The City of Ottawa, Ontario, is really an amalgamation of smaller towns, and the locals are fiercely territorial, though they express it in a passive aggressive manner. Take the suburb of Kanata for example. One of the capital's fastest growing areas, it has a rural look, yet it's home to high-tech giants like Avaya, Deloitte, Mitel and Cisco, luminaries of the Canadian tech sector. Orleans has long been a stronghold of the French Canadian population of the Capital region, yet many Haitians, Chinese and Arabs also call it home.
Vanier has a bad reputation, due to being hit by recent crime waves, yet nowhere else in the capital region will one see more ethnic diversity and vibrant multiculturalism. Barrhaven is considered to be home of the city's business elite, yet it's friendly rather than snobbish in its quiet affluence. This unique place, where people of all hues are thrown together, is home to a rather troublesome pair. Today they descend upon downtown, for mischief, mayhem and profit, of course...
"Ottawa is full of bigots, Paul, we've got to make it work for us, that's all," Ashima Shaji said softly, looking into her lover/accomplice's soulful brown eyes. The two of them stood in Confederation Park, on a sunlit Friday morning in early August. Unlike a lot of other people coming and going through the park, however, these two weren't enjoying the sunshine. Nope, they were plotting...
"Cool, I go into Shoppers Drugmart and act all thuggish, draw attention to myself and you discretely make off with the goods while I distract everyone," Paul Herisson replied, stroking his goateed chin thoughtfully. The idea of hitting a store in the downtown core didn't appeal to him because there were so many cops around. They were down the street from the Elgin Street police station, after all. Still, he had to admit that Ashima's daring plan seemed pretty cool...
"That's the plan," Ashima said, nodding firmly at Paul, whose hesitation annoyed her. Standing five feet three inches tall, with medium brown skin and long, curly black hair, the golden-eyed Keralite cutie was used to being underestimated. Something she used to her advantage every chance she got. Never let them see you coming and be more than you seem, that was Ashima Shaji's mantra.
Today, Ashima Shaji was definitely dolled to the nines, as they used to say. Clad in a white vest over a white blouse, silver Capri pants and platform sandals, the young Indian-Canadian woman looked both sexy and professional. To complete her disguise, she had a lanyard around her neck, with a fake government ID on it. Anyone looking at Ashima would see a pretty young South Asian female professional. No different from so many others working for the Canadian government or private sector companies in the downtown core.
"The fools won't know what hit them," Ashima said, winking at Paul, who still looked a bit nervous. Today he wore a hooded black sweatshirt, blue jeans and black timberland boots, his normally stylish Afro looking wild and unkempt, all the better to sell off the image of the 'urban troublemaker.' My lady definitely thinks of everything, Paul thought, amazed by the sheer boldness and raw cleverness of Ashima's plans.
Everyone knows that black folks, especially black men, get followed around stores by racist clerks and that the security camera focuses on them more than anyone else. These two clever thieves found a way to make stereotype and human stupidity work to their advantage. They'd successfully hit store after store across the Canadian capital. Grocery stores, big shopping malls, small retail outlets, you name it, they've hit it. They made a mockery of loss prevention officers across the City of Ottawa, since they seemed to be able to spot them in a way that ordinary customers never could.
"Let's do this, bae," Paul said, and he pulled Ashima into his arms and kissed her. Paul intended to give Ashima a quick peck on the lips but the passionate young woman embraced him warmly and gave his derriere a tight squeeze. Paul grinned at Ashima as they came up for air. She gave him the thumbs-up sign as he headed down the street, making his way to the drugstore located a few blocks away. This is going to be good, Ashima thought, her heart afire with anticipation of the day ahead.
It has often been said that to know oneself and one's enemy is to pretty much guarantee the outcome of a battle. Ashima Shaji, born in the environs of Kerala, India, and raised in the suburb of Orleans, Ontario, is a tiny brown pixie with the mind of a four-star general. Educated in psychology at the University of Ottawa, Ashima worked for the suicide hotline for a time, before taking a leave of absence due to feeling a bit burnt out.
While on leave from her job, Ashima rediscovered a long-lost friend, her dormant kleptomania. The young woman doesn't steal out of need, but for a thrill. Ashima came from a moneyed cocoon. Her father Ramesh Shaji works as a plant supervisor with the Avaya Corporation at their new location in the rural suburb of Kanata, Ontario. Her mother Leema Shaji is a quality control specialist with Oberthur Technologies. Her older sister Parvati is studying medicine at the University of Toronto. The family lives in a nice townhouse in a secluded area of Orleans. Why did Ashima turn out the way she did? Difficult to say. One might as well ask why the sun comes up...
"Showtime," Ashima said to herself, and a thrill shot through her as she walked at a leisurely pace to the drug store. On her way, she saw a couple of police officers grabbing lunch at Nando's restaurant. A bunch of government worker types, including a few Pakistani guys walked past her. One of them, a tall bearded guy in a nice suit, looked at Ashima longer than was considered socially acceptable. She winked at him, and the Pakistani dude shyly looked away.
"Do you have Black Enterprise among your magazines, ma'am? It's one of the biggest black-oriented mags in America, where I come from," Paul said to the drugstore clerk, a pleasantly plump Arab woman in her late thirties. Paul spoke rather loudly to the lady, whose name tag read Mariam, and she shook her head, and listed the magazines that the store carried. As the two of them interacted, people stared while pretending not to stare. Nobody paid attention to the short, well-dressed young Indian woman who walked in and headed for the makeup aisle...
