Stealing the Wrong Treasure

I was the top bounty thief in the organization. The best they had.

After turning in my final score, I announced on the spot that I was done for good.

Then, I stood in my studio, blending paint.

A single photograph was pinned to the wall before me.

Black Viper filled the doorway, the light behind him casting his face in shadow.

"What's it like," he asked quietly, "pretending to be an artist?"

He stepped further inside.

"Does paint smell better than blood?"

I placed the palette knife down and wiped my hands slowly. "I'm done. I walked away."

"Old Fox didn't approve of it."

"That's not my concern."

Black Viper crossed the room and tapped the old photograph on the wall.

"Are you certain?"

I did not want to look. I told myself not to.

However, my gaze shifted anyway.

A young boy stared back from the photo.

"The blind kid?" I had spent ten years searching for him.

"Where is he?"

I moved toward the wall, reaching to rip the picture down.

"One last job," Black Viper said, pressing his palm against the photo.

My hand stopped in midair.

"What's the target?"

"The final lot at next month's auction that the Gilbert Group will be holding.

"It's called Mermaid's Tear."

The Gilbert Group, with Bradley Gilbert at its helm, was a name that sent shivers down the spine of anyone in the city. He was known as the Reaper, a legend among both cops and criminals.

"You want me dead?" I asked.

"It's a tough job; that's why we came to you," Black Viper said before he then turned to leave.

"You've got a month to get ready. Oh, and Bradley's got a lady friend, Rosemary Baker. She's his Achilles' heel."

The door slammed shut.

I just stood there, my fingers instinctively curling around the beads I had always worn.

I had lived in what they called an orphanage for as long as I could remember, though it was nothing like the ones seen in storybooks.

All I knew was that I had to complete whatever dirty work the Handler threw at us if I wanted to eat.

Sometimes it was easy stuff, like stirring up trouble in a crowd.

Other times, it was tougher, like helping the older kids mug someone who was out alone.

Getting caught meant a brutal beating.

The kids who were broken beyond repair after those beatings ended up on the streets begging for change.

"The better you behave, the sooner you'll get adopted and have a full belly every day," the Handler would say.

So, we all hustled harder, dreaming of getting out.

Then, that blind kid showed up.

He could not do a thing, yet the caretakers fed him.

Those who failed the tasks went hungry, and soon enough, they were eyeing his meals.

The moment the caretaker left, the blind kid's food would vanish into thin air.

However, the kid never shed a tear or threw a tantrum. It was like he did not care about eating or anything else; the world meant nothing to him.

Three days later, I watched the kid lying there, not moving a muscle; his lips were cracked, his cheeks red with fever, and he was still whispering to himself.

If anyone got sick around there, no one would look after them.

I gave him a drink of water, and it was only when I got real close that I could make out what he kept mumbling.

"Revenge. I must get revenge..."

Back then, I did not even know what that meant. All I saw was the cool-looking beads hanging around the neck of the blind kid, and I figured I would snatch them. However, he fought me off, gripping those beads like they were his lifeline.

"No way; they're my mom's. She's gone now."

"I got you some water, and I'll throw in some bread. Just hand over the beads," I told him, looking right into those hollow eyes of his.

The kid stayed quiet, his fist tight, not giving an inch.

"How about two pieces of bread? Deal?" I asked.

All I got back was silence.

"Fine, three then, but that's as high as I'll go..."

I kept trying to trade my food for those beads, but he never budged.

Until one day, after everything went south, I got tossed into the room and beaten within an inch of my life.

The blind kid heard the noise and stumbled over to me.

He could not see, but the dampness on his hands and the stench of blood told him all he needed to know about the shape I was in.

I half-closed my eyes and watched him scurry around, trying to help me, tripping and getting up; soon enough, he was a mess of red and purple.

I knew I slightly liked that feeling, even though I was knocking on death's door.

After a while, the blind kid gave up searching, sat down next to me, and cradled my head in his lap.

"Are you going to die?" he asked, eyes wide open.

I could not talk; I just managed to scratch his palm with my finger.

"You're not allowed to die, got it?

"Here, take this. My mom will watch over you from up above." He pressed something round and still warm into my hand.

"As long as you stay alive, this will be yours one day. You've always wanted it, right?"

The bead was cool as it spun between my fingers.

It had been our companion through countless nights of suffering.

Eventually, I was the one who got 'adopted'; the other kids in the orphanage looked on with jealousy.

However, the little blind kid stood in front of me, brandishing the only weapon he had: a broken brick from the garden, refusing to let them take me away.