Chapter One

David David Marrow was a criminal. His record was one begun with theft such as the occasional car stealing, until eventually he swindled almost a million dollars in a single step. He would ploy women of high wealth or inheritance into believing they loved him. Then he procured their money and left them forlorn to be found out and disgraced for trusting his soothing words.which had seemed so amorous 'till the end when he betrayed the love of the women. His solemn promises, all that appealed to the feminine ear turned out to be fabrications he used to bend one's mind into total confusion. That one man ended up with eight hundred thousand dollars and a large art studio of his own in the city of Manhattan. David Marrow was me.

* * *

I walked quickly, not particularly caring to be seen or recognized. The former could lead to the latter, and in my case, that was, and still is, not a risk to be lightly taken. Being seen is mostly a danger to me of the second kind. I say 'of the second kind' for a reason, of course. See, there're two kinds of danger. There's danger you can face up to and danger of another kind.it's wealth. It's wretched and it's not of this world. Wealth separates people from 'real' people. It's what usually distinguishes a person in this city, and it's ludicrous. I mean, a person is a person, nothing more or less.despite wealth. Money might be useful, but it makes one rich, not important. After reading the above, you're probably wondering why I speak against wealth when, as you may have surmised in the beginning, it is a trait that can well define my existence and why the hell I became a thief and a liar.It wasn't that difficult, really. All I needed was a reason, and when I was twelve, that fell into line for me, setting up the road to the rest of my life. My mother died giving birth to me; I had no siblings. My dad would come home every week or two, completely drunk and beaten to the bone. He had no job, and was normally in a state of drunkenness, which is why he was usually beaten if he got to near someone. He was arrested when I was twelve. I'd had to fend for myself before, but still things became different. I got a job, or tried to, at least. No one wanted to hire the poor son of a bitch who'd had an arrested dad and lived alone on the streets. I then went to Plan B. I stole. At first I just took small things: watches and jewelry. They were easy to get hold of, and took longer to be missed. After a while I promoted myself to cars, they came in useful; and helped me teach myself to drive. If I wanted to get where I was going in a hurry, all I did was hot-wire the finest car I could find in the neighborhood and speed off before being caught. After a while, I made it here, to New York, and graduated to some real theft. I met someone and stole her heart. We saw each other limitedly, 'cause her folks were the rich sort, the kind who hate lowly creatures such as me. We were in love though.we meaning me. One night, she came to me and said she'd met someone she was gonna marry. He was probably just some old schmuck her parents had introduced that had thought of those precious twelve words before me: "Well maybe we should.uh.you know.what d'ya think, huh?" But she must have loved him, because they set a date for the wedding a month later. Lucky bastard. The day of the wedding the couple made a trip to the bank to withdraw money for the honeymoon, only to discover that her 'fiancé' had withdrawn it all that morning.the 'fiancé' being me. I only got a couple grand from her, but it made me thirsty for more. There were two others like her.well, almost like her.that got themselves caught in my trap. Within five years, I had eight hundred grand.not bad.

* * *

Anya met me outside the art museum at nine O'clock on Friday night. We walked for a couple minutes, not speaking a word. After a while of silence, Anya turned to me. "You've been having this affair with 'Nicole' for a month now? Right. And, what's up with her husband?" "You wouldn't like him." I replied quickly, in an attempt to protect my friend. At least, that's what I'd always considered her to be. "Why would I be interested?" Apparently my anticipations had been false. I glanced her way. "Never mind. Forget I mentioned it." "OK. Anyway, what was it you wanted me to do?" I looked around cautiously, to be sure no one was near enough to hear. "Two things. One: Come with me to the party tonight. I need a date." "What party?" "The one I told you about, the opening." I gestured back at the museum, where a new Filipino exhibit was opening that night. Nicole was going to meet me there, but I needed a date just in case her husband's plans changed for the evening. He was supposed to have a meeting, but you could never be too careful, especially if you were me. Anya nodded in recognition of what I meant. She seemed to be able to determine anything I said or did, even if no one else could. "The second favor?" "Call this number. Ask for Nicole and when she's on, give me the phone." I requested, handing over a card with Nicole's number scrawled on it. My friend sighed. She was tired, I could tell. The other night I'd asked her over around midnight for an opinion on some of my work, since I couldn't decide for myself weather to keep it, sell it, or burn it. She'd come to my studio and examined every painting until we'd made three piles. One had five paintings to burn. The second had nineteen to sell, and the third consisted of three for me to keep and display. After sorting through the work and having a little bonfire, we'd talked until sunrise; I always could talk to her, tell her anything I wanted, and trust it'd be kept secret. For a moment I thought she'd refuse my second question, but she didn't. "What time?" "Now. She's just gotten home from work." "Anything you say, 'David'." "Thank you for that." I whispered while she waited for someone to answer at Nicole's in the phone booth. Another confession I feel pressured to reveal-I'm not really David Marrow. I changed my name after being released from prison.after three years of entrapment. To be completely honest, my real name's Jordan. Yeah, you heard correctly. I'm Jordan Weiss. The only people alive who know this are you, Anya, my dad.if he is still alive.and me.

* * *

The ringing of the hallway phone echoed throughout the Velmen's residence. Its tone sounded once, twice, three times, echoing down the hall as its wave lengths ricocheted off a white marble entry hall floor and pale blue walls, before being answered by Alexander Velmen, Nicole's husband of four years. "Hello? Yes, she's here. You want to speak with her? Just a minute.Who's calling?"

* * *

Anya covered the receiver and turned to me. "Who's calling?" She asked, simply. I shrugged and pondered before talking. "Give him your name." "No! My name implicates me. I don't want him knowing my name!" "Fine, tell him 'Miss Marrow'." Anya smirked. "Yes Miss Marrow." She relayed the name to Alex. There was a pause, and I assume he was getting Nicole on the phone. Looking and glowering at Anya, I ordered, "Never call me that again. Understand?" in a harsh tone. I was serious, and I'd make certain she knew it too. I was handed the phone. "Miss Marrow? I was hoping you'd call. Are you." Nicole let her third sentence trail off. "Sorry David. Alex was still in the room; I didn't know what else to do." My voice became soft. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter, Nicole.I'm set for tonight, what about you?" "Alex's engagement was cancelled. I don't know what we're going to do.He might come with me tonight and." Again her voice softened to nothingness. I could hear her sigh, and the sound tickled my ear. "He doesn't know who I am, right?" "Of course he doesn't." I half smiled. "Then there can be no harm done if he comes with you tonight. If he doesn't, then.it just makes things easier." "But if he does come.if he sees you-what could I say to him?" Her voice was a slight whisper, hardly noticeable. "Introduce us. Tell him my name. Tell him everything." "By everything, you mean." A smirk formed on my lips. "I'm an artist by interest. You've been to my studio and seen my work.Maybe he'll even buy something from me then." "You're playing with fire, David." "And I'm not afraid to burn. Come on.He might be good business for me, and I'd like to meet your Alexander." Nicole responded swiftly to that. "He is not my Alexander." 'Really?' I thought to myself. I'd thought he was.