Chapter 2: Nikki

"Hmm, I think I've got some candy bars in here, which one do you want?"

Sarcasm happens to be one of my best traits.

"Can you ever just hand me the goods and move about your business like everyone else?"

"Nope." I say, and then look behind him at the closed door, hoping he will get the hint that I am not interested in speaking with him. Charles has always asked me to hand my work over to him, but, unlike everyone else, I stick to the number rule of our world: Trust no one.

"Well, too bad, girly. Mick's busy and can't be disturbed. Guess you're going to have to trust me this one time." He smiles at me, which only grows when I try to go around him, and he cuts me off with his giant form.

"Look, big man, you know I don't trust you, so you don't get my work. As far as Mick being busy, I'm sure you can tell him I'm simply dropping off. My feet are killing me, and I am thirsty and ready for a nap. Not always the best combination when dealing with a woman, by the way."

"You ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" he growls.

I lean back and tap my forefinger against my chin, deep in thought with his question. "You know, Charlie boy, I would have to say I do like the sound of my own voice, so, no, I supposed I don't get tired of hearing myself talk."

"You've got an answer for everything, don't ya?"

I'm just about to answer his question with yet, more sarcasm, when we are both interrupted by Mick's commanding voice coming from the other side of the door.

"Let her in, Charles."

"Boss?" Charles looks back at the closed door questioningly, but I simply shove him out of my way, open the door, and walk inside.

Mick Reynolds isn't your typical bad guy. "Criminal organizer" is a great resume header, but he wouldn't need it. He's commanding, a take-charge personality with muscles and height to back it.

Mick's room was once a suite here, and although many of us have the old suites, me and Brody included, this one is the largest.

"Ah, Nikki, why don't you join us?" I look from Mick's face to the other gentleman sitting in the chair across from him. I freeze when I see he's wearing a badge, a detective's badge. He's on the tall side, dirty blonde and good looking in the typical American boy- next- door- sort of way.

"So, this is one of yours, Reynolds?"

Mick doesn't answer, simply smiles at the man and looks back over at me with a hint of warning. I straighten up, readying myself to hide my merchandise, but am surprised when Mick, instead, makes introductions.

"Nikki, I'd like you to meet one of my business partners, Mr. Kenneth Alfonso. Mr. Alfonso, this is one of my bandits, Nikki."

"Hello there, Nikki. It's a pleasure to meet you." I can't tell if he is being genuine or not, but I won't disrespect someone Mick has called his partner, so I simply nod and carry my gaze back over to Mick.

"Why don't you show us what you have there, Nikki?" Mick asks, and I don't hesitate to bring forward my bag and place it down on the small coffee table separating the two men. I empty the contents all over the glass table and watch as the two men lean forward and sift through my work.

"My, you've got some talent here, darling," Kenneth states as he looks through the mountains of wallets, chains, jewelry, ID's and other random high-ticket items we could get some serious cash for.

I first learned to pick pocket when Brody and I were in Dayton. It was the first time we had run away from a foster home and the first time we ever felt the true fact of starvation. I hated doing it at first, hated taking what other people saw as their hard-earned items, but when left with nothing but your clothes on your back and a little brother that needed to eat, those morals quickly go out the window. When Mick picked us up on the streets of New York, I knew one thing was certain: I wasn't the only person that knew how to do what I did, and I wasn't as talented as I thought.

So, I trained. I had others teach me their ways and, in exchange, I taught them my own. We had gotten good over the years but even our luck would soon come to an end if I didn't tell Mick what I learned today.

"It's a good stash, Mick, but we've got a problem."