Path of Thieves

by Sunniva Dee

  “Shush, Cugs. Keep it down.”

  “Have we started already?”

  “Yes, see this?” He holds up a bag made of fabric. It has a rope at the top and reminds me of cartoon thieves like the Beagle Boys.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going to put all of it in here. Then we take it with us.”

  “What are we doing with it after?” I think of Mom and Paislee. They would probably love gold and diamonds, but by the sharp words Dad uses, I don’t think he’ll want to hand them any treasures.

  I haven’t spoken with them in so long, not since Dad and I moved to Florida. At first because we didn’t have a phone. Then because Dad says they sleep when we’re awake, and they’re only awake when we sleep.

  “You ask too many questions. Let’s get on with this. Find the treasures, leave, and head back home.”

  “Home to Paislee and Mom?” I squeeze my lips together because of course he means Newbark.

  “Cugs! You need to stop.”

  I don’t think Dad wants to play a game after all, because games are fun. People get giddy, clap their hands, and like to play them. Dad only wants this game to be over. I’m not so eager to play now.

  In Rigita, I got to choose what to do on my birthday. I think that maybe I will here too. “I don’t want to find treasures. Let’s go home,” I say, but Dad fixes his eyes on me.

  “Enough whining. Come here.” He grabs me by the wrist, and I yelp as he jerks me inside. Quickly, so quickly, he spins and covers my mouth. “Okay. This isn’t a game anymore. It’s survival. Do you understand? You cannot be discovered. I cannot be discovered. If I am, I’ll be put in prison, and I won’t be around to take care of you. And that’s what I’m trying to do right now—take care of you. Remember the job I had?”

  On the phone? I mouth, too scared to speak out loud.

  “Yes, the phone sales. I don’t have that job anymore. This will put food on the table and pay our bills now.”

  “To be a thief?”

  “No. I’m Robin Hood. I steal from the rich and give the money to the poor. Us. We’re poor.” He sighs, and there’s fear in his sigh. It makes me even more scared, so I begin to cry. I wish we never left Rigita.

  “I can’t have you weeping. Aren’t you going to help put food on the table?”

  Am I? I don’t know. Dad said he wanted to take care of me. Maybe I’ll have to take care of him in return?

  “You’re almost a man. All men have responsibilities. Yours will be to walk ahead of me as quietly as you can. Look at your costume.”

  I let my gaze trail over my black ninja outfit. It’s my birthday gift from Dad. He yanks the mask that came with it from a pocket and pulls it over my head. “Now, you’ll be as silent as a ninja. The costume will help you, okay?”

  “Okay…”

  “And because it’s black and we won’t turn on any lights—”

  “No lights?”

  Anger flares in his eyes again, so I nod, showing him that I get it.

  “No lights. Because it’ll be dark, no one will see you. Your ninja costume will keep you camouflaged on your way around the house.” He lowers to me, face level with mine. Then he steadies my head with his hands. I don’t feel okay, but it’s just Dad and me now. I suppress a hiccough.

  “We have to stick together,” he whispers.

  I understand. My lip still trembles.

  “Here, a flashlight.” It’s small and cold when he presses it into my hand. I almost drop it, which sets off a nervous growl from Dad.

  “You’re going upstairs first. There should be no one home, but check the beds in every bedroom. If you see someone, come all the way out and flash the light at me from the top of the stairs. If the coast is clear, whistle, and I’ll be right up. Then we’ll search for gold together. All right?”

  “All right,” I manage.

  I don’t mean it.

  That first time wasn’t so bad. It was just a loss of innocence and belief in my father. Tonight, illusions are shaky as I head to a faceless job robbing house number god-knows-what.

  Darkness takes over and swallows the sun. It frees an untrustworthy, half-cocked moon as we enter the tail end of Magnolia Avenue. We drive slowly, my father studying every darkened estate with a power gate.

  I’m grateful on nights like tonight when we don’t hit the middle-class neighborhoods. We might be lower-class ourselves, but I don’t believe those people have money and things to spare.

