The warehouse was closed.

Which made a lot of sense, thought Abigail; she should not expect all criminals to be working after 2 AM. Unfortunately, the girl had no idea when it would open.

She tried to hear if there was someone inside, just in case, by touching her ear on the metal doors. There was only silence.

Seeing no choice, the girl sat on the cleanest piece of ground that she could find, just between the two giant garage doors, where a normal office door stood. She would wait for the operations to begin, hopefully before the sun was out.

An hour later, the rain started to fall. There was a small roof above her head, but it wouldn't be enough if the rain got any heavier.

Another hour came and went, and the girl was totally wet. The noise of the rain, which did get heavier, touching the metal roof was loud enough to muffle all sounds. Soaked, alone in the streets, with vision and hearing impaired by falling water, Abigail felt cold.

It would be almost dawn when the girl finally heard someone's steps. The shadow of a man bloomed in her vision.

In one of the man's hands, he held a yellow umbrella, and in his other, some keys. He was a thin man, which was made even thinner by his suit of choice; the attire was light blue, with a white blouse and a mustard tie; and he was not very tall, but neither could he be called short.

His light blond hair was cut in a slick-back style. The eyes, which had small square glasses on then, were of a cold ice blue, and his skin had a light tan.

Only when he stopped to look at her did Abigail see his face. He looked surprisingly young—below his thirty for sure—and was handsome enough to make the girl blink twice. His face had a closed-mouth smile.

“What do we have here? A wet stray cat?”

There was nothing handsome in his eyes, however. They were smug, and arrogant and cold.

“You are James, right?” Abigail asked as she stood up.

“Are you James, sweetheart.” The smile was glued to his face. “But yes, I am named James—James Abels, to be precise. Can I help you?”

“We can help each other. I heard that you buy purloined goods.”

“I am afraid that this is just some unsavory rumors about me, little one. I do have a tendency to help people get rid of their old heirlooms, out of the goodness of my heart, of course, and this has led some elements to spread lies.”

“And how can I sell to you my… heirlooms?”

“Hm?” James blinked before bending down to see the girl up close. “Your heirlooms, you say? The silly me thought that you were a messenger, not a client. Now I am truly appalled.”

He receded before continuing.

“You brought me to a conundrum. I fail to see how an adorable kitty like you will acquire any belongings.”

Once again, Abigail's age was bringing problems—an unsolvable annoyance. Therefore, she decided that there was no choice but to repeat her earlier display of power.

And when she finished, the look in the man's eyes almost made her step back. And when James said nothing, a glint of regret sparked in her mind. It was forgotten, though, when the man opened the door.

“Isn't that unexpected? What a fantastic way of starting a day.” His smile turned all teeth, large and grim. “Come in, sweetheart. We have a long future ahead of us, and much to discuss.”

- | -

“I have our fence.” Said Abigail as the boy woke up.

“What?” Eric opened and closed his eyes slowly.

His best friend was drenched; he felt frigid just by looking at her.

“A fence, a dealer, a smuggler, you know. To sell our stuff, I have one.”

“What?” The boy was astounded.

“Did your smooth brain short circuit?”

“Give me a moment.”

The boy, slowly, stood from his mattresses, stretched his body, and pinched his arm. He took his sweet time, ignoring the other glaring teenager. And after confirming that, yes, Abigail was indeed soaked, and no, he wasn't going crazy like his friend, he talked.

“When? How? Where? Who?”

The truth is that Eric was struggling to find a fence. He actually got a few leads, but they didn’t want to listen to the boy, who held no reputation in the streets and didn’t have anyone backing him. So he really didn’t understand how Abigail, who knew way fewer people than him, succeeded where he failed.

“I gave 50 bucks to a hobo. She took me to two guys, one we can work for and the other a reputable fence.”

“Which hobo?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Well, at least it's her. Whats her name?”

“Natalia, you really don’t know her.”

Abigail was acting suspicious; her left hand was in her back, and she was very still. In Eric's experience, that meant that she was feeling guilty about something.

Naughty Abby.

“Do I want to know her?”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“If you insist, I can bring you to her later. Can I explain now?”

“Abby, I know that Uncle Chet is a good guy, but you shouldn’t trust most people in the streets.”

“I know that. Anyway, both of them did not want to talk to me.”

Well, that’s checked out.

“I can't blame them; you are annoying.”

“But I convinced them to listen to me.” Before he could interrupt, the tone and glare released by the girl made Eric follow the wise decision to let her finish. “Diego asked for me to return in a week to propose some jobs. The other guy, James, has a good reputation as a fencer and has accepted a partnership.”

“Well—That is good; we can try these guys. Just one small, tiny question. Did you meet with shady criminals while I was sleeping? At 1 a.m. That's why you are drenched?”

“…”

Eric suddenly kneeled and put his hands together above his head.

“Where everything got wrong, Oh Lord? When did my smart Abby become a dum-dum just because she has powers?”

