1. Life of Swindlers

Delilah

"Get ready. He's heading towards the café," My father's voice crackled in my ear through the headphones. I scanned the almost empty café, my heart racing.

"Keep a close eye. I will leave after the count of three. From there you charge," I whispered into the phone, my fingers clutching the cold coffee cup.

"Start moving! His steps are fast," My father's urgent voice came through again. I took a deep breath and grabbed my notebook, taking one last sip of the lukewarm coffee.

"One," My father counted down in my ear.

"Two. Get ready," He hushed out, his words pushing me into action.

"Three," I heard, and I pushed the café door open with a deliberate force, letting my notebook and bag drop to the floor as I crouched down.

"Oh my god! My foot!" I cried out, feigning pain as the young man hurried to my side. "Are you okay, Miss?" His voice was filled with genuine concern.

I signaled my father from behind with a subtle nod. He had already accomplished his mission, and now it was my turn to play my part.

"I think I sprained my ankle," I muffled out, rubbing my foot and keeping up the act to ensure our plan's success.

The young man's worried expression deepened, and he knelt down beside me. "Don't worry, I'll help you up. Let's get you somewhere to sit," he said, gently supporting me.

As he tried to lift me, I winced in pain, making sure to keep up the charade. "It really hurts. Thank you so much for helping me." My voice trembled as I leaned on his shoulder for support.

He guided me to a nearby table, and I continued to act as if my ankle were injured. Meanwhile, I kept an eye on my father, who was now discreetly exiting the café. Our mission had gone off without a hitch, and it was time for me to maintain the diversion.

"I'm so clumsy," I muttered, trying to draw the young man's attention away from the café's entrance. "I can't believe I tripped like that."

He was still looking concerned but offered a reassuring smile. "Accidents happen to everyone. Just take it easy, and we'll make sure you're okay."

I nodded appreciatively and watched as my father disappeared from view, carrying out the mission we had been meticulously planning for days.

"What would you like to drink?" the young man asked, concern still etched on his face.

I knew I needed to leave the café now that our mission was accomplished. "I'm fine. I think I can handle walking," I replied, forcing a smile and pretending to limp as I stood up.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" he asked, rising from his seat.

I maintained the act. "I'm fine. I can manage. Thank you for your help," I assured him, my gratitude genuine for his assistance in our plan.

He nodded, but his gaze remained on my legs. "On that note, can I—" He patted his pocket, realizing something was amiss.

"Wait... I think I dropped my wallet," He said, searching around the table in mild panic.

I seized the opportunity to divert his attention further. "Oh my. How did that happen?" I pushed, trying to help him look for his wallet.

"Never mind, can I get your number at least?" he asked, attempting to salvage something from this situation.

Even after losing his wallet, he was trying to flirt with me. I scribbled a random number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. He accessed it with a hopeful smile. "I will give you a call. Your—"

But I cut him off, pulling out my phone and pretending to make a call. "Hello, sir, yes, I'm on my way. Give me a call," I said aloud, turning to leave with my feigned limp.

Once I was out of the café, safely away from the prying eyes, I let out a sigh of relief and walked normally. I couldn't help but do a little victory dance. "Yes! I did it!"

**

I stepped inside the familiar laundry shop that my father owned. "Mission accomplished, father!" I cheered as I grabbed a seat, thrilled that everything had gone according to plan. My father was busy counting money behind the counter.

I quickly scanned the surroundings before turning to my father. "Keep it down, father. What if someone barged in?" I whispered, reminding him of the need for caution.

He didn't say anything, his focus on the cash in front of him. "Here. For you," he said, pushing a small stack of bills across the counter.

My eyes traveled down to his outstretched hands, and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're giving me this small amount after all the planning we did."

"Buy yourself a new pair of shoes," he suggested, nodding towards the worn-out Converse sneakers I had been wearing for weeks.

"Nothing is wrong with these shoes, Father. They were Mom's. You gifted them to her yourself. I'm helping you keep memories of her. Give me more cash, please," I insisted, pushing my palms forward.

He reluctantly dropped one more bill into my hands, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his stinginess. "Seriously, Father. I'm the one who does the hard work, but you don't give me enough. And why are you wearing that jacket? What if the owner sees it?"

A smile crept onto his face as he looked down at the jacket he was wearing. "This? I fell in love with it the moment the customer brought it in. It had been a couple of weeks already, and I'm sure he had forgotten he owns such a jacket."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What about his calls? What did you tell him?"

"I told him his jacket isn't here, of course. That he didn't bring it along. As simple as that," My father explained, his expression untroubled.

I shook my head, bemused by my father's peculiar actions. "So... what have you found in his wallet, apart from the cash? And how did you know he was heading to the cafe?" we had spent some time in this covert business with my father, yet sometimes I couldn't help but question his intelligence. I often wondered how he ended up as a laundry man instead of working in a tech company.

My father leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. "In his wallet, I found a business card, a photo of a woman, and a few notes with some coded information. As for the cafe, I had been monitoring his routine for a while, and his recent activities pointed in that direction. He's not as discreet as he thinks."

I nodded, impressed by my father's sleuthing skills, even if his career path hadn't taken him down a more conventional route. It was moments like this that made me appreciate his unique approach to our line of work.

"Go make us some noodles. I'm starving," Father suggested, his mind more on a meal than the money.

I couldn't help but tease him, "Oh, Father, after swindling a poor man, you still aren't going to take your one and only daughter to a fancy restaurant? Remember, we're in this together. If we're getting dragged down, we're going down together."

My father shot me a disapproving glance. "Find us more clients, and who knows, you might get to go to a fancy restaurant," He retorted.

I sighed dramatically, pushing the bills I'd taken from the counter into my jeans pocket. "Now go. Before I faint from hunger." He dismissed.

"I can't believe I have such a stingy father."

"I heard you!" He seethed.

I smirked. "Yes, Father, I didn't say it for you not to hear," I quipped before heading off to make some noodles for our meal.