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It was the witching hour on one of those nights that streetlights couldn't penetrate. The thin white layer of fog dampened the orange glow that the state-mandated lamps put off and efficiently hid all anyone still awake along the roads. The perfect night for a little Robin Hooding.
He couldn't find himself feeling sorry for the little princess as he slid past her gaudy pink limo. It wasn't as if she couldn't by a new DVD player or replace the Tiffany nicknacks that would fit so lovely into his duffle bag. Of course, he wouldn't grab anything too heavy; no need to slow him down as he ran from the alarms.
I'd like to see them spend the week
livin' life out on the street
I don't think they would survive
All the little Prima Donnas in this upper crust neighborhood were the same. Living in their fancy little homes, playing with their pretty little toys, and completely ignoring the poor kids on the other side of town that didn't have anything to eat or someplace warm to sleep. They didn't have toys unless you count the sticks and empty soda cans that served as everything from hockey sticks and pucks to self-defense items. Nothing close to the multi-disk DVD players or the in-wall speaker systems that these adults counted as toys. Adult toys, what an oxymoron.
Actually, these primped and preened poodles of society didn't ignore those "less fortunate souls." No, their yearly tax write off to shelters didn't do much more than pay for the overly-exorbitant cost of upkeep that their life style of excess made necessary. Marx had it right: spread the money around and everyone would be happy. To bad power-hungry assholes had to ruin communism for the rest of us.
But they could spend a day or two
walking in someone else's shoes
I think they'd stumble and they'd fall
The house was dark, which boded well for him. If the prissy princess was fast asleep using the prescription sleep aids that doctors could prescribe to those in the lap of luxury but couldn't afford to give an insomniatic street rat, it was all the better for him. If they slept sound while he was still wide awake, then it was easier to get their shit out and money into the hands of those who need it. Namely himself. Robin Hooding was all the more fun if you were the one getting the proceeds.
Silently, he slipped up to a window left slightly ajar to allow the crickets' song to permiate the expansive rooms inside. Thank God for small favors and silly debutants that have very little common sense and even laxer security. One woman in a house large enough to keep half of the downtown homeless population was just too good to be true, but then again fact is sometimes stranger than fiction. Just the sweet little blonde, sleeping in her king-sized, four poster bed on the second floor of the twenty-room mansion. Surrounded by several acres of well-manicured lawns, complete with water feature and large rhododendrons lining the house. Big bushes were perfect for small thieves to hide in.
She always went to bed at eleven, that he knew. He knew that the security system console was close to the door and she never pressed it on her way to bed. He knew if he pried off the window screen that it wouldn't set off the alarm, but that it would only go off if the window was pressed more ajar. He knew that she had those windows that only opened so far without triggering the lock inside, but it also allowed just enough room for his slight frame to slip though. He knew all these things because he'd been watching her. Seeing her patterns. How she dressed. What she ate and when. Hell, he even knew that her favorite color was pink, considering that all her towels, bathrobe, sheets and bedspread were variations on that theme.
She always left at seven-thirty sharp, never even a little later. She had a home gym that got used every night right before dinner. She ate healthy. She brushed her hair three times a day. Once in the morning, putting it into some workable style that showed off her classy and long, creamy neck. Once when she got home to get rid of whatever image she chose to put on that particular day. And once right before bed to rid it of the tangles that her evening activities inevitably caused, the curse of long hair, and one that he knew very well.
She didn't have a boyfriend, or hardly any men in her home life, save the driver who left as soon as she arrived home from work. All-in-all, it was a pretty lonely life in a too-big house with too much stuff. Of course after tonight, she'd have just that much less.
Ya only see it on T.V.
read it in the magazines
celebrities that want sympathy
Gently setting the screen to lean against the white stucco wall, he carefully slipped into the window, arms first, and shimmied into the dark sitting room. At least it looked like a sitting room. There sure as hell were enough rooms in the house to keep one aside for sitting. For some reason, none of these stupid houses ever had a standing room or a laying down room. So why have a sitting room? It seemed...biased and lazy. Like sitting was the only activity they're good for. Standing exerts too much energy and laying down is for the poor, or something like that. Of course lounging is the best of all, and none of these houses seemed to have a lounge either. What is up with that? Even hotels had lounges.
But one thing these sitting rooms were good for were expensive bric-a-brac, like Hummel figurines and Lenox china. People paid good money for these, even on the black market. Name brands always fetched a good price, even if they were delicate little novelty items. A few of those wrapped in her expensive Donna Karen chenille throw, skillfully hidden in a cupboard drawer could feed him for a month. Besides, the princess could always go back to Sax or Nordstrom's and buy another. It's not like she was hurting any.
What good were "throws" anyway? Who really needed a shrunken blanket? Hell, he could buy five blankets from K-Mart and shrink them down at the laundry mat for the price of her one knitted throw. Even if it was a nice shade of pale mauve, it wasn't worth twelve Big Mac super-sized meals. MacDonald's was at least something you could use. It kept you fed. No one needed a small blanket, unless you use it for packing fluff. It always worked for that.
