Shep looked around the corner of the theatre, all senses on alert. They had just set up this new outpost, closer to Broadway, and Shep was the only one here. The rest of his band of merry orphans was back in the West Broadway alley, scrounging around for food in the restaurant dumpster. They thought Shep was off begging on street corners.
They were wrong.
Secretly, Shep was not actually begging; too public, too likely to get caught and sent to the police department, then to Angels of Mercy. He had ruled that out long ago. He just didn't tell the rest of the kids. Yes, he most certainly was not planning on begging. Maybe, deep down, it was because of his pride, but getting caught was reason enough. So, when they thought he was in soup kitchens and the like, he was actually sneaking into houses and restaurants, taking what he could and praying not to get caught.
They were petty crimes; the Take a Penny dish here, a slightly less worn winter coat there. None of the other kids knew. Shep didn't know how they would react. Didn't want to know.
He finally stepped out from behind the theatre. Silent as the night itself, he stealthily darted from cover to cover, avoiding the sparse streetlights. He gave the last of the people out this late a wide berth, avoiding any contact that would be a dead giveaway he was here.
Shep had scoped the area out a few days ago; finding little other than theaters and restaurants, he had almost left. Until, that is, he discovered the spacious apartment in a sleek building. If you could afford a sizable apartment on Broadway, Shep figured, you must be pretty rich.
And so he now slipped on the UPS delivery hat, wiped the last of the dirt off his face. He took the sizable box into his arms that contained mostly packing peanuts, but also a small lamp he had snitched from an old woman on 57th Street last week. Since he looked quite a bit older than the 13 that he was, this was the 'disguise' Shep used most often. He would feign a delivery using odds and ends he'd found, then send the recipient on a long quest for some unusual object so that he had time to nab what he could from the foyer. Usually not much, but he would take what he could get.
So Shep set off purposefully toward the streamlined building he had found, head held high, hoping that they were home. He stepped through the gleaming double doors engraved with Latin sayings along the doorframe he couldn't hope to make sense of. The lobby was just as modern as the rest of the building, all white marble and gold molding. A pimply teen was at the shiny black front desk, looking bored.
"Excuse me," Shep called out to him, trying to gauge his voice to make it sound convincing. "but I need to get to apartment 2B for a delivery. What floor is that on?"
The boy, seemingly not smart enough to be suspicious, hardly looked up from his magazine as he called, "2."
He strode toward the large silver doors of the elevator and tried to hide his smile as he pushed the glowing button. That was too easy.
The door of the apartment was a glossy white, with a big knocker and the shiny gold room numbers. Under the knocker, a silver plate pronounced that this was "the home of the Dears; Charles, Margaret, and Wendalynn." Shep fought the urge to snicker at the classic snooty rich-people names as he banged the knocker.
A man with clean-cut salt-and-pepper, an ironed Ralph Polo and perfectly creased and starched trousers opened the door. So stereotypical. Shep cleared his throat.
"I have a delivery for a Mrs. Margaret Dear. Is she here?"
The man smiled a practiced, white-toothed smile. "As a matter of fact, she is, but a little busy at the moment. Can I sign for it?"
"No," Shep said, shaking his head regretfully. "It specified that she needed to sign. Do I need to come back later?"
The man paused, thinking. "I don't think so," he said finally. "I'll go get her. She's in Wendalynn's room. Wait in here." With that, he turned a corner and he heard the sound of heavy footsteps going up stairs.
Shep had to hurry; he didn't know how much time he had. He quickly looked through the few items on the nearest small table. Keys, photos, some sticky notes... aha!
Shep quickly grabbed $20 from the thick leather wallet. With that much cash, 'Charles' wouldn't miss it. He grabbed some coins from the change jar by the door, stuffing them into his jacket pocket. He nabbed a small pair of earrings from a shelf. He found $5 in the pocket of an elegant coat, and then heard the click-clack of footsteps on wood. Shep hastily put everything back in order and assumed the expectant stance of a waiting delivery boy.
"Hello," said 'Margaret', stepping into the foyer. He caught his breath; she was movie star beautiful, ivory skin and flowing auburn hair. Her green eyes found him.
"Charles said I was to sign for something...?" she said, flashing another practiced, perfect smile. White teeth gleamed.
"Yes," Shep said, holding out his clipboard. "Right here, please."
She took his pen and signed Margaret E. Dear with a flourish, taking up a quarter of the page. Her bracelets jingled and her rings clanked together as she wrote.
Shep smiled at her. "Good night," he said, trying not to sound smug. He turned and left the warm foyer for the chilly but nonetheless elegant hallway.
Shep stuck his hands into his pockets, his fingers searching for the familiar square of paper. He frowned, tried again. He turned his pockets inside out, now totally panicked.
It wasn't there.