Free Thieving Weasels by Billy Taylor

about the money. It’s my treat.”
    A hot meal in a restaurant sounded way better than cold cuts at my mother’s house. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
    â€œGood. Just do me a favor. If Vinny asks about the job, pretend like you have no idea what he’s talking about. Okay?”
    â€œSure thing,” I said, wishing it were true.

12
    O N MY WAY HOME FROM ROY ’ S APARTMENT I THOUGHT about Claire and why I would let myself get sucked back into the bosom of my family so she and I could be together. The short answer was I loved her. But there was more to it than that. Claire was the first person I loved who didn’t try to rob me. I’d dated other girls before her, but it never felt like love. It never felt like anything. Then Claire entered my life and stole my heart, which is pretty ironic considering my background.
    We hooked up in the fall of our third year at the annual Leaf Peeper Dance. This was the biggest social event of the fall, complete with elaborate decorations, tons of snacks, and a local band from Albany. The band was terrific, but I saw right away that one of the members of their crew was a weasel. Shifty eyes, fake smile, hands in the pockets of a trench coat he never took off, this guy was straight outof the juvenile delinquent handbook. He tried to act cool, but he was physically incapable of keeping his eyes off the big pile of coats and pocketbooks sitting on the edge of the dance floor. I knew exactly what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing myself.
    Full disclosure: my biggest challenge when I arrived at Wheaton was not robbing the school blind. Old habits die hard, and the place was like a candy store run by blind people. All of the students were rich, nobody locked their doors, and the windows were so feeble you could have jimmied them with a Post-it Note. But I was good. I strolled by unattended laptops in the library, ignored wallets and backpacks, and never so much as borrowed a pencil without asking. I was a model citizen, and the most surprising thing about this was how good it made me feel. I didn’t have as much spending money as the other kids, but that was fine. I was acting like a normal human being, and that’s all that mattered.
    This was why I became so angry when I saw that weasel in the trench coat ripping off my classmates. The smart move would have been to notify security and let them handle it, but I wasn’t feeling particularly smart that evening. Or merciful. Besides, it was fun to kick back and watch someone else be the thief for a change. The guy knew the band’s set list, and whenever they played a good dance song, he’d take advantage of the crowd’s enthusiasm and dip into a few pocketbooks. It was a good scam, and within half an hour his pockets were overflowing with wallets andiPhones. Professionally speaking, it was quite a haul.
    The band played a slow song to finish their set, and as couples paired up to dance, the weasel headed for the door. This was always my favorite part of a job. There’s something positively electric about those last few seconds when you think you’re about to get away with a scam that makes it all worthwhile. It’s the criminal equivalent of skydiving.
    I followed the guy outside and waited for him to think he was home free. Sure enough, halfway to the parking lot he pulled out a cigarette and stopped to light it. This was my cue. I broke into a sprint and aimed for the center of his back. My timing was perfect, and I slammed into him just as the cigarette touched his lips.
    â€œYou third-rate slimebag,” I hissed as I dove on top of him and pummeled his face. “You think you can come to
my
school and steal from
my
classmates? Well, guess what? You’re wrong.”
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” someone behind me shouted. “You’re hurting him.”
    â€œThat’s kind of the point,” I said, looking up.
    And