M y cell phone rang, and it was Nico.
“Where are you?” he said. His tenor voice was a tad strident.
“At the corner of King and James. Hold on a sec while I put something down.”
I was carrying too much, as usual. My arms ached from the weight. I placed the reusable shopping bag I’d been carrying on the sidewalk. Then I tucked my small handbag into the top of it. I leaned back against a storefront window with the phone to my ear, drinking in the winter sun that shone down on my face.
It was a beautiful December day in Hamilton, also known as The Hammer. You could hardly smell the smog from the steel plants in the distance. The temperature was just above freezing, with no snow in the forecast. Santa might have a bit of trouble with that, but I was happy. My wedding was in three days. I didn’t need crappy weather or anything else to mess with it.
“What’s up?” I asked my favorite cousin. Nico is a few years younger than me. He owns the interior-design store next door to my jewelry shop.
“Have you heard about the storm?” he said.
“What storm?” I looked up into the sky. It was bright blue, and the sun was big and shiny.
“Not here,” said Nico. “Starting late tomorrow, hitting the eastern seaboard.”
I hadn’t noticed the skinny young guy until he was right at my side. “Lady, you got a light?” he said.
My attention slipped from the phone call to his unshaven face. He was wearing dirty jeans and a ragged black band T-shirt. He seemed vaguely familiar. “Sorry, I don’t—hey!”
Quick as a weasel, the creep grabbed my shopping bag. He turned and ran.
“Stop!” I yelled. I took off after him, phone still in my hand.
“Gina, what’s happening?” Nico’s voice sounded far, far away.
The kid ran fast, whipping around the other walkers on James Street. I followed as quickly as I could in dress boots, which wasn’t fast enough. Why the hell did I wear heels today?
Down James we both ran, weaving between startled pedestrians. I saw him tangle with a homeless man, spinning him around. I dodged an old lady with a trundle cart and smacked into a younger one pushing an umbrella stroller.
“Sorry,” I said, untangling myself from her arm. “Sorry.”
The race continued. I ran past the homeless man, clipping him with my elbow. “Sorry,” I sang out.
The light turned red in front of us, but my quarry ignored it. He sprinted through the intersection without slowing down. I cursed, slowed and looked left and right for cars before picking up the chase.
My wraparound coat was wide open now, flowing like a cape behind me. I felt it catch on something, then release. “Oops, sorry,” I mumbled to a lamppost.
My target swung around a corner and onto a side street. I peeled around the corner after him. He dashed across the street and looked back.
“Hey!” I yelled again, from my side of the road.
I could almost see him smile. I leapt out into the street, determined not to lose him.
Honk!
“Sorry,” I mumbled to the car that had missed me by inches.
“Watch where you’re going, moron!” yelled the driver of the car.
I patted the lid of the trunk with my left hand as I ran by.
In retrospect, it probably sounded like a smack.
By this time, the skinny kid was way ahead of me. I vaulted up onto the sidewalk, caught my heel on the curb and lost my balance. Damn! By the time I got upright, he was crossing John Street. No way could I catch up.
I doubled over, hands on knees for balance, gasping for air.
He stopped for a moment to look back. Then he raised his arm and waved.
“That’s not fair!” I yelled after the fleeing figure. “I’m supposed to be the thief around here, dammit.”