A Knock at the Door
Tap-tap-tap-tap!
Hazel threw a leave-me-alone-I-bite smile at the pair of men approaching on the sidewalk, causing them to give her a wider berth and continue on with a passing tip of the hat. She cringed as the closer one passed behind her, his gold watch chain taunting. She should have smiled sweeter, timed a small misstep, and snitched it. But should-a could-a would only make her madder. And right now, she needed a level head in order to beat her brother senseless.
She knocked again, tapping four steady beats, a thunderstorm of anger building in her head that mirrored the dark clouds above. Her chest swelled as she sucked in a breath, filling her lungs to capacity and letting it out slowly.
The third knock was slow and deliberate. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
A biting wind whipped up the street, tossing the dust ruffle of her gown and cutting through her thin jacket, dotting the wrinkled chiffon with large wet drops.
“Oh, dear brother,” she whispered as the rain began. “You really are digging yourself a hole today.”
She turned for the alley.
Piles of junk and clutter lined the dirty brick walls, leaving a winding path through to the back. Hazel paused halfway, calculating how high the window was, minus the junk beneath it, raindrops splattering her upturned face as her mind clicked away.
She tugged a wadded up rug that weighed as much as she did, adding it to the stack, perching a chair with a broken leg on top.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing in her thoughts.
Hazel backed up to the street, hoping that everyone was too busy hurrying home to pay mind.
She bolted forward, steps light and calculated, a quick zig-zag up the trash, one, two, three, four—
Crack! Slap!
She clung to the window frame, her side throbbing from the brick wall, feet tottering on the more broken chair beneath her.
“Ow.” She nudged an escaped curl out of her face with her shoulder. Two careful adjustments and she slid the window open. One massive heave and she was in, panting too much to even curse.
She straightened, glancing around the apartment, the storm in her head stalling as she took in the bare table, the stripped bed, the open cupboard.
“He left?” she whispered. “I get locked up for his con gone wrong and he just… left?”
She spun, hurrying to the corner, fumbling to get the loose floorboard out, her hand searching through the dust for the cash bag that wasn’t there. Her cash bag.
Lightning cracked across her vision as the storm surged inside, sweeping her up in a tornado of fury as she kicked and threw, shoved and stomped, tearing through the room.
How could he leave? Letting her stew in jail for months, fine; that was the nature of their business. But to bolt and take her shares with him? That wasn’t a con, or a play, or a switch. That was nothing more than being a scum bag thief!
She shoved over the last chair, heaving for air, half her hair broken free in a wild nest of curls and pins. She had to think. Think, Hazel! Her mind clicked and whirled through the details, rehearsing jobs he had proposed next, running the numbers and odds, checking off supplies she knew he’d had and what he would need.
Santa Bella. That’s where he’d go next. Now she just had to find a way—
Tap-tap-tap.
She froze, then rushed as quiet as she could to the front window, peering down at the door. A young man. Blond, medium build, expensive jacket and boots, two quick glances up the street, one hand fidgeting with a watch he didn’t check.
Hazel drew in a calming breath, taking her hair the rest of the way down and pinching her cheeks for color.
She didn’t know who he was, didn’t know what made him desperate enough to stand in the rain, to tap politely on a con man’s door. But she did know one thing.
That watch would pay for her ticket to Santa Bella.
