–
She was sitting up against the grating outside the Church of the Holy Spirit, typically underplaying her role in such a way that people were neither repelled nor annoyed by the cautiously outstretched hand and exposed, crooked leg extended in front of her. Miryam had the unusual ability to catch people’s eye with a smile and with a single look make them feel like she was their friend. A look that told of suffering but also the will to endure it. That was how she operated. Even the police passed her by without intervening. If she’d had the chance of another profession she would most certainly have made something of herself.
But the warmth in her eyes drained away with her smile when Marco appeared in front of her, his arms spread wide in the hope of detecting some small sign of happiness at seeing him again.
“Just leave, Marco,” she urged. “Everyone’s out looking for you, and they’ll do you harm if they catch you, believe me. I don’t want to talk to you. Just go away, and don’t show up in town again.”
Marco’s arms dropped to his sides. “Won’t you help me, Miryam? I’ll make sure they don’t see us together. If I keep a low profile, all you have to do is give me a signal once you know they’ve called off the search.”
“Jesus, you idiot, what’s got into you? They’ll keep on until they’ve got you. Of course they will, Marco, so get lost now! And if you come near me again I’ll get hold of the others. I might just do that anyway.”
She got to her feet, straightening her bad leg with difficulty, then offered him a handful of coins before she went. But Marco backed away, holding up his hands in front of him. He had anticipated her being reluctant and having her reservations, but not that she would threaten to denounce him or try to stick him thirty pieces of silver. Anyone else, certainly, but not Miryam.
He stood for a moment trying to recall the gentleness in her eyes, the caresses she’d given him when his mother did not.
And then he took off without a word.
Five streets farther down he leaned against a drainpipe and wept. He hadn’t cried since the first time Zola hit him. An unpleasant sensation began surging through his system, as though he had eaten food that had gone bad. His abdomen convulsed as if he was about to vomit. His nose ran faster than his tears. His arms and legs trembled.
Not just the others, but Miryam, too. He would never have believed it.
Most of all he wanted to close his eyes and let the world disappear. Just let himself go and scream out his despair, but he didn’t dare. He wouldn’t let himself be such easy prey. He was no little, simpleminded animal, oblivious to the predator. He knew how things worked.
A woman who was passing by stopped and put a hand on his shoulder, bending down to look him in the eye. “What’s the matter, dear?” she asked. But instead of embracing her and drawing solace from her kindness, he drew back, dried his eyes, and said: “Oh, nothing.”
Later he would wish he had thanked her, but it didn’t occur to him at the time, there being but a single thought in his mind: From now on, any member of the clan is fair game.
He would survive by his animosity toward them. He would no longer steal from ordinary people, but the clan were not ordinary people, so from them he would snatch anything he wanted. And when he had harassed them long enough and filled his pockets and stomach, he would move on in life.
–
He found Romeo and Samuel down in Nyhavn, working over throngs of boisterous, ruddy-cheeked Swedes. So Samuel had been promoted from beggar despite his being a poor earner.
He kept his distance for a while, watching them in their work. The seemingly accidental bumping into people, the swift dips into pockets and bags, the spoils then deftly passed into the other’s hand. They were skillful, and seldom needed to apologize for their clumsiness.
Marco knew their behavior patterns, knew when they would glance to the side or over their shoulders and the exact moment they would home in.
Samuel was the receiver, ambling along behind until Romeo struck. And then he would quickly step forward, sticking his hand through his pocket lining to receive the goods. His large inside pocket was already bulging visibly, so it had been a good day. Before long Samuel would signal to Romeo that it was time for a break so he could stash the spoils. And then Marco would strike.
He followed Samuel to one of the last remaining places in the city besides the central station where a person could leave a bag without being suspected of terrorism. By the revolving entrance doors on the ground floor of the Black Diamond, the modern extension to the Royal Danish Library, were locker areas adjacent to the restrooms, allowing people like Samuel to transfer the contents of their secret pockets into a shopping bag and hide them away in a locker without fear of being discovered.
Marco kept watch from the bookshop in the foyer until Samuel emerged from the restroom, shopping bag in hand. He would wait to see which locker Samuel used, then duck back out of sight. Once Samuel had gone, he would go back and work the lock.
Samuel fumbled in his jacket pocket before finding the key. Most probably he kept it on him at all times, ensuring there would always be a locker at his disposal.
He walked into the locker area, went over to the right-hand wall, bent down to one of the lower boxes, and put his key in the lock.
“Got it,” Marco said to himself, withdrawing into a corner.
A minute later, Samuel was on his way back to Nyhavn.
Romeo and new victims awaited.
–
For students it was study time leading up to exams and the library café was packed with young people hunched over laptops. Outside, beyond the glass walls, people lounged about, enjoying the sun and the harbor. No one here would worry themselves about a boy like Marco in a setting like this.
For a moment he stared at the wall of lockers. As far as he could work out, Samuel’s was number 163. The lock was simple, but he knew from experience that if he tried to force it with an incorrect key, the key would almost certainly snap in two. He had no tools with him by which he could break the lock either, nor did he possess the courage to ask for assistance at the information desk and spin them a tale about having lost his key.
He tapped his knuckles against the locker door. It wasn’t solid, but a kick would merely result in a dent and make a hell of a racket to boot.
So he needed the key.
–
He caught up with Samuel at Kongens Nytorv and figured that if he was to steal the key without the boy noticing, he would have to create a diversion. He chose an extravagantly tattooed hulk of a man walking a couple of steps behind and to the side of Samuel who was heading purposely for the tourist traps and wilting dives of Nyhavn. He was undoubtedly planning on staying there until the day was done and the well-larded wallet protruding tantalizingly from his back pocket was empty. Provided, of course, that he hadn’t the misfortune to run into Romeo first.
Marco slipped silently behind his unsuspecting mark like a heat-seeking missile, flexing the fingers of his left hand to make certain he had full control over them. Then with the ease of a cat he struck, lifting the wallet from the man’s pocket, using his body to shield the move from the pedestrians behind. It was elementary.
He stopped and waited until the man was a few steps ahead before bending down and pretending to pick the wallet up off the pavement, then catching up with him and giving his sleeve a tug.
“Here,” he said, pressing the wallet into the man’s hand. “It was that guy over there who took it off you. He was about to hand it to someone else behind you, but I got it first.”
The big man frowned, then his eyes followed the direction in which Marco was pointing, and within a second he had knocked Samuel to his knees.
Marco didn’t hear what his old friend screamed, but it clearly had little effect because his punishment was meted out so promptly and emphatically that Samuel was forced to crouch down and protect his face with his hands.