Among Thieves

Fi

“Attorney Fi

“Officer DiNoffrio,” Fi

He noted Fi

“Yeah.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“Yeah. I’d offer you one of my other tickets, but…” Fi

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah. It’s the thought that counts, though, right?”

DiNoffrio shook his head. “Not even close. Who are you here to see?”

“ Devon Malley.”

“Shit. You serious?”

“I guess.”

“You might as well give me your ticket. By the time he finishes trying to explain this, it’ll be the bottom of the ninth.”

“I charge by the hour.”

“Still…” DiNoffrio swiveled in his chair, facing back out toward the cell block. He grabbed the microphone that extended up from the control board at the center of the guard station, flicked the power switch on. “ Devon Malley. Visitor.” His amplified, mechanized voice echoed off the smooth cement surfaces of the cell block. It didn’t sound like him; it sounded like God. For those living on the block, it might as well have been. He looked back at Fi

“Thanks.” Fi

The room was small-smaller even than the single cells in which the inmates were kept for most of the day. Two plastic chairs were the only furnishings. No table. The lock on the door behind him buzzed shut, and Fi

The buzzer on the door that led directly into the jail’s common area sounded, the door swung open, and Devon Malley stepped into the room. He was dressed in the standard-issue faded blue smock and drawstring pants. The two men looked at each other without saying anything.

Devon looked more or less the same as he had the last time Fi

Fi

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and the silence was awkward in so small a room. Devon finally stepped forward, extending his hand. Fi

“It’s good to see ya, Fi

“You too,” Fi

“It’s good of ya to do this. Showin’ up on a fuckin’ holiday and all.” Devon let Fi

“Anything for an old friend.”

“Anything for an old friend who’ll pay your fuckin’ fees, you mean,” Devon corrected him.

“That, too.” Fi

Devon smiled, but avoided eye contact. “We never change, do we?”

“Not in any way that matters,” Fi

“Jesus, what’s it been, five years? Ten? How you been?”

“Okay.”

“From what I hear, you been better than okay,” Devon said. “You’re gettin’ a fuckin’ reputation for yourself. ‘Miracle worker,’ that’s what I heard you called.” He rocked back and forth as he spoke.

“Really? That’s a good one. I’ll have to put it on my business cards.”

“No fuckin’ need. You do right by the right people and you don’t need to advertise no more.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something. “You must be making a pretty fuckin’ pe

“Right. That brings me back to my fees.”

He nodded, still not looking directly at Fi

“Apparently. You want to tell me what happened?”

Devon shrugged. “I don’t fuckin’ know. My night didn’t go like I pla

Fi

Devon put his head down. “That’s all anyone’s go

“You’ve got to admit that when a guy gets caught with an armful of women’s underwear it paints a picture that’s hard to forget.”

“It wasn’t just underwear,” Devon said. “It was dresses, too.”

“Right,” Fi

“Fuck ’em. They ain’t got nothin’ better to do with their lives but fuck with me? I got enough to worry about, right?”

“It was apparently a toss-up between that and the Panty Raider. Personally, I like the Panty Raider, but that’s probably because I went to college at night, so I feel like I missed out.”

Devon stopped pacing and looked at Fi

“Maybe a little,” Fi

Devon sat down, leaned back in the little chair, and took a deep breath. “It shoulda been the easiest night of my fuckin’ life. You know Gilberacci’s on Newberry Street? High-end fashion place?” Fi

“A little smash-and-grab?” Fi

“You’re not listening,” Devon said. “This wasn’t no fuckin’ smash-and-grab. I had over fifty designer dresses, up to six thousand retail for each one. Plus some jewelry and-yeah-very expensive panties and bras and shit like that. All in all, close to half a million dollars in the store, low six figures on the street.”

Fi

“That’s what I’m sayin’. Plus, it shoulda been easy. Joh

“Joh

“That’s the guy.”

“A little weak in the wrists, isn’t he?”

“He’s queer as a fuckin’ ballerina, but he’s still got a gambling problem.”

“Really? What does he bet on?”

“How the fuck should I know? Whatever it is, he’s no fuckin’ good at it. He loses a fortune, and he’s been paying off Vi