3. LEO

I lived a cheap life; I hated all these big businesses with their big businessmen who lauded their wealth over people like it couldn't be taken from them.

I sat on a grassy mound beneath a tree in Hyde Park. It wasn't too hot, but there were people around on their blankets, catching the last of the summer rays. I enjoyed coming to the park, there were people around to watch. People watching kept me on my toes and my senses sharp. It also allowed me to make stories up for people I would never see again.

Concealing a small bottle of a sugary alcopop inside a plastic bag, I drank from the mouth hole at the top. It was difficult to tell if you were getting drunk or surfing a sugar high with fruity alcopop drinks.

When I was much younger, I came here with my mother. We had picnics, it was nice, and for a short period after she kicked me out at sixteen, everything we did together felt tainted. I saw her twice a year now, if that. But only when she needed money from me. She stole once, it's why I had the safe under my drawers now. I'd never be robbed from again.

The irony of me, sat, grinning to myself about robbing from the rich, all to be annoyed at my mother for robbing from me. It wasn't like I should've been surprised, someone had to teach me to steal, and that was her.

Taking another gulp of the alcopop, my mind regress. As a child, a sweet, innocent, bug-eyed child, I was taken around the city. We'd go through the big department stores, and I took people's wallets and purses. I was so small, nobody ever looked to me as the thief.

I stayed at the park until it became dark, laid on my open jacket, staring up at the glimpse of the moon as it peered through the layers of clouds. I created faces and animals in the moving clouds, wondering what existed beyond them, up in the sky, in space, far beyond everything here on Earth. It wasn't the first time I caught myself smiling from this thought. I barely explored any of the land I lived on, it was funny to think of exploring the worlds and lands beyond.

"Leo?" a voice caught my attention, turning my head in the direction. There was nobody.

"Yeah," I answered, looking now in the opposite direction. "I'm—"

A force stomped on my stomach, pushing out all the breath in my body. I gasped for air, curling up into a ball.

"You're coming with us," the gruff voice grumbled, picking my limp, writhing body from the grass.

My breath stalled in my chest. I couldn't push the air out, and I couldn't inhale anymore. A low, humming whimper came from my throat, not by choice, I couldn't control the sound or actions of my body. Nor could I concentrate on their voices as they spoke, either. There were two of them, or three of them.

Wheezing as I eventually found my breath, I tried once more to move from the way I was being carried, over a shoulder it seemed as I was jolted around as an increased pain throbbed in my stomach.

"Put the blindfold on him."

"Why?" the other laughed. "Not like he'll make it out of this place."

We paused, people passed, chuckling and making comments about how I was just a drunk friend. I couldn't speak, my mouth was open for letting air inside, but I couldn't muster or summon a single chord. They put a blindfold on me, wrapped tight around my head.

Walking again, my body jostling around like I was a bag of bones.

Sounds changed around me from the busy cars on the street to the sound of a TV playing and the gentle echo of whispers carried along a hallway. They became quiet too as they carried me down steps and placed me on a cold, metal chair.

"Don't," I mustered through the pain, my voice hoarse.

Wet rope wrapped my legs to the chair. They pulled my arms back and tied them together. The damp rope burned into my skin as it settled in place. And before I could ask anything, my face took a hit. Sent into a dizzy spiral, my head wobbled on my neck.

I didn't feel the next hit to my face, but I knew it happened. Blood and tears soaked into my skin. A tape placed over my mouth, which I only noticed when I tried to open it.

For a moment, I thought I was dead, and then I heard the door open.

"You're stupid for only taking two grand," they said. "You're not a very good thief, are you?" They walked around me, the sound of their stomps echoed. "You don't sell where you steal from. It's like me stealing a shipment and then selling it to the person I stole it off, they'll laugh, then they'll fight, and then someone will die."

Through the clog in my nose, I could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne. Vanilla, it penetrated my nasal passage. There was a faint musk that followed, like rolling tobacco. And I knew who this was. Mr Rolex, Mr Tailored Suits. This wasn't the first time I'd been caught, or the first time I'd taken a hit to the face, but it was the first time someone tied me to a chair with rope and threated me with death.

