“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she kept whispering, and found her Scotch glass. It was half full; she gagged the liquor down and wiped the glass with the bedspread. She hesitated over the cash on the dresser, then grabbed the wet bills and shoved them into her panty hose. They felt cold and slimy and used.

She thought that he moved, one strange little twitch out of the corner of her eye as she opened the door. No. He couldn’t have.

Jesus. Jesus, she hated hallways.

Chapter Two

Robby

Robby MacReady brushed her fingertips across the top of a brown leather wallet and moved on without taking it. She could tell—almost to the nearest dollar—how much was in it, and that one wasn’t worth the risk.

While the wallet walked away, oblivious, she eyed the crowd and rubbed her itchy fingers. The weight of other people’s money dragged at the lining of her coat—enough money, she thought, but then how much was enough? The hardest part of stealing, like gambling, was knowing when to quit.

Not yet, she promised her itchy fingers. Soon.

An overweight young woman with red hair tied back from a round unmemorable face passed close to her, and Robby twitched her finger as if throwing away a cigarette. Kelly—the red-haired woman-forged ahead. Robby fell in behind her.

Kelly had good hands, if not strictly great; she had a limited feel for marks, rarely got called and never got caught. Robby might have liked her except for her generally sour attitude and endless romantic difficulties—the latest was with Sol, their resident Mafia tax collector. Sol dressed as if someone might be filming him for the next movie of the week.

Ah, Robby thought, and felt a distant tingle. Money coming. She let her eyes go blank and watched faces, watched movements. The woman strolling toward them with the red suit and Gucci bag had the walk of wealth.

Kelly eased in and neatly fished a wallet out of the Gucci bag. Robby judged it a seven of possible ten. The mark, busy checking her diamond-studded watch, never even noticed. Kelly made a quick snapping motion with her fingers, and Robby quickened her walk, brushed by and retrieved the wallet from her. It joined about seven other sweet twins in various Velcro pockets in her jacket.

Robby felt sated and relaxed and—at least for the moment—rich. She waved Kelly off from another pinch and slowed to an amble, enjoying the cool sunshine, the fresh breeze. Kelly hurried away down the street.

A block farther down, Robby, in a celebratory mood, entered O’Donnell’s.