Tale Of Two Thieves

AUTHOR'S NOTE AND A WARNING TO READERS: Kindly read the tags and make sure that you are comfortable with them before you proceed any further. Furthermore, the story is about a con artist and thus features severe manipulation and deceit.

This is my contribution to the

Crime & Punishment 2023 Story Event

- So please leave a rating at the end.

All of the characters in the story are eighteen or older.

All of my stories are copyrighted, including this one.

--- TALE OF TWO THIEVES ---

I understood early in life that if you were willing to discard your morals, and stuff them into the dark recesses of your mind, then there was absolutely no reason why you could not have the life you wanted. It opened up shortcuts, and let you bypass a plethora of the difficulties that life often presented. You could have it all, if you just had the courage and ruthlessness to do whatever it took to get it. And I did.

I was born into the lowest of classes. My father was a chimney sweeper and my mother made her coin entertaining strange men. We lived in the poorest part of town, where the drug dealers and the street gangs ruled. I knew nothing of love. It was a foreign concept to me. My mother mostly left me to my own devices and my father was rarely home - and if he was, he wasn't sober. I believed love was a myth invented to keep the weak and the gullible chained to their masters. Or chained to hope, giving them the strength to continue their miserable existence without ever really living, just working their mundane job and hitting up bars on the weekend, hoping to one day meet that special person that would give their life meaning. I wanted no part of it.

I got into trouble with the law early, and often. By the time I turned 19, my criminal record consisted of assault and battery, petty theft and larceny, grand theft auto, breaking and entering, trespassing, public intoxication, and fraud. I had a lengthy list of arrest warrants for non-payment of fines and various other minor charges, as well. And by that time, I had realized two things; I had the gift of the silver tongue, and could talk my way into and out of a great deal of trouble, so long as I could avoid getting caught red-handed. And secondly, I had to disappear and start my life anew, because my days were numbered.

That's when I became Gabriel Ambrose, my old identity forsaken, thrown to the wayside like a cigarette butt. The little money I had scrounged up was spent on a new, expensive-looking wardrobe, a set of business cards with my new name printed on them, and a snobby looking haircut. I was done with the minor crimes and petty larceny. Now, I needed money. A lot of money, and fast. And I was going to take it from those who had plenty to spare.

I knew my boyish good looks held great appeal with the ladies. Especially the more mature kind, who liked to feel that they had a hand in bringing a young stud's wild libido under control. That wanted to feel young again, and as far as I could tell, nothing makes an accomplished woman feel young and sexy like capturing the heart of a successful young man, complete with imaginary wealth, fake ambitions, and a feigned innocence. I knew the part I wanted to play. Now all that was left for me to do was find the perfect mark, make her trust me, and then rob her blind.

I found myself at the grand opening of an art gallery, browsing the painting and fancy little knick-knacks with the air of an innocent young man. It was a sizeable and prominent hunting ground, because it was full of lonely women with stacked bank accounts. Men rarely roamed through the halls, at least not alone, and the few who did were most likely only interested in buying some piece of art or other that they felt could turn their empty homes into a statement of class. I stood in front of a painting depicting a field full of roses that were splashed with vibrant colour, trying to spot the perfect target in my peripherals. A woman in her 40's or 50's, without a wedding band. I figured it was simpler that way, without having to involve the potential wrath of a jealous husband. Safer too. I was used to running from the law but a scorned spouse with money and power might take matters into their own hands and do something rash.

I scanned the room for quite some time, when I felt eyes on me from the side. There she was, watching me from the corner of the room, pretending to be interested in some odd looking statue of a goat with a car tire around its neck. She was a curvy woman, early 40's, and her brown hair was done up in an elegant hairdo that - when paired with the hat she wore - screamed upper class. The dress she had on was a rich deep green silk, and had to have cost a pretty penny. The woman held a drink in one hand as she delicately sipped it. I watched her eyes move between me and the statue, taking quick glances when she thought I wasn't looking. I pretended not to notice, and instead feigned interest in a new piece of art next to me, gazing at it for several minutes before moving to look at another, each time moving slightly closer to the woman. The pearls around her neck looked like they cost a pretty penny.

