Crime Pays

If she had to call someone, Elodie would not have been her first choice.

But God, oh God, what else could she do? In the world of modern technology, she had no one’s phone number memorized. No one except Elodie. And there was an unconscious man lying at her feet and what appeared to be twenty thousand dollars in her hands—God oh God—so someone had to be called.

She nearly dislocated a shoulder trying to wrench open the door to the phone booth, but eventually it gave way with an ear-popping shriek of metal. Her breath came faster and faster as she forced her way in and hopelessly appraised the rusted behemoth. The odds that it still worked were slim. It was a huge stroke of luck that there was a pay phone near her. That a pay phone still existed at all.

I’ve earned it, she thought fiercely, the only piece of good luck I’ve had all evening.

This reminded her of the man lying facedown in the alley outside the booth, and the gravity of the situation hit her once more.

She locked her jaw and faced the pay phone again, but hesitated almost immediately at the mess of buttons and slots and cords. What to do, she wondered frantically, how does it work? She knew the basic idea, that you had to insert some money and then dial the number you wanted. For a brief, hysterical moment, she considered trying to insert one of the thousand dollar bills crumpled in her hand.

A thousand dollars. On a single bill.

God oh God oh God

She crouched down in the booth, cradling her spinning head in her hands—and it was there that a flash of metal on the floor caught her eye. Two forgotten quarters, nestled innocently in a pile of grime. Gasping with relief, she snatched them up, trying not to think about what she was touching, and lurched to her feet again. Pushed them into what she prayed was the proper slot. Punched in the familiar number with trembling hands.

“Hello?”

“Elodie,” she gasped, and then stupidly blurted out, “God, oh God, Elodie, I know this is going to sound bad but I swear to God, he attacked me first!”

There was a prolonged silence.

“Padon?” Elodie finally answered.

“Yes, it’s Padon, who else would call you this late? Listen to me, please, something insane just happened, I think I’m in huge trouble.”

“Padon, is that you? Your reception is terrible. What is that horrible buzzing noise?”

“I’m calling from a pay phone, that’s not the point—”

“A pay phone?” Elodie sounded interested for the first time. “I didn’t know there were still any of those around. How old is it? Can you tell?”

“Elodie, that’s not the point! Didn’t you hear me earlier?”

“Yes, Padon, I did,” Elodie said flatly. “And I know it will do you no good to tell you this, but starting your conversations with 'he attacked me first' is generally off-putting. Most people prefer to start with the classics. Hello? How are you?”

“First of all, I just want to point out that we have known each other far too long,” Padon snapped. “And second, this is serious—”

“What is it now?” Elodie sounded impatient. “Did you get in another Twitter battle with a misogynist?”

“No—”

“I told you not to follow that account online. All they do is post comments from men trying to tell women how to lift weights properly and it will only make you frustrated.”

“No!”

“Did your brother try to make another passive-aggressive comment about how your life will go nowhere if you go to grad school?”

“No, Elodie!” This was precisely why Elodie was the last person she would have chosen to call.

“Then what?” Elodie asked with exaggerated patience. “What happened, Padon?”

Padon took a deep breath.

“I knocked out a man who tried to mug me and he’s lying unconscious in the alley outside with twenty thousand dollars.”

Silence. Only the buzzing of the phone line.

“The money is probably stolen,” Padon added as an afterthought.

“Where are you?” Elodie asked.

“I’m in the alley between the salon and the new hipster bar. 16th Street.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What do you mean, you’re on your way?” Padon half-shrieked. “Elodie, what do I do? Should I call the police?”

Elodie sounded thoughtful. “Not yet.”

“But what if he wakes up?”

“Well, it sounds like you had a pretty good handle on him the first time around. Just stay there, I’m getting a cab.”

Elodie hung up, laughing.

* * *

Exactly 27 minutes later, Elodie whistled through her teeth. “Wow.”

“I know,” Padon groaned. “I couldn’t help it, Elodie, God, oh, God—”

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, please,” Elodie directed sternly without looking up from where she knelt, examining the nasty bruise blossoming across the man’s face. Elodie’s mother was staunchly Catholic.

“Oh, I’m not,” Padon said dryly. “This is a direct address to him. We need help. We need intervention.”

“Do we? You seem to be doing just fine on your own. Man, Padon, look at the shiner on this guy.”

“I know, I panicked! I was leaving after my shift and he just came out of nowhere and tried to take my paycheck!” Despite everything, Padon’s indignation flared. She worked seven hours a day at the salon, sweeping up hair and dealing with shrill middle-aged women who didn’t want to pay full price for their frosted tips, only to go home and face endless lectures from her family about how she could be putting all that money to better use. Padon had scraped and saved, pinched every penny of each paycheck, fixing her eyes on the hope of grad school, which she had never been able to afford. So when some middle-aged white thug in a hoodie had tried to pounce on her when she emerged on aching feet after work, tried to take away what was rightfully hers—the fury had been there already, just looking for an outlet. And she hadn’t thought twice before swinging her infamous right hook.

