THE ART OF NICKING: CHAPTER 3 - CHANEL
It was the sixth day of November when we found her; it all started with a mugging. (That’s right, we did it - we’re badass.) Franco and I needed a little cash to go to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert. We couldn’t afford the tickets, so we made someone else. That’s how we lived through life: mugging, stealing, frauds, thefts - you name it, we did it.
You ask how we managed to survive this long, that is without getting arrested even once? Easy; we change at least one number of our home address on our house everyday. It might sound completely idiotic, but it actually works. No one really notices, and it’s fun getting some other person’s mail in your mailbox every other day; especially brand new credit cards.
Now, before I get off track here - we were at a Best Buy store about thirty miles away from our house. Franco and I were lurking around in the DVD section, pretending to search for a certain movie, waiting for the perfect victim… until she came.
A girl, seeming to be in her young twenties, wearing a Tibi St. Honore sleeveless dress in the calming color of cream with Valentino Garavani platform leather shoes with four and a half inch high heels in the two colors of French navy and white walks up next to me. Her dress was a little loose, yet curved and rested in all the right places. A Tartan red plaid headband gently rests on her long, curly dark brown hair. She’s busily talking on her orange Envy cell phone while her creamy-colored Valentino couture leather bag is hanging on her right shoulder. (You tend to know the exact designer brand and famous labels when you’ve stolen enough.)
While she’s talking nonstop, I, with both my hands inside the side pockets of my Diesel dark blue jeans, gently lean back onto the heels of my dark brown Merrell Apollo shoes and peer behind her. And when I do, in the corner of my forest green eyes, I see a black, micro quilted Chanel wallet made with lambskin sticking out of her bag; and that can only mean one word - jackpot. A girl covered in designer brand labels is sure enough to be filled with cash.
While she’s busy talking on her cell phone, I, with my stupendous skills, swiftly walk behind her and just casually, carefully, and quickly, with the most delicate hands of all, snatch the Chanel wallet out of her Valentino bag. As soon as I do so, I stick it in the back pocket of my jeans and quickly pull down my Moose Creek green and navy checkered plaid long-sleeve shirt over it, making sure to keep walking out towards the exit door of the store as the stolen item is concealed within.
This is Franco’s cue; he starts walking after me, following me towards the exit door. But after we take about five steps and are almost out of the store, the girl suddenly screams at the top of her lungs. All the shoppers nearby turn their heads to look and see the girl, looking inside her Valentino bag in shock, as if something was missing - I wonder what it could be.
“My wallet! My Chanel wallet! It’s gone! Someone stole it! My Chanel wallet!” she screams.
Of course she has to exclaim that her wallet is Chanel - I don’t understand girls and their designer brands; I never have a problem with Alejandro about this. But that’s both Franco’s and my signal to bail.
Just as we start to ignore the scene and are about to casually walk out of the store, suddenly a buff Caucasian man, this one seeming to be in his mid 20’s, with a shaven head, strong facial features, and medium-sized silver studs on his ears steps in my way, preventing me from leaving.
“Hey stud! You got my girlfriend’s wallet?!”
To tell you the truth, I liked that guy; he called me “stud”. But the only problem I had with him was that he knew the girl, even worse, he was her boyfriend. I snickered at the thought.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man,” I replied as I chuckled, leaving a smirk on my face.
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Now hand it over and wipe that disgusting smirk off your face.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” I chuckle.
“Really? Then what the hell is this?”
The man just “oh-so” casually shows me the same exact Chanel wallet I took from the girl. I quickly take my right hand and touch the back pocket of my jeans, of where I last left the wallet and where it should have been, and the pocket it empty.
A pickpocket; I should have known.
But before I can do anything else, the alarm system inside the store suddenly goes off. Loud ear-piercing sirens are turned on as the customers panic all around the store.
It’s just a wallet; oh right - it’s Chanel.
As the man’s attention is focused elsewhere, at the frightened customers with flailed arms as they run in and out of the various aisles throughout the store, I quickly elbow the man’s face with my right elbow, aiming specifically for the nose. He yells with pain and agony, drops the wallet as it falls onto the ground, and clutches his face with both hands. I leave him as he is, snatch the wallet off of the ground, hastily turn back to face Franco who is just idly standing and watching, and signal to him that it’s time we move out.
You would think if your older brother was in trouble, you’d actually help or at least try to, not just stand by and watch to see what happens next - but I guess that’s just Franco for you.
We both run out of the store in a rush, but once we reach the street, we unexpectedly see ourselves surrounded by police vehicles - four of them to be specific.
“What the hell? They called the cops on us?!” Franco exclaims with fright.
“Head to the Jeep!” I yell as I frantically look around.
We both abruptly run to our delicious, one and only 2008 Jeep Wrangler Rubicon 4x4 in the tangy color of Rescue Green Metallic. Oh god, how I love that car - as you can tell; it’s almost impossible to believe that I still have it.
When we reach it, we each pull open our door, hurriedly shove ourselves into the vehicle as fast as we can, and close it. I turn the engine over and head down the street, only awaiting to see as to what we’ve gotten ourselves into this time.