Chapter 3 – The Thief
Garrison's next stop was Sing Sing to see Rodney Banks, an acclaimed thief, second-story man and pickpocket whose skills were infamous on both sides of the Atlantic. Warden Lang was very informative about Banks, he assured Garrison that 'Goniff', as he was called, was a likeable chap who caused no trouble at all and was a popular inmate. He then arranged for the prisoner to be brought in by a guard, they carried on chatting while they waited.
Ten minutes later the subject of the conversation was escorted, handcuffed into the room. As he entered he tripped over the guard's foot and stumbled into Garrison, much to his annoyance. Banks apologised profusely, shook his hand and sat down on the chair indicated. He thanked Warden Lang and the guard, smiling and bobbing his head as they left the room, leaving them on their own.
Garrison regarded the thief and was surprised to see that Goniff was of normal height with a mop of blonde hair, his slender build along with a habit of slouching made him seem a lot smaller and less intimidating than he was. Garrison casually offered the prisoner a cigarette, took one himself and sat down, putting the pack on the table next to a box of matches and an ashtray. He picked up the matches, struck one and lit both cigarettes, he shook it out and dropped it into the ashtray, replacing the box on the otherwise empty table. He looked sharply at the prisoner who was two feet away leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, taking a deep pull on his cigarette. He exhaled, opened his eyes and watched the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. "Lovely," he sighed, he looked at the officer with open, honest, blue eyes and waited politely for him to start talking.
Goniff fidgeted on his chair as he listened to the Lieutenant's pitch, nodding agreement at every opportunity. When the officer finished there was a thoughtful silence. "Well, what do you think?" Garrison asked the thief. "Do you want to go back home to England?"
The prisoner gave him a small smile. "Oh England's not me home any more mate, I'm a Yank now. Even got me Mum and Aunt Molly livin' over here after me Dad died. They're safe now the war's on. It would be nice to see London again though," he added wistfully.
Garrison looked at the file again. "I'm willing to let you join the team, you have the skills I need according to your record."
Goniff stared at the officer in astonishment. "Wow, Special Forces, me old Mum would throw a fit if she found out what I'd be doin'. Ok Lieutenant count me in. For King and Country and all that malarkey!" The last sentence was said in a brittle, upper class British accent. Banks stood up, gave a mock salute and turned to leave. He took a few steps and turned back to face the Lieutenant. "Oh yeah. I'd better give you these back or you won't get out." His outstretched hand held Garrison's wallet and ID.
When he reached out to take them back Garrison noticed that his watch was also missing. He was not amused as the prisoner smiled angelically and handed that back with his other hand. As he put his papers back in his inside jacket pocket Garrison realised that they'd been swapped for a pair of handcuffs. He hadn't even noticed the thief wasn't wearing them any more! He fished them out of his pocket and proffered them dangling from one finger to the thief. "Yours, I believe?" he said icily.
"Blimey, you swiped me cuffs!" declared Banks with mock outrage. "Is nothin' safe round here?" Garrison watched as the con took the cuffs and put them back on his wrists. "That's better. Can't lose these you know, the guards don't like it if we lose our pretty bracelets." He nodded at the table. "Would you mind if I kept the ciggies though? They taste better than the ones in here."
Garrison looked down to see the missing pack of cigarettes was back on the table where he'd put it. He gave Banks another sharp look, nodded and then patted his jacket pockets. "I'd like my lighter back, if you don't mind."
The thief put a hand in his pocket and handed over the lighter. "Oh, of course. Sorry, don't know how that got there, here you go mate."
Garrison checked that the rest of his belongings were present. "How did you do that?"
The prisoner smiled. "Oh it's easy when you know how. Besides I thought this was like one of them auditions so I gave it me best shot. How'd I do?"
The Lieutenant gave him a humourless glare. "Just as I expected for someone with your talents. I'll make the arrangements." Banks smiled and took no offence when the Lieutenant declined to shake his hand again, preferring to keep a little distance between them.
As he returned to his cell Goniff gave serious thought about what had just happened. He'd been very happy with the outcome of his talk with the army officer. He smiled to himself - nobody realised that under his facade of being an unassuming, harmless, eager-to-please buffoon was a sharp mind that quickly weighed up any situation. It suited him for others to believe the pretence, it kept him out of trouble with the more violent inmates. He hoped the Lieutenant wouldn't be looking for the other packet of cigarettes in his back trouser pocket any time soon. He smiled, gave a little whistle and juggled the packets in the air. "London here I come!"