Prologue
If I told you I was a normal teenage girl from Atlanta, I would be lying. There’s really nothing “normal” me. At age six my parents gave me ten bucks to go into the grocery store and get a box of cereal. I bought the cereal and sat on the bench for two straight days, waiting for my parents to return. Finally the store manager called Child Services.
I stayed in a lot of group homes and learned that some people don’t care about how old you are before the steal away all your innocence. When I was nine, a teenage boy at a group home in New York raped me. When I told my social worker she told me that sometimes those things just happen.
At ten, a nice couple decided to take me in for a while. They even took me to France. Which is where they left, sold me actually. To a man who needed an innocent face to deliver his drugs. That lasted about a year.
Soon enough, I snuck away one night. Made it to Paris. There, I survived by stealing. Something I learned I had quite a niche for. First it was just food. An apple from the market, a banana, or perhaps even a biscuit from the bakery. But it got so easy.
Pick pocketing, my next step up the latter. Men in business coats who constantly are counting their Euro and buying a ton of coffee, women who wear fur coats and lots of jewelry, teenagers who wear the top brand of clothing and walk with their heads held higher than everyone else. Those are the people I chose. People who could spare some. But still, I got bored.
The first time I wanted something and decided to take it by force, came to a shock to even me. I was walking along the side walk and I saw it. A cross necklace. Diamonds on each end. White gold from the cross to the chain. Just like the one my momma had. But I was sure hers wasn’t real. Hers was just a dollar store necklace with some 2 cent rhinestones. This was the necklace I wanted and I was sure going to get.
That night, I stayed in the ally way behind the store until 2:21 AM. I slid my backpack inside a crack in the brick wall. There I stood, slipping on my black gloves and spandex. My long black, curly hair was tied into a French roll and covered with a tight black hat. This time I had to be careful. This was a jewelry store.
Pulling a medal nail file out of my pocket, I used to it to unscrew the out side vent. Two seconds later I was inside. A can of spray paint, a lock pick kit, and a rope with a harness. I was in, out, and hooking my necklace around my neck in 2 minutes 22 seconds. A start of an epidemic.
Now I’m fourteen and one of the top thieves for higher in the world. Just call me Robin.
Chapter One
Sitting in a desk with my head down, appearing to be asleep, I listened intently to my science teacher. She is explaining genetics. How one is dominate over another. Things I already knew.
Here I went by Atlanta George. Get it? Yea, I know, so sly. To my clients I’m known as Robin. But to myself, I realize I have no real name. No one ever called me by a name until a few years ago when I restarted school, and that was just a name I made up. Don’t sweat the small details with the whole parent/ guardian stuff. When you’re a thief, things like this are easy.
Anyway, since I’m sure you don’t want to hear about how genetics are past from parent to offspring, I’ll catch you up on my current client.
Jeffry Collins is a rich man that needs an unofficial hand getting a hold of some documents to keep his company out of a law suit that could probably take him for everything he’s worth. So he called me.
These documents have been removed from every hard drive in his company’s files, but one copy remains. This copy is in a vault in the basement of the Bank of England. A job that will take time a thought. But I have until Thursday.
The Bank of England was originally built in 1732 by George Sampson. So everything is old school. Real old school. The vault is in the basement. Each floor has 4 security guards except for the basement; there’s 6. One in each hallway and two in front of the vault. A challenge for a fourteen year old girl, right? Wrong! I could do this in my sleep! The problem is, Thursday night there is a ball. Security will be off the charts. Not only because the American Black President will be there but also the royal family. No children.
Normally I can pass for 18-20 but any older I’m really pushing it. This time, I’m not going to be able to just walk in like I normally do with a fake ID and a formal dress. I’m going to have to be invisible to everyone there. So I was thinking, go in threw the vents, weasel into a locked elevator shaft, drop a couple stories, climb in some more vents, set off an alarm on the top floor, get the documents and get out.
It’s a lot harder than most of my jobs, but it’s not the hardest. Besides, this man is offering half a million. With that I could- yeah, I don’t know what I could do it. Save it until I am out of school? Buy a private island with all the money I have in my “Coll
Buy a private island with all the money I have in my “College” saving account? Yeah, I don’t really know yet.
Glancing at the clock and seeing it was 3:00, I grabbed my backpack and stood up just as the bell rang. I almost made it to the door before I heard Madam Beaumont’s high voice, screeching my name. “Atlanta! Atlanta!”
Spinning around on my toes, I stared at her not attempting to hide my annoyance. “Yes?” I snapped.
I was so tired of Madam Beaumont. She wouldn’t bother me near as much if she could learn how to keep her nose on her face instead of in my business. Somehow that seemed to be difficult for her.
“Could your parents please come to the conferences tomorrow night? I’d very much like to speak with them,” she said taking a seat behind her wooden desk.
Ugh, not this again! I rolled my eyes and tossed my backpack on the floor. “Madam, look. My parents work and they often can’t make it. Tomorrow Mom has a staff meeting and my father is talking to a client about a
client about a problem with their bank account. So don’t get your hopes up.”
I knew she had more to say to me, but I grabbed my bag and got out of there. Man she annoyed me.
Two buses and a long walk later, I made it home. A small cottage a few miles outside the city was my very first real home. First it was a shack with a broken window and the roof falling in. After my first real job and a hefty payment, I found some unofficial contractor to fix up my home. Amazing what people will do when you pay them ten grand in cash.
It was small but it was home.
I threw my backpack on the floor, and pulled out my 22 from underneath the couch cushions. Thursday was going to be a serious job, and if I got caught in that vault they aren’t going to hesitate to shoot me in the back a few dozen times. If I was going to do this job, I better get some target practice in.
I stacked to hay bales and hung a target. It was a simple dart board design but it served its purpose.
The Title is "If Robin Hood was a Woman, He’d Enjoy the Tights"
In the first chapter Robin is talking about her most recent job and how she’s going to do it, but when she actually goes to the Bank Ball she learns that she wasn’t the only one the man hired for this job. He also hired a female grifter to get what he needs if Robin can’t get it for him.
Later Isabelle, the grifter, and Robin form a bond. For the first time Robin’s not on her own and Isabelle is has someone to protect.
A mother-daughter bond forms and it becomes dangerous when they get hired to con a mob.
What do you think? Be brutal.
It’s good. I like it…
Keep up the good work…sounds like you’ll be fine author some day…
(Make sure you have a "theme" and "plot" in mind that teaches the reader all about the intricacies of being a thief, the upsides, the downsides, and have the main character exhibit transformational growth and learn something from the whole story…In other words…what’s the reason for the story. What do we learn from this tale of thievery, and what did the main character learn…?)