  More often than not, I’m unsure of what factor decides where we go. My father, he’s not always Robin Hood. Sometimes he’s simply a crook and a thief, enriching himself at anyone’s expense.

  “Grab your tools, boy. We’ll start here.”

  The house reminds me of a small palace. It’s situated at the midst of a park filled with white statues that look like Roman gods. The windows are dark, but a house isn’t necessarily empty just because the front appears uninhabited. We’ve run into back rooms with people having drinks before, and once we even happened upon a pool party.

  “See the light to the left?” I’m procrastinating.

  “Yes. The rich do that, leave lights on in strategic places to fool us. They don’t need to save electricity.” He points. “The kitchen and main living areas are at the center of the building, and they’re all dark, like the bedrooms right above. This baby has new owners. Their guard is down. They feel safe behind their big fence. Trust me, they’re not home.”

  I’ve heard his spiel before.

  I cut cables to surveillance cameras, climb the fence, open the side door for my dad. It’s too smooth, too easy. I resent how good I am at this.

  As we run to the main entrance, I think of football. I’d like people to say about my future self, “Oh, Cugs McConnely? Damn good job he did for the Fortuna Caimans before he went to... which great team snatched him up again?”

  A grand foyer looms in front of us, a floor-to-ceiling mirror displaying our silhouettes as we glide past. I ascend the stairs, heart palpitating with misgivings, my father waiting for my whistle at the bottom.

  The upstairs is vast, wings of bedrooms stretching in two directions. I pull the black bandana over my mouth and nose, then I start at the bottom of the first corridor and peek into each room on both sides.

  I enter the second wing. Every room here is a different color. I let my flashlight search each space but stay clear of the windows in case the owners use a home security company that does drive-bys.

  Fourteen goddamn rooms checked. There are two more at the bottom, but they’re probably empty guestrooms. I move freer when I return to the gallery and duck out over the banister, whistling to my father.

  “Any offices up there?”

  “No, just bedrooms and bathrooms.”

  “There’s a library downstairs. There could be an office behind it, but let’s swipe the bedrooms first.” Dad touches the handgun on his hip. “For security,” he told me when he first bought it off Toeffel a few years ago. The price was, I quote: “a steal.”

  They have iPhones, iPads, and a MacBook in this house. “How strange that they leave their phones behind,” I say.

  “No, not so strange. These people have several of them each. That’s how rich they are.”

  “Sounds complicated.” I unplug a third something with an apple on it and coil the cable before I deposit both parts in Dad’s sack. “That means they need several phone numbers. When do they know which phone to bring?”

  “Not so complicated. I bet they have deals with the phone company.” Dad shuts a door before moving on to the next. “They can probably use the same phone number for as many phones as they want.”

  “No way,” I say as we walk back to the stairs.

  “Uh-huh, pretty sure that’s how it works. I wonder what’s in their fridge. Maybe some left-over duck?”

 
We’re close to leaving this place unscathed. Only to be on our way to the next place. “How many pieces so far?” My question comes in a sigh.

  “Five. No, six.”

  “This is crazy. We hit a goldmine here, but not everyone on this street is going to have Apple stuff.”

  “Oh no, there’s a reason why we’re in this neighborhood. People like to cluster together, and half a dozen computer execs live within a mile’s radius here.”

  He turns to give me the thumbs-up. “It’s like stealing lollipops from a kid.”

  “Dad, please.”

  “Let’s split up.” He doesn’t acknowledge my reply. “You take the south wing, and I’ll head down to the library and the living rooms. Meet up in the kitchen afterward.”

  In a year, I’ll graduate from high school. Can I hang on that long? What other choice do I have?

  I start at the bottom of the south wing. I don’t muffle the creak of my shoes, and I’m not careful when I open the far-end door. It’s just me and my weekend routine from hell until I stare into round, terrified eyes.