“Well,” Elodie said at last, pushing herself to her feet, “I guess he had it coming. You won’t get in trouble, Padon. Self-defense.”

“But what do we do?” Padon said desperately. “We have to call the police, right? At least to report all this money.” She looked down at the little black leather-bound book in her hands. The robber had been gripping it when he fell. She wouldn’t have given it a second thought, still full of adrenaline and indignation and horror at what she had done, if she hadn’t spotted one of the bills poking out between the pages.

One of the many, many, many bills.

“You could keep it.”

Elodie’s voice was low, but Padon’s head snapped up immediately.

“What did you say?”

Elodie turned, her eyes defiant. “I said you could keep it, Padon! You could keep the money.”

“No, I can’t!” Padon cried. “Are you out of your mind?”

But Elodie was on a roll now, swept up in the sudden brilliance of her own idea. “Look. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. The police show up, and we just sort of...don’t mention it! Maybe you found the guy empty-handed. Maybe that’s why he attacked you!” She grabbed Padon’s shoulders, her face alight. “Grad school, Padon! You could go, you could live your dream. You would never have to endure another lecture from your family about practicality. Just think about it!”

Padon was thinking about it. And in fact, she had been thinking about it in the back of her mind from the moment she picked up the little black book.

She shook her head, one quick jerk. “No. No! We can’t, Elodie. That would be so wrong. This money belongs to people somewhere.”

“Those people are never going to get it back, Padon, come on! Look at it, it’s all cash. The police have no way to trace this back to whoever lost it.”

“Well, what about him, then? If he comes to and finds all the money gone, he’s going to tell and they’ll know that I stole it!”

Elodie snorted. “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “The guy already being arrested for assault is going to openly admit to the police that they should be adding major theft to the list. If anything, you’d be doing him a favor by taking it off his hands.”

Padon hesitated. Then she shook her head again.

“No,” she said firmly. She held out her hand for Elodie’s cell phone, and Elodie reluctantly surrendered it. Padon dialed 911. “No, we cannot keep it. It’s wrong to even consider it. I can deal with a few more lectures. I want to go to grad school because I’ve earned it!”

“Padon,” Elodie said, seizing her hand. Padon stopped and looked at her friend, whose eyes were serious in the light of the streetlamp. “You have earned it five times over by now.”

Padon bit her lip.

But she pressed the call button.

Exactly ten minutes later, a police car rolled into the alley, lights flashing. A middle-aged officer pulled himself out of the car and ambled over to look down at the criminal’s prone form.

“All right, ladies,” he drawled, “what happened here? Who got him for you?”

Elodie and Padon exchanged affronted glances.

“No one,” Padon said slowly after a long pause. “I got him myself. I mean, he assaulted me, and I hit him back and knocked him out.”

The officer snorted, looking her up and down. “Sure, sweetheart. If that’s what you want the record to show.” He patted her shoulder kindly before squatting down to examine the man. “I’m thankful you got lucky.”

Padon stiffened.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?” he called over his shoulder, checking out the bruise in greater detail.

“I was leaving work,” Padon told him. “He tried to take my paycheck.”

“Huh,” the officer grunted. “That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Elodie asked, her tone sharp.

“It’s just strange that someone like this would go after someone like you,” he said absentmindedly to Padon. “Just some haircut girl leaving her work. Nothing special, probably doesn’t have much. Doesn’t fit the demographic, that’s all. Usually that would be better for you, to not be a big shot, less chance of you being targeted. Didn’t work out that way tonight, I guess.”

He stood up and spotted the black notebook Padon was clutching. “What’s that?”

Padon stared at him for several seconds.

Then she tucked the edges of the bills into the pages with her fingertips and lifted it up, smiling.

“It’s my notebook,” she told him. “I’m going to be a writer.”

He grunted and looked away without a second thought. Elodie stared at Padon with wide eyes. Padon ignored her.

“Well, I’ll get him in the back of the car and write up an accident report,” the officer sighed, pulling out a small black book of his own and flipping to a blank page. “You might have to come down to the station tomorrow to answer some questions. You’re not in any trouble though, sweetheart, don’t worry about that. You can just go back to your life and your salon and forget all this happened.”

“Thank you,” Padon said sweetly. “I feel so very safe, knowing we have men like you guarding our streets.”

Elodie stifled a snicker.

“No problem, honey. Just glad that he didn’t take your little check there!” The officer leered at her in what he probably thought was a pleasant way. “What are you going to do with all your money?”

Padon slipped the little black book into her back pocket and smiled.

“I’m going to grad school,” she said.