The Thief's Bible

Names, addresses, lock, and safe combinations, you name it, and it had it. The small, black, unassuming notebook was at first a simple curiosity as it just lay in the middle of the street beckoning someone to pick it up, and upon inspection, it was a wonderous treasure.

Like anyone in his position, James was a skeptic at first, so he had to test it out for himself. He thumbed his way through the pages, skimming past numbers and locations until he noticed the perfect mark: An elderly man carrying a folio of cash just a block away from where he was.

Pickpocketing was more of a past time for James than a way of making ends meet. He practiced the best ways to slip away someone's valuables undetected like a magician practiced sleight of hand. It was more than a game, and the more challenging the job, the more rewarding it was to win.

That's not to say that the extra money didn't help, of course, but it was secondary in his mind.

A block away, there the old man was, assuming the book was right. The elderly man stood with a slight hunch in his shoulders and a small tremble in his legs, giving away his age if his wrinkles and greying hair didn't. He was talking with someone outside a nearby business.

It was as simple as a bump of the shoulder, a reach of the hand, and an apology, and the folio of bills was in James' palm then into his jacket pocket.

He dashed off to a side street, and after making sure that no one followed him, he took out the folio and counted the money. It was exactly one hundred dollars, as the black notebook had said it would be.

James had to sit down from the sheer weight of that knowledge. How did this book know who had how much money and where they were? And to that point, why? How did someone's name get into the book?

James took a closer look at the money listed on the pages. There wasn't much arrangement from what he could tell. Amounts ranged from pocket change to sums no person should be carrying with them.

Then, he noticed an amount that would make anyone's head turn. Twenty thousand. If he was reading it correctly, it was in a safe not too far from where he was. Next to the location, he saw the safe's combination written in bold numbers, so there was no mistaking the digits.

His heart was still pumping from his successful pickpocketing. He couldn't suppress a grin spreading across his face. I'll case it, he thought, see how easy it would be.

He kept his finger on the notebook page and jogged out of the side street, down five blocks and stopped in front of an Italian restaurant. He opened up the notebook again and double-checked the restaurant's name before taking a look inside through the window.

The restaurant was ordinary, almost dull, and not busy despite being one of the better times to eat in the city. He noticed a few burly men in cheap suits talking at a table near the back, a couple dining on the right side, and two families elsewhere.

The notebook also said where he could find the safe. At the back, in the office labelled "Manager." Once he was inside, it probably wouldn't be tricky to find, but the issue was where to enter and how to get past all the staff.

There was something about having the notebook in hand, the allure of the money, and the knowledge of the safe combination that removed James' inhibitions. Despite the difficulty, he wanted to try and get the money now. Burning questions about the strange notebook went to the wayside in place of that singular objective in front of him.

James went to the side of the building, where he noticed two cooks on a smoke break. Now was his chance, and he had to take it. All he needed was a distraction.

The passerby caught his attention, and he stopped the roughest looking man in the bunch. "I'll give you $100 if you go inside that restaurant and start a fight."

The man raised his brow until James pulled out the wad of cash, and then his eyes lit up. He looked from the money to the restaurant and then back before shrugging his shoulders. "Sure."

James let out a small chuckle as the man took the $100 and walked inside the restaurant. He was going to do it, and, despite everything, at that moment, that seemed the most insane thing that happened today. James watched as the man looked around the inside before suddenly pointing at the couple and yelling at them.

The commotion brought the cook's attention back inside, and they threw their cigarettes down before heading back inside. James ran down the alley and caught the door just before it closed on him. He pulled it back open slowly, peering inside to ensure no one had seen him.

He entered the restaurant and into the pantry. A large opening led into the kitchen, where he could see the cooks all huddled around the dining room door. The smell of roasting onion and spices tickled James' nose as he peered into the kitchen. On the opposite end, there was another door where he was sure the manager's room would be.

Moving swift and silent, he went to the other side of the kitchen and slipped out the back into a hallway without anyone taking notice.