  It’s another birthday. I didn’t get a cake before the shopping this year. I’m in a house I’ve never been in before and would rather be anywhere else.

  “Can we have cake after?” My voice quivers even though he always brings me to work and I should be used to it. “I could have waited at home.”

  “You think I’ll leave you home alone, son? That’d be against the law.”

  “But I’m not afraid of the dark.”

  “Really? Take a look at yourself in that mirror. You’re shaking.”

  “No...”

  “Yes, you are.”

  I look. He’s right. “Because we’re thieves and shouldn’t be here.”

  “Cugs, listen to me. You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  I think that maybe I am. “Yes.”

  “Then act like one.”

  There are streetlights outside. Cars pass by, illuminating the windows, and my father is jumpy. I don’t have oxygen in my lungs, so I inhale deeply one time, two times, and then suddenly I’m panting with fear.

  “Run upstairs,” he says. “Grab all the jewelry you can find. Don’t forget, the master suite is the room with the biggest bed. That’s where the treasures are.”

  My back feels cold as I hurry up the stairs. Maybe I have the eyes of an unfriendly ghost on me, the former owner, the grandfather of the girl who probably lives here now. He wants to make sure I don’t steal anything.

  My heart becomes a train. It chugs hard, and I speed up, my feet making slapping sounds against the floor. There are four doors. I open the first, finding a room full of porcelain dolls and teddy-bear wallpaper. It looks sweet, safe, cozy—I wish it were mine. I’d have tossed the dolls out. I shut the door. My neck has goosebumps from the ghost.

  The bathroom is empty, except for someone’s shadow in the mirror. I slam that door shut too, fingers cold when I open the next.

  I think that I’m not a man, just a scared boy, when a person appears on the doorstep. She’s as short as me and has brown hair around her face. Her eyes are huge with surprise, and they have the same color as her hair. The girl mirrors me, hands cupping her cheeks. Her mouth is open, full of teeth that look like pearls.

  “You’re not here!” I hiss, dropping my own hands.

  “You’re a boy! I don’t know you?” She hisses too. “My grandpa hasn’t said anything about other visitors, and he knows I hate boys. Who are you? Uncle Mike’s kid with that lady from the Philippines? Are you George? Are you eight too?” Her question ends on a cough.

  “Shh,” I say because she isn’t whispering anymore. “You can’t let my dad hear you.” I want to tell her he’s got a knife, but besides being a boy-hater, she seems all right and I shouldn’t scare her.

  “Uncle Mike’s here too?” She sucks in a raspy breath. “You know, your father’s not that nice. Once he was drunk, and he threw an air-a-loom at the wall and it fell until it broke.”

  I walk into the room and pull her with me. Then I close the door quietly so Dad doesn’t notice. “Do you sleep with an open window? Because that’ll give you a cold.”

  “No. Are you or are you not George?”

  “I’m Cugs,” I say, and suddenly I’ve broken Dad’s number one rule. I’m not supposed to reveal my name unless it’s the police and I can’t hold back anymore.

  “Cugs who?” The girl has fine eyebrows that lower in an almost-frown. Thin arms fold over a bunch of flowers on her chest.

  “You’re in your pajamas.” I smirk.

  She rushes to a chair, snatches a robe from it, and loops her arms into the sleeves.

  “So? It’s super-late, like, past eleven.”

  “It’s two in the morning,” I inform her proudly.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re dressed like some sort of superhero, which is super-stupid anyway. Unless you are one, and I bet you’re not. Cugs, the boy.” She whines the last part out like I’m anchovy-flavored ice cream. “Wait, two in the morning? Where’s my grandpa?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone else here. Is he asleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s his bedroom?”

  “On the other side of the bathroom. You know where the bathroom is?”

  “Does he have a car?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Because there’s no car outside.”

  She’s scared. Really scared. She didn’t look that scared when she saw me in the doorway a minute ago. “My gramps never leaves me alone when I’m visiting. Maybe he got sick again in the heart. What if he’s at the hospital now?”