And did you know if you were caught and you were smokin' crack
and McDonald's wouldn't even wanna take you back
you could always just run for mayor of D.C.
"One throw's enough for this little room," the young thief thought to himself. "Even though I do like that little crystal clock, but it's not worth the trouble." He moved out into the hall and slipped through the shadows down to the media room. "Whoo, who needs to a television that big?"
A large TV was the dominating force in the space, with its giant speakers and forty-two inch horizontal screen. Then there was the custom made entertainment center sitting off to the side that housed the five disk CD/DVD player, the six speaker, plus subwoofer, surround sound system, and of course TiVo, every one of these homes has those. "Sorry honey, but the only electronic equipment I'm leaving you is your battery operated boyfriend, and of course that cumbersome speaker system. Ain't no way I'm even trying to take that. Hope you don't mind much sweetie," he whispered while disconnecting the wires from the too big TV.
Carefully he placed the electronic equipment alongside the well-protected fragile stuff, of course taking the cables and remotes. You got to have those, or they dock you money. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, the street rat lightly lumbered into the hall, laden with the weight of his loaded satchel.
Navigating the hall, lit by less the adequate light, the homeless youth misjudged the width of the area. His slight frame coupled with his now much larger bag caused him to bang into a tastefully decorated table, knocking something heavy and clear onto the floor, and creating a loud thump. "Fuck."
If money is such a problem
Got so many problems
Think I could solve them
"Is someone down there?" a female voice chimed from the top of the stairs, turning on the upper story's hall light and bathing the darken hallway in an ethereal glow, much like a Rembrandt painting. God was sending holy light into the darkness of mortality, and much like the Seraphim in the highest choirs of heaven, a gold haloed, white-clad figure appeared at the top of the stairs, back light by the white lamp in the hall. "Is someone there?"
"Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit," the thief thought, adjusting his ski mask, making sure it covered not only his face but his hair. Ducking into one of the few remaining shadows, he thanked some great deity that there were still some non-faded black clothes in his wardrobe. Blending into the dark recesses of his blessed sanctuary, his heart sped up at the sight of the unearthly beauty that was descending from above.
He held his breath, hoping that total silence would keep his current position secret long enough to lull the princess back into the security she held before. "Are you still here?"
"Come on, Duchess, go back upstairs. I don't want to hurt you, darling," he thought, praying that some sort of divine intervention would come to pass. "Guess not," he cursed as he silently watched her flip the light switch located in the foray, chasing away the remaining shadows and his sanctuary. "I should have gone into prostitution instead, less hazardous," he mused before street honed instincts kicked in.
With any attempt to hide dissipating in a instant, the thief took off down the hallway, heading for the nearest exit, the front door, at a breakneck speed that would have made any high school track coach salivate with a sense of victory. Unfortunately, that path took him past the robbee, which was a big mistake.
Lifestyles of the rich and the famous
they're always complainin'
always complainin'
The debutante reached out and grabbed the strap of his duffel bag, letting out a squeaking scream as the much stronger, black clad figure drug her along behind him. Startled by the loud noise at his back, the thief whirled around attempting to get a view of maker. The momentum of the run coupled with a quick turn, sent the blonde flying into her sitting room, and straight into the couch with a "humph."
Torn between taking off and making sure that the lonely princess was alright, the slippery burglar decided to get out while the going was good. "Wait," the debutante called after him. "Please wait." Hearing the pleading coming from the sitting room, the street hardened youth stopped at the thresh hold of the house, looking out the now open door to his freedom. "Please don't go. I'm not going to call the police and the alarm isn't armed."
"Why?" he found himself asking, not moving from his place at the door, and cursing his own stupid ideals of chivalry that wouldn't allow him to leave a women in distress, while still viewing his escape route into the blessed fog.
"Could you come in here, please?"
"Why?" he asked again turning from the security of the night, and looking back into the white light of the house.
"Because I like to see whom I'm talking to." Half an hour before, he wouldn't have found himself even considering the option of talking to her, but the little voice in the back of his mind was screaming that he should. It was the same one that insisted that he wash his hands before looking at a library book or give the last of his lunch to the smaller member of his community, no matter how hungry he was. It was the nice guy that the little thief buried behind survival instincts and utopian philosophy any chance he got.
"'Kay." Slowly, he moved from the door, still not exactly knowing why he was doing this, but understanding that it needed to happen, he went to stand in the at the entrance of the sitting room. Looking at the now fallen looking angel sitting on the arm of her overstuffed couch in a shroud of shadows. The debutante was smiling at him. A genuine smile, not the fake ones he'd been receiving over the past week while he was tracking his mark. Leaning against the door jamb he graced the princess with his best cocky smile.
