were in need of help meant that they would often lend a helping hand in the process. It was karma balancing out the universe as far as Clara was concerned.
'You see anything?', quizzed Mckenzie.
Clara paused, as if giving their next target a couple of extra seconds to present themselves, before sighing a defeated sigh.
'No. I'm going home.'
Clara pushed Mckenzie gently with a playful prod, knocking him slightly off his balance and grinning as she did it. Mckenzie tutted and sighed as he staggered over to one side, regaining his balance quickly but making the most of the opportunity to appear annoyed. He knew this was about as close to affection as he ever got with Clara, so he let her childish actions slide. He watched as Clara began walking up the street, and noticed her stop sharply, her eyes transfixed across the street.
He followed her line of sight over to a pristine Range Rover Sport, a blindingly bright cherry red colour and kitted out with all of the additional luxuries that an elite few Range Rover owners could afford. The hood of the car was up, steam billowing from the front, while it's owner was leant up against the front wing, clearly distressed and flicking through her phone. She looked young; her designer jeans, top and boots giving the impression that she could have been a high-powered business woman in her early thirties, but with a face that clearly put her in the early-twenties, maybe even late-teens. She was a brunette with dark hair sitting just below her shoulder blades, a snow white pale complexion, and she wore a disappointingly large amount of makeup considering how naturally beautiful she was. Her eyes were puffy, as if she'd been crying, though her face wore the hallmark characteristics of anger rather than sadness.
Mckenzie switched his attention back to Clara, who by this point hadn't even waited to get Mckenzie's seal of approval, and was carefully navigating the traffic, moving in the direction of the girl.
'Car trouble huh?', Clara asked, even though she knew it was more of a statement than a question.
'What?', asked the girl in a delicate, sheepish tone, taking her gaze away from her cellphone.
'Your car', said Clara, pointing at the Range Rover. 'Looks like you're having a bit of trouble. My boyfriend's a mechanic, he could probably help you out.' Mckenzie arrived, almost right on cue.
'Isn't that right baby?'. Clara stared at Mckenzie, holding his gaze. Although her abilities were limited to seeing what other people were thinking and not influencing their thoughts, she possessed that natural female ability to tell a thousand stories with just one facial look.
'Uh, oh... Yeah, absolutely', said Mckenzie, so unconvincingly even he wasn't sure if he believed his own lie. He walked to the hood of the vehicle and tilted his head in for a closer look. 'This where you seem to be uh, having the problems?' he asked, pointing directly into the cloud of steam that was by now gushing from the enormous engine block.
'Uh, yeah' replied the girl, doing her best to not sound sarcastic in her response. 'Look, I really appreciate you guys coming to help but I've just got off the phone with roadside recovery and they told me to...'
Clara interrupted. 'How long did they say they would be?'
'Erm, like an hour or something. She said they didn't have any trucks in the area. It's bullshit, I don't even care about the money, I just don't wanna be standing around outside all night.'
'It's cool, Dan will help you, won't you Dan?!' Clara nodded in the direction of Mckenzie, who knew from previous experience that this was his cue to respond. Clara had learnt to use fake names at all times, and the more generic the better. Dan is good, so's Tom or Steve. Never over-complicate by moving away from the one syllable rule. People remember the weird names far better than the short and common ones. A 'Dan', especially one that's uttered quickly can very easily jumble itself up in a victim's head and become a 'Bob' or a 'Paul' by the time the cops arrive to take a statement.
'Oh uh, yeah, absolutely. Yeah man, shit, these Range Rovers. Man, if I had a dollar for every Range Rover that came into the shop broken, ya know...'
The two girls, grouped by the passenger side door, stared unimpressed at the rambling Mckenzie, who quickly took the hint and put his head back into the hood.
'Hey uh, baby. Are you able to work out what's wrong with her car? You sure you don't need her to come to the front and have a look at anything with you?' quizzed Clara, trying her hardest not to flash Mckenzie the 'know what I mean?' look.
'Oh yeah, no doubt. Yeah hey sweetheart, could you uh, come and help me? I need to move a couple bits and I don't want to touch anything on the car without you seeing what I'm doing.'
'Really?', asked the girl, her face the epitome of unwilling. 'I don't want to get oil anywhere. This sweater cost 100 bucks.'
'You won't, I promise, I just need you to see what I'm doing.'
The girl turned and for a brief second, made eye contact with Clara. 'Shit, she doesn't know whether we're trustworthy or not' was the message Clara received loud and clear.
'Look hun', Clara began. 'We're willing to help you, but you've got to cooperate. We're running late and really need to pick our twins up from the daycare centre. We were on our way over when we stopped to help you.' She waited for the girl to look back at her, pausing for that second of eye contact. When she finally did, Clara got the confirmation she needed; the 'They must be trustworthy if they're parents' trick had worked a charm.