  I don’t know what to say. How can the son of a thief help the granddaughter of a sick old man?

  “What’s your name?” I ask, because what else is there? Her grandfather could be dying somewhere.

  “I’m Nadine Marielle Paganelli. What’s yours?”

  I can’t tell her I’m a McConnely. I give her the name I wish I’d shared with Paislee and my mother. “Cain. My name is Charles George Cain.”

  “Ah so you are George.”

  “No, my father’s name isn’t Mike, and I’m pretty sure we’re not related.”

  Her face changes, the interest in my story slipping. “We need to check his bedroom. Maybe he parked over at Mr. Winter’s house? Oh my god, I hope, I hope.”

  I shouldn’t get involved. I need to think about us, tell my father that I’ve been discovered so we can get out of here. I know I should.

  We tiptoe out of Nadine’s room and cross the hallway. When my father calls for me, I lift my finger in a hush and tell Dad I’ll be downstairs in a minute.

  I follow Nadine to her grandfather’s bedroom. I already know that no one is in there. Her eyes fill with tears when she sees it too, and her lips start to tremble.

  “What can we do?” she asks.

  “Do you have a phone?” I shouldn’t have asked that. What if it’s already in our sack?

  “Yes, in my room.”

  “Oh good. Who do you live with when you’re not here?”

  “My mom and dad.” A flash of realization crosses her features. “Duh, I have to call Mom!”

  “Yeah, do that,” I say. “I need to go now. You’ll be all right?”

  “No! Don’t go. I don’t want to be here alone. What if he comes home sick?”

  What?

  “But you want him to come home...”

  “Cugs.” My dad’s voice is closer. His footsteps are hollow against the wood as he climbs the stairway.

  “Coming. There’s nothing up here, Dad. Let’s go.”

  “Nothing?” Nadine is teary-eyed, but I’m frantic; we’ve never been discovered before. What will Dad do if he sees her?

  “You have to stay until Mom comes. Please? Can you pretty please? Your dad can stay
too. I don’t know where my grandpa is.” Her voice stutters.

  “Nadine!” I grab her hands and squeeze them. “My father is a thief. We’re here to steal stuff, and if Dad realizes that I’ve been discovered, it’s not going to be pretty. I need to leave now. My dad’s on his way up, and he’s not like your dad or your grandpa. My dad has a knife.”

  There. I said it. I don’t like how her fear changes. She was afraid for her grandfather. Now she looks scared of me.

  “Go.” I nudge her back into her room. I shut the door, but I can’t escape her sob.

  I meet my father at the top of the stairs, and I say, “An old man lives here. That’s why there’s no jewelry anywhere.”

  It’s been nine years since the last time I was caught. But here I am staring into wide eyes again. It’s the craziest thing—such a wild, wild flashback to when I stood exactly like this on the threshold of Nadine’s bedroom.

  These eyes are as round as Nadine’s back then, and brown locks frame these features too. I don’t know what to say, so I open my hands, palms up, in an I’m so sorry.

  “Are you robbing my house?” she whispers. My heart does a flip.

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you after?” Her throat is long, and it bobs in the middle where she swallows her panic. I hate how it makes me feel.

  “Apple products.”

  “Are… you going to hurt me?” Her fingers are as white as her neck. Suddenly, I can’t stand trembling girl hands. I want them calm and unafraid if they’re to cover her mouth the way they do now.

  On instinct, I pull my bandana down and leave it crinkled around my neck. “No, I’d never hurt anyone.” I let my eyes flick toward the stairs.

  “There are more of you, huh?” She’s still not raising her voice. Backing into her room, she fumbles behind her and finds a blanket to throw over her nightgown.

  My déjà vu is so big. This girl is older, wiser, but the color of her irises I’ve seen before, and they match the hair folding around her cheeks.

  “Yes, it’s me and my—”

  “Father?”

  I suck in a breath, arms heavy at my sides. “Yes, my father. I never meant to scare you, Nadine. Not once, and definitely not again.”