There were a few unmarked rooms in the hallway, and then one at the back with a placard labelled "Manager." James went up to the door and knocked twice. Nothing. Empty. He turned the knob. Unlocked. James mentally praised his luck and entered the room.

He scanned the room in a flash and saw the safe tucked into the corner. He pulled out the notebook again as he flew over to it. It was a new electronic safe, so after just a few simple button presses, the safe opened for him.

Just as the notebook promised, inside the safe were twenty stacks of bills, each containing one thousand dollars. The other things in the safe made James pause for the first time since obtaining the mystery notebook. There were two guns and five kilos of cocaine.

That moment's pause set James' senses alight. He finally felt the slick sweat underneath his clothes like ice on his lower back. He felt the hairs on his arms stiffen just as he had, and he felt the itch on the back of his neck tugging at him and telling him to turn around and run away.

But he was too deep in to run now. He grabbed the money in fistfuls and shoved them into every pocket he had available in his overly large jacket. Even for his cargo jacket, the twenty bundles of bills were a bit much, and it felt as though if anyone saw him, they would know what he was holding. James pushed past his paranoia, closed the safe, and then left the manager's office.

He walked down the hallway, which felt much longer than it had when he first entered, and then back into the kitchen. The commotion in the dining room seemed much more subdued than before, but most of the staff were still watching with an equal mix of amusement and confusion on their faces.

However, two of the kitchen staff had gone back to work and noticed him as he left the back room. The looks of confusion were different than their colleagues, and their stares were like daggers on James' throat.

James only missed half a step but didn't lose his stride. He had been in similar situations, albeit not with as much on the line, but he knew how to act to avoid suspicion.

James stopped in front of the closest cook. "I missed my last pay, but no one was back there," he said.

The cook closest to him relaxed, and the one farther away put his head down and went back to chopping vegetables. "There's some yacko fighting out there. It might be a minute before Marco is ready."

"Tch, damn. I got somewhere to be," he said as he began walking to the panty exit, "I'll come back later."

James walked out the door, back to the main street, and rushed back to his home with the twenty thousand burning holes in his pockets. He didn't stop until he was in his apartment with all twenty bundles laid out on his bed.

James burst out in gleeful laughter at the sight of it. He would have had to pick thousands of pockets to make this amount, and it was so easy. The location, the combination, it was all in the notebook. It was so simple, so effortless, so perfect, so... boring.

The money wasn't what James liked about pickpocketing. Using the notebook removed all skill, and it felt like cheating.

Then it hit him. Where was the notebook? James searched his jacket, the floor, the entrance to his apartment, all the way out to the street, but it was nowhere. He must have dropped it somewhere along the way in his haste.

It was probably for the best anyway. He already made a big score, and after the adrenaline wore off, it soured things. Even if he still had it, would he have used it again? Probably not, James thought.

James laid down in his bed, worn out from all the running around and the tension. He fell asleep right beside the pile of money.

In what felt like an instant, James awoke to a pounding at his door. In a half-awake stupor, he shuffled out of his bedroom and to his door. As soon as he opened it, he was struck in the face by something, and he fell into unconsciousness again.

This time, James didn't awake in his bed. He awoke in a dark cellar tied to a chair. His head throbbed, and it felt as though he had a broken jaw.

"Ah, he's finally awake," a voice from the back of the room said.

James lifted his head to see who had spoken, and he recognized that it was one of the burly men from the dining room of the Italian restaurant. How did they find him? How did they know?

"You know, at first, after we ruled out an inside job, we thought some magician had opened our safe. No signs of forced entry threw us," the man said with a small grin. "And then, we found this."

He pulled a small black notebook from his pocket. It was the same notebook that James had found, and it must have fallen out back at the restaurant in his haste.

"You know, we were half right because this little notebook is magic. Here, see?"

He opened the notebook and showed James the page. James saw his name and location written in big, bold letters on the notebook's left-hand side, and next to that, it said that twenty thousand was on his lap. James looked down, only just noticing the small pile of money resting on his bound legs.

"You know, I was almost tempted to let you go considerin' what we got in return." James looked back up at the man. He had a look of a devil in the flesh plastered on his face. "Almost."