The Pickpocket

 ‘What’s your story?’ He says

‘It’s a long story’ I say

‘I like to listen’ He says and I’m thinking at least it will keep him quiet.

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Even though I arrived at Malaga airport first thing that morning I took the redeye flight back to London, not to save money you understand, I always fly scheduled first not cattle. 

I never can resist having one last fling in arrivals before I leave, well who could resist with all those wealthy snowbirds beginning their winter season in the sun. All arriving with pockets full of euros and purses full of the family jewels.

I keep promising myself that I will work a winter as well one year then a good summer season comes our way and I think what the fuck and head back to pudding island to relax and get ready for spring. 

This year just gone was a landmark one for me in two ways, first it has been our best year to date financially, second I’m all booked in for the last step of my journey. The rest of the team are always going on at me ‘make hay while the sun shines’ and all that. 

Sun shines in Spain all year round — when’s a girl going to have some fun?

Got a little sidetracked there. You don’t care about my business plan and all that personal shit do you? 

Where was I…my flight was being called as the flight from Berlin began walking through, I spot him fumbling with his luggage trolley at the arrivals gate, smartly dressed and all expensive from hair to soles but that is not what marked him out as my last of the season

His wrist did it, well not actually his wrist but the gold rolly that lived there, not the workman’s model but the one with the baguette diamonds and his pinky sported a fuck off sized solitaire as well. It was the pinky ring that gave me the idea he might enjoy briefly meeting me and sealed his fate at the same time.

Those European guys like their manbags and he was no different. It was expensive leather, the catch still unfastened since he had put his passport back. His passport, wallet and more were all inside chanting my name like old friends but I only had ears for the voice of his cash.

I took my pen from my purse and slipped it to the neckline of my dress then started ‘looking’ for something in my purse as I collided with him.

He began swearing at me until he heard me say ‘my ankle’ in an obviously male voice as I tried to get my foot back in my heel that had ‘fallen off’ during the clash, while looking down at my shoe I said in my normal voice ‘I am so sorry, I was not looking…’ now he is smiling and regretting the swearing. I had guessed right as he immediately began tapping me. 

I smiled and said that I was meeting a girlfriend who was joining me for winter in the sun. I carefully pronounced ‘girl’ with a u, men like him like gurls. Without asking I took his hand and the pen from my cleavage. His eyes stayed there as I wrote a random mobile number on his palm and said ‘perhaps we could all meet up for a coffee sometime?’

Shaking him off I slipped into the restroom, time was tight, straight in a cubical and riffled through the wallet. I left his cards, even the black one, slipping the thick wad of monkeys in my purse I dumped everything else under a paper towel in the cubicle. 

You wonder what monkeys are? 

Aren’t you the little innocent. Monkey is slang for 500, you know 500 euro notes — Bin Ladens if you are old school.

Were was I?  Oh that’s right…I hear my name called and make a dash for gate as my name comes over the speakers again. This time the announcer is publicly chastising me for keeping the plane from leaving. 

Enough about all that, all I had intended to say was why I was excited and couldn’t sleep on the flight. When the flight landed I took a cab to an airport hotel to shower Spain off me, and perhaps some sleep as well. 

OK I’ll be honest, the guy on immigration noticed and it really pissed me off. I should have let it slip, that would have been the easy thing but it’s been years since I’ve been made without me giving it up when it suits me. I need to finish lazer over winter, not just ‘need to’ in a sometime fashion — I’ll do it next month.

What?

Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I’d forgotten that I need to wet shave twice daily. Why the fuck would you even bring that up? 

Anyway, what a drama just because I didn’t have luggage ‘I have an apartment in Spain and a house here, who in their right mind would bring a suitcase of summer clothes to England in September?’ I say but they are still giving it ‘what if’s’ as if a case of cheap clothes makes me more respectable than a wad of cash.

Long story short I took a cab to the Dorchester and booked in there. No fuss, thankfully the receptionist has spotted my vintage Patek Philippe from across the foyer and she can’t take her eyes off it long enough to spot the beard that I am imagining now occupies the unlazered parts of my face. 

