It’s been hours, and there’s still no sign of our guy. I have to admit to myself that he might have moved on to a different location. Or maybe he’s taking the day off. But the All Saints Gala is in two weeks, so we have a ticking clock. If we don’t find this guy today, we need to start planning to do the job without an acrobat friend.
Tolliver and CJ are dressed as tourists. Much to Tolliver’s chagrin, he’s wearing one of thoseI♥NYT-shirts under his leather jacket. CJ has a bag slung over their shoulder, dark glasses, and a hat that shades their face. Both have their cell phones out, snapping pictures at everything that moves. They’re a little conspicuous, if you ask me, but whatever.
I track them as they slowly make their way toward me down Seventh Avenue. I’m watching a street performer, because it’s really the only way to justify standing still in Manhattan. The busker is Poppy, who’s wearing a sequined dress that hugs her curves and a Tina Turner wig that she demanded to wear, even though it means she’s going to have to get her braids redone.
She sings “Femininomenon” at the top of her lungs, accompanied by an app on her phone and a wireless speaker. Honestly, she’s gathered up quite a crowd. The list of things Poppy can’t do is very short.
Singing is at the top of that list.
But everyone likes to watch a train wreck. Besides, she’s hot and has killer stage presence.
Tolliver and CJ get closer and closer, and I’ve yet to see a single person try to pickpocket them. Again, they’re a littletooobvious, but also the crowd is thin today. Too thin for an easy grab. This might turn out to be a wasted trip.
Poppy ends her song, and I reach into my pocket to get some coins to throw into her basket, and—
No.
No, no, no, no, no!
The coins, my house key, a half-used tube of ChapStick: all gone. My pocket isn’t empty, though. My hands clasp around something, and I pull out a little white sticky note. It reads:
Thanks for the necklace! Kisses! —E
I whip my head around. I don’t know how long it’s been since he made the grab, but Poppy only just finished her first song. Granted, this guy can get pretty far in a few minutes. I scan the crowd, looking for the mop of dark curly hair, but I know it’s useless. Wherever this guy is, he’s surely not still hanging around.
But then I see him. He’s about thirty feet away, hands in pockets, staring right at me. He grins and gives me a mock salute.
He’s showing off.
Alright, the time for subtlety is over. I take off after him. Poppy’s footsteps echo behind me, and I know Tolliver and CJ will see and try to cut the pickpocket off from the other direction.
I weave through the crowd, past tourists snapping selfies and staring at billboards. I have to shove a few people out of my way, dodge some schoolchildren, and leap over a dog. Ahead, I see the thief pull up the hood of his jacket just as he darts into traffic.
“Wait!” I hear Tolliver call after me, as I follow into the street.
A car honks and nearly takes me out, but I sidestep—
—into the path of another oncoming vehicle. It slams to a stopinches from me. The ensuing burst of adrenaline catapults me across the road and onto the curb, but I’ve already lost him.
I turn in a circle, search the crowd for a dark jacket, but there are far too many.
Fortunately, CJ has been tracking him from across the street. I get a text from them that says:
left
I turn. There’s someone in a Spider-Man costume.
My phone buzzes again.
other left
There. Right next to a hot dog cart, jacket now gone, curly hair and a navy T-shirt. He’s not looking my way, but he must somehow feel my eyes on him, because he takes off down a side street, under some scaffolding.
I have to hurdle over a street artist’s setup, tripping as I land. I’m able to turn it into a roll and use my momentum to get me back on my feet.
I round the corner, breathing heavily, and smack into Tolliver.
He grabs me by the shoulders to steady me.