April Showers: Prompt 9 Change
Gone.
It was so horrifying that for a moment he couldn’t even contemplate. Ziggy stared in horror at the few meager belongings he had, scattered on the floor of the empty gardener’s shed. Most of it was useless; little mementos he kept from his days at the orphanage and later- the foster homes. The most important things; his cans of soup, the cigarette lighter, his money… gone.
And worst of all, his sleeping bag.
Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder at the sky. If it snowed again tonight, he was in trouble.
Or in the words of Hobo Bob, the crazy old man who had first taught him how to survive on the streets, “There’s two rules ta’ bein’ homeless. Don’ get wet ‘n don’ get cold .Ya git wet- yer dead. Ya get cold- yer dead.”
Which was all very good advice, but still, it had taken him three weeks of stealing change before he’d had enough to buy the big woolen sleeping bag from the camping store on Elmstreet.
Three weeks. And it was gone.
Taking a deep breath he burst out of the shed and ran towards the streets. Already the sky was darkening- night would fall soon and the temperature would follow suit. He didn’t have time to hunt down who had done this crime and any money he’d had saved had been stolen away. In the past, the other people in their little homeless community had teased him, calling him the Moral pickpocket; because he only stole little bits at a time, and only from certain, carefully selected victims.
Tonight was not that night.
When he reached the street he immediately headed North to the fancy part of town where people were more likely to be carrying large amounts of money. He kept his eyes up, pretending to window shopping when really he was people shopping. Who was wearing loose clothing… who wasn’t minding their purse strings… who had a wallet sticking partially out of their pocket…
There!
A man, talking on his phone, sitting outside a café. Well dressed, suit and tie, even dark sun glasses. One hand was gesturing, and his accent sounded Italian, a little like the Godfather, really. He was huge, burly, strong, and not at all the type of man that anyone in their right mind would try to pinch.
But his wallet was partially sticking out of the seat of his pants, right through the bars of the back of the seat.
Bingo.
Ziggy quietly crept up behind him, looking carefully around to make sure none of the other customers noticed his presence. When he got close enough, he pretended to look at café’s specials, posted on the window.
He was actually surprised at how easy it was.
The wallet was safely in the pocket of his coat when he felt a strong arm clamp down on his own. His heart literally jumped into his throat.
“Well I gotta admit, you’re good,” The suit grunted. “I barely felt a thing.”
Ziggy swallowed hard, and summoned a smile “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.
The Suit snorted. Without a word, he dragged him into the café. Ziggy struggled violently, but the grip was like iron, crushing his wrist into a million little pieces. He settled for begging.
“Wait… can’t we work his out? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it, honest this is the first time I’ve ever done something like this-“
“Shuddup.” The man said. He reached into Ziggy’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open he held up a card to Ziggy’s nose. “You know what this is?”
A picture of a stallion and a scorpion.
The scorpion cartel.
The freak’n Italian mofia.
‘Oh… not… good…’
“Uh… no, actually. I have no idea what that is. Is it a product ad or something? Because my parents don’t let me watch TV. Actually, they don’t like me out this late either, they’ll probably kill me when I get home-“
“Shuddup.”
He shut up. Amazing, how that voice could command instant control.
“I’ve seen you around here before,” the man said softly. “You’ve got talent. I’m willing to bet I’m the only person who ever caught you.”
Ziggy remained quiet, not knowing if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Seems to me you could be very useful in our society.”
Ziggy felt his eyes growing to saucer-like proportions. The man motioned for him to take the card.
“Show this card to the Inn on West side. They’ll give you a room. In the morning meet us for breakfast in the Inn’s restaurant.”
The card felt heavy in his hand. He looked up into the man’s face and noticed, for the first time, that the eyes seemed more friendly than fierce.
“What’s your name kid?”
It never occurred to him to lie. “Ziggy.”
The man stuck out his hand. “Benny.”
As the meaty shook the measly, Benny added, “And welcome to the Scorpion Cartel.”