James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

New York City, August 29, 1998

Benny Avrile wasn’t a bad guy. He just looked for the easy way out of things-like every major obligation in life. Consequently, he had to steal a little to eat and sell a little to get something for himself. Cocaine, marijuana, liquor-it didn’t matter to Benny. Whatever he could get his hands on. He steered clear of heroin and crack, though. The boy knew his limitations. He wasn’t an addict-at least, that’s what he told himself. He simply needed some help to deal with the stress of living on the street. People didn’t understand the mental strain involved in not working, in not supporting a family, in not being responsible for a household. It was almost too much.

Another Saturday night found Benny at the Crooked Fence, a bar on the Upper East Side. The Crooked Fence had the perfect setup for a man with Benny’s talents. It had a long bar near the front door with tables in the back. The place always rocked on Saturday nights. Benny would position himself at the bar, usually in the middle somewhere, and start talking-to anyone and everyone about anything and everything. He might be homeless, and at twenty-eight he might have abused his body more than the average fifty-year-old, but on a Saturday night, with a little shower, a little gel, and a little Kenneth Cole, in the dark shadows of the bar, Benny looked okay.

“Nice necklace,” he said to the blonde on his left, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, the optimum age for Benny’s conquests or, as was normally the case, his attempted conquests.

“Thanks,” she replied and then turned her back to him.

It was so perfect and he had it down to such a science. As she turned away, Benny, knowing exactly where her purse was, reached in and slipped her wallet out. Almost without looking-he had to take a little peek to be sure-he found the credit cards and put one of them in his pocket. If he took them all, she might realize too soon that she’d been robbed. With only one gone, she would probably think that she’d left it at home. Benny could do as much damage with one credit card as he could with ten, and it usually bought him more time because the victim might not report the card missing for hours, or even until the next day. He was very proud of himself for developing this system-he was a real thinking man’s thief.

A minute or two later, he tapped the blond, who was talking to another woman, on the shoulder. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” Benny asked, giving her his fabled Li’l Abner-I’m-a-hick expression.

“Listen, stupid,” she began, turning more toward him to make her point. By the word “stupid” Benny had the wallet back in her purse. “You don’t take a hint, do you? Get lost! Do you understand that? Get lost!”

“Okay, okay. Geez, I’m sorry.” Benny was already off his stool and headed for the door. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he yelled back over the din of the crowd and the music as he retreated. Then he was out the door and walking down Second Avenue. “I just needed your credit card,” he said to nobody in particular as he patted his back pocket.

Half a block down the street he felt something hard shoved into his lower back.

“Don’t turn around. Just keep walking.” It was a woman’s voice, and she was behind him just to his left. Benny assumed the hard thing was a gun, and he had no intentions of trying anything. If there was going to be any negotiation, she would have to start. He could counter from there.

“I’d been working her for two days before you showed up,” the voice behind him said.

Benny breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. It wasn’t the cops, and he wasn’t going to jail. Another thief he could deal with. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes he crossed paths with another member of the profession and they got in each other’s way. Benny was the guy who always deferred. It was easier that way.

This was probably the woman who had been talking to the blond. He’d never run into a woman before during this kind of gig. They can get money a lot easier than that , Benny thought. At least, it seemed easier to him.

“I didn’t know,” he replied to the voice. “I only got a credit card and you can have it, with my apologies.”

“Where is it?”

“My back pocket, right side.”

“Turn left at the corner,” she told him, still jabbing the gun into his back. They turned left onto Seventy-seventh Street. It was much darker off the avenue. They walked halfway down the block before she told him to stop.

“I’m going to remove this gun from your back and I don’t want you to move.”

“I won’t,” Benny replied emphatically.

“Then I’m going to slip that credit card out of those tight pants of yours, so don’t get excited.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said, relaxing just a little. She’d noticed his tight pants. Maybe once we get past the credit card issue. .

“Good.” She abruptly interrupted his thoughts, reached in, and deftly removed the credit card from his trousers.

Not bad , Benny thought, but I’m a much better pickpocket. With me, you don’t feel a thing . He was starting to feel more comfortable.

“Turn around,” she ordered.

Benny turned around. He could instantly tell she knew what she was doing. Her right hand, her gun hand, was in her pocket and she stood far enough away from him so that she had ample time to react to any aggressive move on his part. One other thing he noticed: she was a very good-looking thief-tall and dark with thick black hair that rested comfortably on her shoulders and brown eyes that at that moment were glaring at him in a menacing way.

“We’re not even,” she told him. “You still owe me. You fucked up my mark.”

“Like I said, I didn’t mean to. What can I do?” Benny was now sure she wasn’t going to shoot him. Besides, she was sharp. Maybe there was something in it for him.

“I’d studied her, gotten everything I needed to know-and then you showed up.”

Benny was starting to realize that he had fucked up a big score. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew that he wanted to be a part of the next one. “Maybe I can make it up to you.”

“You? What could I possibly do with a loser like you?”

“People like you always got another score set up. Maybe I can help. You can always use a second hand. Besides, I wouldn’t want much, just a little to keep me going.”

“What do you mean, people like me?” she snapped.

“You’re smart. You set things up. You think about things. Me-I do the same stupid shit every Saturday night.”

She started to smile. “You did all right,” she said. “I almost missed you lifting the wallet, and I’m in the business.”

Benny nearly blushed at the compliment. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked her, even though he was down to subway fare for his ride back to the South Bronx.

“No,” she replied firmly, but then something changed. The tone of her voice became somewhat softer, her expression more congenial. It was a subtle change, but Benny noticed. “On second thought, I’ll buy you a drink,” she said. “I’ve got the credit card, remember? And by the way, it works a lot better when a woman uses another woman’s credit card.”

Benny just smiled. “A minor inconvenience. I say it’s my wife’s and that usually works.”

“Walk on my right side,” she told him.

They grabbed a cab on First Avenue and went to Kettle of Fish, a place in the West Village, where they had drinks for a couple of hours. Benny would have been all over any other woman by that point, but he kept his distance with this one. He played that movie scene over and over in his mind-the one where the woman shoots the guy in the balls. I ain’t making that mistake , Benny told himself.