“Fuck off, Eric.”

“My baby girl was so obedient before; that's why she was smart, by the way; she was such a cute hooligan. A corrupted delinquent took her place. Help me, Oh Father.”

The girl threw an old pillow at his face.

Now coughing, because she is a little too strong and his throat doesn’t appreciate the cotton, Eric perceived the certainty of how a young, emaciated girl convinced criminals to listen.

“Abby?”

“What?” Replied the girl with a short grunt.

“Tell me that you didn’t kill anyone today.”

She smirked.

“Abby, I am serious.”

The boy did not receive an answer until an hour had passed.

Eric wanted to argue with her about how she did so many things that she shouldn’t have done, most of all, showing her powers to damn criminals. But he let the matter die; it worked, even if he disliked it. And confronting her upfront never changed her mind anyway.

He would let the argument in his throat die.

- | -

The teenagers were chatting while sitting on the ground of their home, with dozens of used papers around them. Eventually, Eric collected all the papers and divided them into two different-sized piles. Each pile was full of documents with a short resume of some locations compiled data.

Eric held the smaller pile in his hands.

“So, those are the places worth discussion for now.” Exclaimed the boy.

“Remove that gas station.” Abigail pointed at one of the texts. “I think that most gas stations are under some gang protection; let’s not risk it.”

Eric nodded. The discarded pile grew into one.

“Jewelry store?”

“Too much heat, and we are not even sure if we can trust James yet.”

“That leaves mostly houses.”

“That's fine. Rich people have a lot of jewels and gold waiting for us.”

“Hm. Let’s rob a house then.”

Eric discarded everything that wasn't a house and organized the rest by how close it was.

“This one.” Said Eric. “It's too close to a police station.”

“Remove it too. We are going to plan it around the worst-case scenarios.”

“That leaves seven.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Six. Mount Baker is too far away. What were you doing there anyway?”

“Searching for a fence, duh.”

“Oh, its a new one, them.”

These papers were a compilation of all the places where the duo conducted superficial research in the last two weeks. It was one of the things that they did when they were idle. Most of them came from Eric.

“Well, from those six…” Said Abigail. “Let’s investigate that manor.”

“North of Green Lake? It's a very safe neighborhood.”

“Which means that people who live there are less cautious. And they are pretty rich, too.”

“Fair enough.” The boy read the paper aloud. “No guards, no walls, three cars, two kids, two floors, two dogs…”

“The dogs are an annoyance.”

“Yeah, but otherwise, it looks easy enough. We need to know their schedules and routines. We can't stay there as homeless to stalk the owners. It will stand out; this is one of the places that removes people like us.”

“Are any stores close?”

“None.”

“Fuck.”

"Language, Abby, language.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“We can stay in the alleys at night, pretend to be some teenagers in a rebellion phase or something.” Her lips lowed. “Better if we have some alcohol, like beer, in case someone sees us.”

“We need to sell the image. Fine.” Eric sighed. “I can get the beer.”

“Good.”

- | -

The alcohol, while a necessary backup, was never needed. No one came close to them on the last three nights.

Abigail decided that three nights were enough; she didn’t want to take too long and risk being seen. And the domicile was, indeed, an easy target.

Eric walked around the neighborhood the first morning and made a few sketches of the house. While the boy was illiterate before he met Abigail, his drawing skills were surprisingly top-notch. And they made planning easier.

“Gloves?” Asked Abigail.

“On hand.” Replied Eric.

The duo knew where the couple room was—the last room to turn off the lights—and when they slept, at 23:30 pm, the television turned off.

“Mask?”

“On face.”

There were no walls to block their vision, so they were informed of a big window in the back of the house.

“Backpacks?”

“All good.”

They decided that it was better to wait three hours after the observed sleep schedule; it was possible, after all, that the married couple slept together before really sleeping.

Albeit Eric has heard that married men and women had very little nighttime activity.

“Shoes?”

“Torn off soles, no marks. Almost no noise.”

The dogs would not be a problem. Abigail tried to feed them once to build a little bit of trust, which did not work, to say the least. The canines didn’t even allow her to get close, always walking back from the girl.

But even then, it was fine. They slept close to the main entrance, at the front, and far from the back.

“Good. We shall go now.”

“I hear and obey, thy majesty.”

Jumping over the very small iron fences, Abigail got close to the window. When she reached it, she removed from her pocket a thick, pointed iron scrap. She positioned herself under the window lock.

Super strength made many abilities outdated. She needed not to lock-pick when there was no lock that she couldn't break.

The girl made a lever movement at the lock, slowly, so as not to cause noise. There was only a small wooden cry each time that she lowered the scrap, the window going up bit by bit. And it had no chance.

Soon, the duo entered the house.

- | -

Miss Hayden suddenly woke up.

There was no noise that she had heard, nor was there a light in her eyes. But her heart was beating fast, she was drenched in sweat, and her chest felt heavy.

