The Big Break
The Big Break.
The sharp wind brushed against her bare skin, harsh and cold. It irritated already chapped lips and dry cheeks that even the warmest of scarves could not prevent. She was skinner than she was in months, worn down by little food and too much exercise.
"Hey there, pretty lady," crooned some bundled homeless man with a jar of coins, already luckier than she. For a second, just a second, she eyed the jar hungrily, imagining the man crumpling in his burlap coat with one well placed slap on his cheek. She could take the jar and vanish before anyone even smelled burned skin. It was too messy, too sloppy, too violent and crude, but she wasn't playing her best game. After an enormous dose of will power, she walked by without a second glance, but felt his eyes searing into her back well until she turned the corner.
She was a bony, young thing. Just sixteen years-old and no different from any other girl out on the streets this late at night. Her hair was a mess of curls down to her lower back, partially hidden by the hooded cloak. She blended in just fine. She even had the dark circles and lack of hygiene to prove it. Living the low life really took it's toll. And she was about done with it. This was her last shot.
She found him waiting near a closed convenience store. Big, leather coat, work boots, and a knit cap, she felt the pressure knot in her stomach. She threw off the hood, let her hair blow in the wind a little. She didn't look too pretty, but she looked good enough. If her skills didn't look too appealing, some part of her had to. This was the biggest deal she'd ever landed, and it would set her up high enough to rack in business from bigger, better clients. Losing wasn't an option. These were rough times.
"Ms. Raiden," he said, and she was taken aback and thankful how young he was. She stood a foot apart from him, both studying the other closely. He looked nervous, his anxiety written on his face like a disclaimer. It had the opposite effect on her. She could do this.
"Do you have the information?" she asked, her voice steady and her eyes never leaving his. She was thankful for the long coat covering her frail body. The only trace of her young age was on her face, and it was pretty enough to lower the boy's defenses. He took out a long envelope from a pocket and handed it to her. She took it with one gloved hand and rifled through it. Inside was something heavy, a silver trinket. Its purpose was clear. This was no gift. She bit off the tip of her glove and it slid off her arm like silk. The gesture was clumsierthan she would have liked, but only she could have noticed. With a bare hand, she grabbed the medallion and the metal melted in her hand in a pleasant crack, and the boy winced as if it hurt her.
With a cocky, practiced smile, she dropped the mangled bit of metal in his pocket. "Satisfied?"
He nodded, dumbly.
"Good. Pass the word on to your boss. He'll have the ring before the bank closes on Friday, and I expect the cash just as promptly. Pleasure doing business with you."
They parted ways, Gwen with the biggest smile on her face she'd had in months. She didn't know how she let it get this far. But the days of feasting on burnt bread and stolen fruit were over. She was into the big leagues now, and it was all up, up, uphill from here.
On her way back, she found the homeless man passed out on the curb. She flicked a quarter in his jar and kept walking.
The sharp wind brushed against her bare skin, harsh and cold. It irritated already chapped lips and dry cheeks that even the warmest of scarves could not prevent. She was skinner than she was in months, worn down by little food and too much exercise.
"Hey there, pretty lady," crooned some bundled homeless man with a jar of coins, already luckier than she. For a second, just a second, she eyed the jar hungrily, imagining the man crumpling in his burlap coat with one well placed slap on his cheek. She could take the jar and vanish before anyone even smelled burned skin. It was too messy, too sloppy, too violent and crude, but she wasn't playing her best game. After an enormous dose of will power, she walked by without a second glance, but felt his eyes searing into her back well until she turned the corner.
She was a bony, young thing. Just sixteen years-old and no different from any other girl out on the streets this late at night. Her hair was a mess of curls down to her lower back, partially hidden by the hooded cloak. She blended in just fine. She even had the dark circles and lack of hygiene to prove it. Living the low life really took it's toll. And she was about done with it. This was her last shot.
She found him waiting near a closed convenience store. Big, leather coat, work boots, and a knit cap, she felt the pressure knot in her stomach. She threw off the hood, let her hair blow in the wind a little. She didn't look too pretty, but she looked good enough. If her skills didn't look too appealing, some part of her had to. This was the biggest deal she'd ever landed, and it would set her up high enough to rack in business from bigger, better clients. Losing wasn't an option. These were rough times.
"Ms. Raiden," he said, and she was taken aback and thankful how young he was. She stood a foot apart from him, both studying the other closely. He looked nervous, his anxiety written on his face like a disclaimer. It had the opposite effect on her. She could do this.
"Do you have the information?" she asked, her voice steady and her eyes never leaving his. She was thankful for the long coat covering her frail body. The only trace of her young age was on her face, and it was pretty enough to lower the boy's defenses. He took out a long envelope from a pocket and handed it to her. She took it with one gloved hand and rifled through it. Inside was something heavy, a silver trinket. Its purpose was clear. This was no gift. She bit off the tip of her glove and it slid off her arm like silk. The gesture was clumsierthan she would have liked, but only she could have noticed. With a bare hand, she grabbed the medallion and the metal melted in her hand in a pleasant crack, and the boy winced as if it hurt her.
With a cocky, practiced smile, she dropped the mangled bit of metal in his pocket. "Satisfied?"
He nodded, dumbly.
"Good. Pass the word on to your boss. He'll have the ring before the bank closes on Friday, and I expect the cash just as promptly. Pleasure doing business with you."
They parted ways, Gwen with the biggest smile on her face she'd had in months. She didn't know how she let it get this far. But the days of feasting on burnt bread and stolen fruit were over. She was into the big leagues now, and it was all up, up, uphill from here.
On her way back, she found the homeless man passed out on the curb. She flicked a quarter in his jar and kept walking.