Page 1 of Treachery in the Highlands
Chapter One
Joey
The city sprawls out below me, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows.I crouch on the edge of the rooftop, wearing my trusty leather jacket as I lean forward.My gaze locks onto the pawn shop nestled between a bodega and a laundromat.Bingo.
"All right, Finnegan," I mutter to myself."Let's see what we're working with here."
I pull out a pair of compact binoculars, scanning the building's facade.Two cameras, one above the door and another at the corner.Child's play.The streetlights flicker to life, casting pools of sickly yellow that barely penetrate the gloom.I drum my fingers on the concrete ledge as I weigh my options---take a chance on this shop, or head back to the dump I call home.
You know what you want to do, Finnegan.Why are you hesitating?Just go for it, dumbass.
I stand, stretching my arms above my head.The wind whips around me, threatening to throw me off balance, but I've danced this jig too many times to falter now.As I make my way across the rooftop, in my mind, I tick off every step of the plan.Disable the cameras, pick the lock, slip inside.In and out in ten minutes flat.Easy as it gets.
But a nagging doubt creeps in.What if something goes wrong?What if this is the job that finally catches up to me?
I shake my head, banishing those thoughts."Get it together, Finnegan.You've done this a hundred times, at least."
Now that I've given myself a mini motivational speech, I'm ready to go.My movements are fluid and practiced.Every step, every gesture has been honed by years on the streets.I'm a ghost, a shadow, invisible to all but the most observant eyes.
And in this city?No one's watching that closely.
Just as I reach for the fire escape ladder, a memory ambushes me, as sharp and unwelcome as a knife to the gut.Foster home number...what was it?Four?Five?The details blur, but the ache remains even after all these years.
"You're nothing but trouble, Joey," Mrs.Whoever-She-Was had sneered, her bony finger jabbing my chest."A petty thief who doesn't care about anyone but himself.No wonder your parents left you."
That old crone had been right.I am a thief, and all I steal is trinkets.It had been sweets---candy bars, mostly---that I coveted all those years ago.Now...the candy has become bracelets and lockets.Nothing much has changed.Yeah, I'm pathetic.But tonight, that all changes.One last score, the biggest yet, and I'm outta here.
I swallow hard, pushing down the lump in my throat, and take several slow, deep breaths until the old anxiety fades away.Ancient history, I assure myself, but the words ring hollow.
My hands clamp around the cold metal of the ladder as muscle memory takes over.One rung, two, three...I descend with the grace of a cat burglar which, I suppose, is what I am.Maybe if my parents hadn't kicked the bucket, or if my foster mother had stuck around, I wouldn't be scaling buildings in the dead of night.
But they did scram.And here I am, a product of New York's unforgiving streets, about to rob a pawn shop.
My feet hit the alley pavement with a soft thud.I pause, listening for any sign that I've been detected.Nothing but the distant wail of sirens and the ever-present hum of the city.
"All right, Mr.Finnegan.Time to prove what a petty thief can do.It's showtime."
I slink toward the back of the pawn shop, my movements a fluid dance of shadows and stealth.Every step is calculated, my body instinctively avoiding loose gravel or anything that might give me away.
You're good at this, a traitorous voice in my head whispers.Wonder what Mom and Dad would think of their little boy now?
I grit my teeth and hiss, "Shut up and focus on the job."
Maybe I should worry about why I'm talking to myself, but I shove those thoughts aside.
As I reach the back door and hover my hand over the lock, I can't shake the feeling that somewhere out there, two ghosts are watching me with disappointment in their eyes.
I shake off the phantom disapproval and get to work.The lock is a simple tumbler---almost too easy.I work the mechanism deftly as I feel for the sweet spots, and within a minute, two at most, I hear the soft click that means I've accomplished my task.As I slip inside the shop, the darkness embraces me like an old friend.The air is thick with the musty scent of forgotten treasures and broken dreams, things normal people had to pawn to feed their families.Shadows loom large, cast by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through grimy windows.
The item I'm looking for wasn't pawned by a poor person.Nope, this little beauty is way too pricey for that.
I navigate the cluttered aisles with practiced ease, my feet finding clear paths where others might stumble.Glass cases loom on either side, their contents glinting dully in the low light.The antiquated security system might as well have been designed by a monkey.I disable it swiftly.
While I search for the item I want, I can't help but imagine how different things might have been.In another life, maybe these clever fingers would be saving lives in an operating room instead of picking locks and disabling alarms.
But that's not my story, is it?This is who I am, and there's no point in denying the truth.A bad seed never grows into a flower.
Just as I'm about to start my sweep of the shop, a sudden vibration in my pocket nearly makes me jump out of my skin.My heart races as I freeze, listening intently for any sign that the noise has alerted someone.Silence, that's all.I exhale slowly, fishing out my phone with trembling fingers.
