THIEF: Part 1 Read Online Free Page A

gracefully, and lean down to look at him.   “At least not till you buy me a couple more drinks.”
                  As it turns out, Silas is the king of mooches.  “You gotta be, on my salary,” he says, when the bartender—a friend from high school—gives me a cocktail, on the house.  We get a free appetizer too, when he chats up the manager and discovers they were both in the same frat in college.
                  “Impressive,” I tell him, signaling the bartender for a second martini.  “Guess the universe is happy with your good deeds.”
                  “Guess so.  But you don’t believe in that.”
                  “I believe the universe picks its favorites,” I say, “and that I’m definitely not one.”
                  Silas sips his soda.  For a second, I think I see pain in his features, a nerve I’ve struck, but he moves his glass up for another sip, and then it’s gone.
                  He says, “I’m not, either.”  And that’s that.
                  We make small talk for a little while, pausing only to chow down on our burgers and shared plate of fries.  Maybe it’s the alcohol, or my own nerves, but I’m ravenous.  I finish my meal—and my third cocktail—before Silas is halfway done.
                  “You had enough to tell me what you did yet?” he asks, dropping a fry into my empty martini glass.
                  My head’s a little foggy; it’s been a while since I’ve had liquor.  I take a minute to think over what I should say.  Nothing sounds good.
                  I decide on a sterile tone, something a lawyer might say.  “I was apprehended after stealing about $1,000 worth of merchandise from a store.”  It’s only when my chest burns and I heave a deep sigh that I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
                  But by some miracle, Silas looks unfazed.  In fact, he looks interested.  “What’d you steal?”
                  I wasn’t prepared for this, and I have to think again.  “Some electronics, mostly clothes.  Some c.d.’s.”
                  He chuckles.  “You still listen to actual discs?”
                  I shake my head.  “That’s kind of the most messed-up thing about it, actually.  I just…saw them.  And I wanted them.”
                  “That is a little messed-up.”
                  My stomach sinks.  I feel the buzz wearing off.
                  “Hey, I’m not judging,” he adds quickly, “just saying that—”
                  “You son of a bitch!”
                  It happens so fast—the woman stampeding towards our table, beer glass in hand.  Throwing the beer into Silas’s lap, and then upturning his plate against his shirt.  Even the waiter, a few feet away, can’t react fast enough and just kind of freezes, like I do.
                  “You got some nerve,” she snarls, “coming to my town with some slut, when I haven’t seen shit from you in weeks.”
                  “What the hell, Abby?” Silas screams, reaching for a napkin with one hand, trying to push this crazy woman away with the other.
                  Strangely, the next part isn’t fast at all.  In fact, it happens in slow-motion.  I feel like I’m underwater, because I can’t move fast enough to stop her.  The waiter and bartender can’t, either.  We just watch.
                  We watch the empty glass, still white and dripping with the beer’s lace, smash against the tabletop.  We watch the woman lift the bottom half from its shards, glittering in the bar’s dim lights like gemstones. 
                  We watch her press the glass against his cheek, how it cuts his face in a clean and winding line.  The way his reaction—to jerk