Its late enough in the morning that I can check-in straight away so I quickly weigh out a monkey and two bits for one night including breakfast. After a quick shower and nap I’m out the door to buy a change of clothes. This is London, a travelling look will not do for a night up west in the places I like.

What? Will I shoplift them?

What sort of a question is that? Let me tell you I am a professional not some jack of all trades. As you are still playing your ‘innocent card’ let me transplain, I am a professional at the top of my game, part of an international team, we meet up in Spain in spring and work the pockets of wealthy holidaymakers then go back to our own countries for winter.

By lunchtime I had the perfect dress with the perfect label, with more shopping still to do before I was ready for the evening I took lunch at the restaurant inside one of the smarter department stores, just a salad and green tea or I will not fit in that dress tonight. On my way in the store I took a locker, not to screw my new dress up and jam it in there but as a drop off. I’ve been doing a little work, not that I need to, just for the buzz. Just like me the store and undercover cops here are top of their game, world class. A practising pickpocket can never get too much practise. 

The restaurant is busy with self important business men and wealthy women. I take a table in the two seat tables area right next to two ladies who lunch and begin looking busy with my phone while grazing the salad and all the while earwigging their conversation. After months away it is nice to hear my birth tongue being spoken around me without a hint of any foreign accent. Their table is behind my back, I can hear but not see them. It takes me by surprise when I realise they are doing some sort of a deal, getting ready to exchange money for something. Whatever it is I want either the money or the something. 

With no set plan in mind I stand, they are both wearing enough diamonds that I could do with sunglasses. I pick up my carrier bag, spot one woman holding her purse on the table, the other one has her purse looped over the back of her chair. She is my mark. Game on…

’I am such an idiot’ I say intentionally using my male voice and adding a simpering undertone for added effect as I knock over a half empty cup spilling the coffee across the table. We all freeze, I see them glance at each other and my mark smirks at her tablemate as I take a napkin and begin mopping.

My working style top is low enough to reveal a modest amount of cleavage when required but not slutty low. There is no need to check what they are looking at, mans voice and women’s tits always work. 

 I give a little cough then say ‘let me call the waitress’ to add to the confusion I’m back in my usual voice, ‘has any gone on you?’ 

As if she and I had already rehearsed the unfolding scene she leant forward slightly to check for coffee on her skirt. It was enough. Her shoulder purse slipped from the back of her chair and joined my new dress in the carrier bag. 

They had already leant in close before I began to casually walk away but I still heard one of them say ‘you would never know it by looking that it’s a fucking man’ I’m hoping it is her purse that is keeping my dress company.  I can still hear their giggles, still feel the heat of their stares on my back as I near the takeaway sandwich bar. 

I’m smiling as I think about the tale of ‘pickpocket man in a dress’ that will enlighten their dull middle class dinner parties for months, perhaps years. Will they be honest and tell the dinner party how cute I am or will they transform me into some freak by way of retribution… 

I snap back into the moment just as my eyes sort of settle on a girl about my age.

Thinking I am smiling at her a girl in the queue for sandwiches smiles right back at me and says ‘hi’

If I weren’t working I think.

Now I’m out of sight of the restaurant I take the stairs, up a floor to a sort of hardware department and into the restroom. Jackpot. It is not the bag of money or even a black velvet pouch of diamonds that accompanies the normal detritus of a woman who lunches purse but a brown paper bag that contains a vacuumed pack and several little baggies. I recognise the symbol on the vac-pac, recognise the white powder and get the heft of it in my hand, a half kilo is my guess. 

Those little baggies are tempting but there’s no time for a line, I’ve gotten a real sense of urgency to be safely out of sight. I slip the half kilo and baggies in my purse and head off to the hotel not bothering to collect my mornings work from the locker.

Back at the room I began checking out my prize, the vac-pac has a little puncture mark, someone had already tested the package. I did a little happy hop, champagne will flow tonight. 

I still need shoes but there is plenty of time for a little celebration line first, I picked up one of the baggies as the door clicks, I realise someone has swiped a pass card as the door bursts open revealing two business men from the restaurant and two uniformed police officers. 

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