A nightmare? She did not know. But if it was one that gave her such uneasiness, then why hasn't it stopped now that she has awoken?

In fact, rather than lessening, her anxiety was ramping up. She felt those feelings clinging to her heart in a crescendo.

Her husband was still asleep, and she wanted not to wake him up. He was tired, she knew, even if he always smiled at home. His job was hard, and his house was his refuge.

She left her bed alone, her room lightly illuminated by the post lamp, and walked to their bathroom. The woman believed that she was sick, perhaps with some weird flu. But as she walked, she felt more and more disturbed.

This was no flu. She decided. Something was wrong.

Miss Hayden returned to her room. And she spoke as her hands searched for the light interrupter.

“Hone-”

“We really have no luck.”

The voice came from her side—a young man's voice. The woman felt stronger hands covering her mouth, and an elbow closing around her neck to hold her in place.

In the dark, but visible, room, she finally saw her husband. And just like her, he was being held.

But whatever that thing with crimson eyes was, it was no human.

She just knew it.

“Shhhh. Don’t try to talk. You don’t want your children to wake up, do you?” Said the masked shadow holding her husband. It had a young girl's voice. “We are only here for money. We would rather not have to… deal with crying kids. I think that you would prefer that scenery too.”

Money—this is only for a bit of money. Tears filled the woman's eyes. Only because of money; why couldn’t they just work? What did her family do wrong?

“Don't do anything stupid. Now, that wasn't planned, but since you both woke up—where is your safe? Rich people like you have a safe; take me there.”

Mister Hayden, still as a rock, nodded.

Her husband was not crying, unlike herself. He looked calm, even, seemingly ready to do what he had to do to protect his family. But Miss Hayden knew better.

Whatever she was feeling, whatever this eerie sensation that crawled on her skin was, it was so much worse there, where the crimson eyes stood.

“Good, no one needs to be hurt today. I will allow you to walk, but don’t test me.”

They did indeed have a safe, for some random emergency, behind their closet.

“You move too.” Said the young man who held her. “I will just tie you.”

Neither the husband nor the wife resisted at any moment; they gave the money freely just to end the robbery. At the end of it, both were attached to their beds; their mouths, hands, and feet were immobilized.

“Bob. I will watch them; get everything.” Ordered the thing.

“Sure thing, boss.”

The girl came closer to her and bent down; the crawling feeling returned tenfold. Its presence was overwhelming, and up close, she saw how the orbs had a faint glow.

Miss Hayden watched as their family inheritance, money, and jewels were stolen. Gifts from deceased family members, memories of their honeymoon—all collected by a faintly whistling teenager boy.

The thieves left without saying another word. It would be their children, many hours later, that would free them.

- | -

Four grand.

They have four thousand dollars. Months of work were made in a single day.

Forget worrying about food; they could buy a car if they wanted to.

Abigail saw how Eric was exhilarated, with a goofy smile on his face.

“Abby, We should buy a car; I want a truck; and we can also rent a real house.”

“…”

“Abby?”

And she was, too, but her mind was thinking about how to proceed from there. Food and clothes were fine for a long time now, but—

Abigail's line of thought was interrupted by a wild teenager jumping and grabbing at her. If she were to guess, Eric probably wanted to push her to the ground. But she just stood there, straight as a spear and awkward as a first date, as her friend let go of her immovable body.

After he removed his limbs from her body, he spoke, shivering.

“Okay. This didn’t happen, and I am not doing it again.”

If his shivering was from shame or something else, Abigail did not know. But she nodded in answer to him.

“Anyway. What's bothering you?” He continued.

“We don’t have documents. And if we did, we would not be able to use them. Also, none of us know how to drive.”

“I know where to get a car and rent without documents, but yeah, we need some fake IDs in the long run. And driving can’t be that hard; I mean, everybody does it.”

“Perhaps. But even if we had good fake IDs, it would not be enough.”

“Hm?”

“We need to have semi-legitimate business under our name.”

“What? Why?”

“To wash our money. We won’t be able to buy a real house without proving our income.”

Eric moved his finger to rest on his chin.

“I can probably find where to buy fake documents. But it needs to be really good, and that means…”

“We need more money. Four grand is a lot to us, but we will not cut it. However, to maximize our money, we need a—” Continued Abigail.

“Car, a truck or van, which will also necessitate—”

“A driver. Even if we do learn how to drive for ourselves, only two people stealing is too slow.”

“Yeah, but to pay one or more grunts will also require bigger payloads; we could do more frequent robberies, but…” Eric stopped talking as he found the quandary. “The more frequent we get, the more predictable, and each time can be our last, so it gets even riskier.”

The girl nodded before replying.

“In other words, if we want to scale up, we are going to hire minions and steal bigger prizes. Which will lead to problems, but we don’t have a choice.”

Eric put a hand on his face and grunted.

“What?”

“Minions, Abby? Do you need to use this word? Come on.”

“Fuck you.”