"You're a kid," he continued. "You know, if you're going to make someone your mark, investigate them first. Make sure you know who you're stealing from before you do. Some people write theft off and claim on their insurance, and then some." He snickered. "Well, some people will request their payment in flesh." He pressed a sharp point against my cheek.

I tried to scream from beneath the tape on my mouth. It was painful, the point dug into my skin. Worse than the blunt force of a fist to my nose.

"What's that?" he asked, tearing the tape from my mouth. "You were shouting. Nobody can hear you here."

"Please," I begged. "Don't. I can give you the money. I can—I can give you it all back."

He pulled the blindfold up over my head, throwing it against the wall. It splattered with the sweat and blood it had collected. "Oh," he said, softly.

My eyes screwed tight. I didn't want to see. "I won't tell anyone I was here. I promise. Just—just don't kill me."

"You're just a precious boy," he whispered, the hairs on my neck tingling. "Look at what you've made us do." He stroked the ridged edge of his knuckles down the side of my face. "Well, I—well."

"Please, please." Tears broke through the dam of my screwed eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I was going to hurt you," he said, sighing in my ear. "But now, I—I can't hurt that face more than they have already." He continued to stroke at my cheek with his knuckles. "Open your fucking eyes and stop crying."

Opening my eyes, there was pain behind them. I saw my surroundings for the first time. A dingy, damp basement with a single light above me. That man squatted, staring at my face. He wore a white shirt, droplets of blood on it. In one hand, I saw a knife, and his other hand made a fist. He pressed it gently to my face.

"How old are you?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"Twenty-three," I answered.

He smirked. "You should know better than to steal from someone then, shouldn't you?"

"I—"

He stood and turned, walking to the wall of knives. "Many men have died in that very spot, if you look at the stone, you can see blood stains," he said, glancing to my feet. "I don't want you to become another blood stain on this stone."

"I don't want to die."

"And I don't want to hurt you, no more than you are," he said, still facing the wall as he sorted through the knives. "It was ignorance, on your part to steal from me. And hypocritical of me to talk about how people shouldn't steal."

"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else I could say. I'd give him the money; I'd give him his wallet. I couldn't get his watch back, but— "The watch." I noticed on his wrist as he reached up. He was wearing the Rolex, the same one I'd stolen.

Returning to me with a smile, he presented the watch. "You might not know about me, which is unfortunate, but I am not one of those businessmen you see on the street talking about the big trade they just made on the stock exchange. I'm wealthier, and with all that money, comes power, and with power, well, you're seeing exactly what that means. I can get away with murder."

"I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be," he said. "I'm only mad because I was impressed. Nobody has stolen from me in broad daylight like you did. Nobody has done it without me noticing, at least. And I didn't notice until hours later. Your finesse is there, but—but your look is just." He clicked his tongue, looking me over, his deep blue eyes were intense. "You don't look like you belong around here. Sweatpants and jacket matching combo, it's very pedestrian. I'm sure that works when you're walking through the city, stealing from tourists, but class it up a little if you're going to rob from someone like me. In fact, I have security footage of you stealing from two other people on that street, it's so obvious when I see it, because of how out of place you look."

I didn't have words for him. He'd read me to filth. I thought I'd been doing well, and then in the space of a day, I was made to feel like complete scum. I wanted to pull my limbs into my body and curl up, cry, and contemplate the future—or my lack of a future.

"You look sad," he grumbled. "Don't do that. I can see myself in you." He smirked. "By the way, I'm Samuel, or Sam, or—Boss, sometimes Sir. And I want to offer you a job."

I didn't know how serious he was being. I was apprehensive to accept anything he said, since he had just told me I was almost another dead body in his basement.

"You can say no, but I don't know why you would," he continued. "This is a live-changing job. You'll be my assistant. There are rules. And I'll have to make sure you stop dressing like a walking ASBO," he chuckled. "Do you have an anti-social behaviour order?"

I shook my head. I had been arrested before, but that was for trespassing, not stealing. "I—"

He turned his back on me and approached the door. "The alternative isn't ideal," he added. "I'll give you some time to think about it. And don't scream, you'll only piss me off."

I didn't have a choice. I knew the alternative he was hinting at wasn't letting me free.