"Could you take off your mask? I'd like to see what you look like." The smile faded from his face, but not wanting to make her bring in the pigs, he complied with an uncomfortable laugh, wincing a little as his braid hit his back. Now she knew that he looked like. She could pick him out of a line-up. "Just as I thought. You're cute."
"Thanks," the long-haired burgler replied, a little confused and uneasy at the compliment.
"I knew you had nice eyes, but your face is just lovely, and that hair...I hadn't gotten a good look before now. You're positively gorgeous." Feeling a little sheepish about the attention from the lady, the thief found himself looking at the oak, hardwood floor with a new fascination. "Would you mind telling me your name?" Cobalt eyes flew up to meet cornflower blue ones. She just asked his name! "I could understand if you don't want to tell, but I'd very much like to know it. Don't worry. I'm not going to turn you in." For some odd reason, he found himself believing her, even trusting the primped and preened lady, but only a little.
"M' name's Duo."
"It's nice to meet you Duo. My name's Relena. Relena Peacecraft." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the pair, the male trying hard not to look at the girl, while she studied him with the rapt attention of an artist, taking in his slightly off-black sweatshirt and well worn jeans. Both look inadequate for the chilly nights of early spring. She didn't feel sorry for him, or piety the man in front of her, that would be an insult to the obviously proud youth who stole into her house, but she did find herself wanting to help him, somehow.
"So, you're not gonna turn me in?" Duo asked sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
"No, I'm not," Relena answered, smiling sweetly at him again. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to come to dinner tomorrow night, that is if you're not busy."
"Huh?" the thief questioned, alarms going off in his head, screaming that if he came he wasn't going to see freedom again until he started balding. "Yup, really should have become a whore, less jail time," he thought again.
Well did you know when your famous you could kill your wife
and there's no such thing as 25 to life
as long as you got the cash to pay for Cochran
"I asked you to dinner, and don't worry. There are not going to be any police waiting for you. As I'm sure you noticed, I don't have much company around and I would like some for my evening meal tomorrow. If it helps, I'll pay you."
"Ya wanna to have dinner with me?"
"Yes, I would like to have dinner with you."
"An' ya wanna pay me for it?"
"Yes, if it means I get the pleasure of your company."
"An' no cops?"
"Nope." Okay this was too good to be true.
"What's the catch?"
"There's no catch here. I'm lonely and, I know you noticed, I have more then enough money to compensate you. Basically I'm doing this for selfish reasons."
"S'no catch?"
"None at all. You just show up and seven sharp with a health appetite and I'll order take out. No need to poison you with my cooking."
"I'm sure it's not that bad," he mumbled uneasily, scuffing his boot on the floor, cringing at the black mark it left.
"Oh, trust me it is. Why do you think I live off of salads? It's the only eatable thing I can make." She laughed lightly, a soft tinkling sound. Duo found himself smiling, in spite of his fears of imprisonment, despite Relena's instants that she wasn't going to send him to jail.
All they do is piss and moan
inside the rolling stone
talking about how hard life can be
Not wanting to be around the attractive blonde anymore, the young thief shrugged off his bag, leaving it to sit on the floor as he turned to leave without a good-bye. Just in case she did call the police, he didn't want to end up with even more jail time by adding theft to breaking and entering. If he left her stuff he might get to breath freeman's air again before he was too old to enjoy it.
He didn't look back again when he reached the front door and entered the chilly, moist early morning air. "At least I'll get a meal and a couple bucks out of this, so it's not all that bad," he thought to himself, kicking a small pebble that happened to cross his path to the front gate.
"Oh Duo!" the sweet voice called him from the house. He turned and was greeted by the vision of Relena standing the doorway, his bag held out by a shaky arm. "You left your stuff."
With a defeated sigh, he headed back to the mansion thinking of how he was going to explain the concept of theft to the obviously naive lady. "Listen, Princess," he started at he reached the stone steps and headed up the three clunky stairs. "I know ya were brought up with a silver spoon placed in that pretty mouth, but the stuff's yours. I was taking it."
If money is such a problem
well they got mansions
think we should rob them
"I know that, Duo. I'm not dumb." This left the young street-wise boy flabbergasted. Maybe he underestimated the worldliness of the debutante. "But like I said. You forgot your stuff." The thief could feel his face fall into a pole axed expression and couldn't do anything to stop it. "Duo, I said I wanted you with a good appetite, that means not spoiling it with flies," she deadpanned closing his mouth with too soft fingers. "Now, that's better."
With yet another sweet smile, she placed the bag around his neck and a quick peck in his cheek. "See you tomorrow at seven, sharp," she reminded before shutting the door, leaving the stunned man on her porch, starting at the light yellow door in awe, lightly touching the still warm spot where she kissed him.
We'll take your clothes, cash, cars, and homes
just stop complainin'
Duo Maxwell, thief extraordinare, had been defeated by a debutante in a frilly white nightgown.
