Twist of Fortune

I smiled politely at the jewel-encrusted heiress as she selected a canape from the tray I held before her. My eyes wandered across the room to find my father at the roulette wheel. He blinked twice as he tossed a few more chips onto the betting table. I gave him an imperceptible nod before handing the woman a napkin. As my hand moved away, a fine diamond bracelet came with it, falling into my apron pocket.

Laughter and conversation ebbed and flowed among the raucous jangling of the slot machines and the rapid dut-dut-dut-dut-dut of the roulette wheel. Making my way across the room, I relieved several other party-goers of jewelry, Rolex watches, and cash.

Dad raised an eyebrow as I passed the roulette wheel as if to say be careful with that stuff. Don't get caught with it on your person.

I rolled my eyes in response - I know. I know. The guests, so occupied in drink and merriment, wouldn’t likely wouldn’t notice the items were missing before morning. We would be long gone by then. But just in case someone did realize they were no longer in possession of something, it was best not to have said item in my pocket.

My nearly empty tray gave me the perfect excuse to return to the kitchen. I stepped behind a decorative screen and slipped my haul into carefully hidden PVC pipe in a potted fern. The items fell into a concealed container in the bottom of the pot. It was one of a handful of similar items scattered around the room.

It came in handy having siblings who were party planners. They return after the charity event and remove all the decor they had provided - for a hefty fee.

I continued into the kitchen without skipping a beat and grabbed another tray of appetizers. I offered a caviar-topped tart of some sort to my brother at the blackjack table. He waved me away without even looking at me. I could read him well enough to know that he not only had nothing for me but that he was concentrating on the game. This wasn’t unusual for him. He was more of a card counter than a thief.

No one gave me a second look as I wove through them, delivering overpriced fish eggs into their eager hands. I was fairly unremarkable in appearance with my dirty blond hair and brown eyes. Being of average height and weight was in my favor in this endeavor. I was, in short, unmemorable.

With the exception of my rather handsome card shark of a brother, my siblings also often went unnoticed. Having been adopted, in the loosest of terms, we shared general features but nothing that would pinpoint us as related.

Dad crooked a finger at me as I walked by. He snagged a tart while simultaneously slipping something into my pocket without making eye contact. He was a master at subterfuge. He had to be.

Our father was a silver fox with a deep, infectious laugh and a bright and ready smile. When he was in a crowd, all eyes were on him. Unlike his children, Dad easily moved through the world of socialites, known for his generosity and good heart. Everyone believed that he was one of them, not knowing that he had grown up doing whatever was necessary to take care of his family.

Dad had trained in sleight of hand when he was young, a skill he passed on to all of us. I have to admit I was wary when I was first brought into his fold. Too many kids were taken by sex traffickers and forced to sell their wares on the street. But the offer of a roof over my head and ample food was difficult to pass up. Still, I resolved to escape if it wound up being a trap.

His house was large but not overly opulent. Located in an affluent neighborhood between the factory district and a lower-class area, it didn’t raise too many eyebrows for someone such as myself to be there. Plenty of factory workers passed through for their shifts.

Everyone we met on our way through the house was happy, healthy, and clean. This made me feel more confident in allowing myself to be brought into this situation.

Dad had been warm and friendly, quickly setting my mind at ease. He told me that his children had chosen me for my obvious ability to survive on the streets. What he offered was training and a chance to join his team of thieves. A modern-day Fagan to my Olivia Twist, if you will, but a whole lot nicer.

I received a much better education than I had begun with before my birth parents abandoned me, and I unofficially dropped out of school. I was taught to assess situations and others’ personalities in addition to learning the finer points of thievery. It could be detrimental to steal from someone too cunning. That could lead to being caught.

There were several rules to follow. We planned our heists far in advance and never held in our own city. What we brought in from one event could provide a comfortable lifestyle for quite some time, so we didn’t get greedy or cocky. Pulling off too many heists would bring undue attention. Most importantly, unless we shared a job such as wait staff, we were never to let on that we were acquainted. We learned to read each other so well we could communicate without words.

Our adoptions were informal. In fact, all documents regarding our lives were carefully crafted forgeries. Nothing would tie us to our real identities. That said, if one of us got caught, we were not to implicate anyone else. We weren’t exactly left to hang. Our father had several attorneys on retainer. They would fight to get us off or at least a lesser sentence. So far, it hadn’t come to that.

Fast forward to tonight. A glance at the clock on the wall let me know my shift was just about over. I dropped the ruby ring Dad had pilfered into another discreet receptacle and took my empty tray back to the kitchen.

The hosts of this party took security very seriously. After a stroll through a metal detector and an overly handsy pat down from a hired guard, I stepped out into the crisp air. I made my way to the nearest subway station and then took the train back to my motel. Over the next couple of days, we would head home to celebrate our haul.

I know what we were doing wasn’t entirely ethical, but I loved the challenge. We shared much of our proceeds with those in need, making me feel like it was somewhat justified. I had a strange but loving home. I had a family. And I no longer feared the night.