Eventually, I made my way over to the statue she pretended to be so fascinated with. When our eyes met, her face broke into a smile that was equal parts seductive and cunning, as if to say, "You can run, but you'll never escape." It was all the invitation I needed. This was going to be easier than I had imagined, if I just played my cards right. And I had practiced on my feigned upper class speech patterns and demeanour.

"What do you think it means, ma'am?" I asked, alluding to the statue. "The car tire on its neck."

She chuckled softly to herself, and finished off the rest of her drink, setting the glass down on a table nearby. She replied, in the sweetest tone imaginable, "It means whatever you want it to mean."

I pretended to contemplate that for a moment. "Then, if you would be so kind as to enlighten me.. What would you say it means to you specifically, ma'am?"

The lady took off her hat, laying it on the table next to her empty glass, then she turned to face me. Her brown eyes gleamed with amusement and curiosity. She answered, in a husky voice that was full of confidence, "To me, I would say that it symbolizes our world, shaping it to better fit our needs in expense of damaging the natural beauty of it - to the detriment of the animals, such as this goat."

My ears perked up, and I made sure to look deep into her eyes, looking absorbed. I said nothing, but let her continue.

"Think of the Earth, and all it contains," she began. "Natural beauty and the wilds, all slowly being destroyed, because of greed and pollution. Look around, Mr...?"

"Ambrose." I lied, putting forth my business card. She took it, studied it, and smiled at me warmly.

"Mr Ambrose, this statue is a depiction of what we are doing to the world, and how it is changing into something less beautiful than it was when it was created. At least, that is how I interpret it."

"Oh?" I asked innocently, leaning in closer. She seemed to like the sound of her own voice so I saw no reason to challenge her yet.

"Mmhmm. Nature is dying, as we use it for our own gain. Everything that we depend on - to breathe, to live - has been ruined because of us."

"Well, some say that if we give the world enough time, it will eventually regenerate and heal itself," I replied, staring into her eyes. "We just have to be patient, and continue to care for it in whatever small way we can, while it restores itself."

"That is true, Mr Ambrose, but our world doesn't work that way. Nature may regenerate, but we humans will always use it, over and over again, and make the Earth worse each time we do. Our ilk is naturally exploitative."

I thought for a moment, and replied, "Perhaps that is true, but there's always room for a little optimism. And there's a lot of beauty in human beings too, wouldn't you say, ma'am?" I looked at her with seductive eyes, letting my gaze travel down her body in the most obvious way I could to let her know where my real interest lay. She was a voluptuous woman with child-bearing hips, a bosom that begged for a man's touch, and legs that could easily wrap around a man's waist and squeeze him to death. This lady had curves that no man could resist, unless he had an aversion to women who were more mature in appearance and less innocent in mind. And I couldn't deny that she had a nice figure, even if her face left a little something to be desired.

She smiled and bit her lower lip, looking around the room. "Yes, there is," she replied, staring me up and down with a grin in kind. She began, "How old are you, Gabriel?"

"19", I answered truthfully. I wasn't sure what the optimal answer was, but I knew it'd be easier to play off my genuine lack of worldly experience if I stuck with a lower number. If I would have told her I was 25 instead, which I might have been able to pass as, she might get suspicious if she realized how little I knew about the upper class lifestyle.

She stared at me with warm umber eyes, "You're just a boy."

I feigned innocence, shrugging. "That may be true, but I have already found great success in the world, having started my own company as young as sixteen. I am sure that many a man twice my age cannot say the same, and have a less impressive list of achievements. Though, I must confess, ma'am, that I find myself lonely at times, and it does make for a rather hollow feeling, having to endure life without the company of a beautiful woman such as you." The line felt slimy, but I was hoping that my black curls and jade eyes would be considered striking enough to make it work.

She smiled, showing her white teeth - leaning closer and whispering, "Call me Melanie, Mr Ambrose."

I placed my hand on her bare elbow, lightly brushing her skin with my fingertips, and replied, "Melanie.. It is my pleasure to meet you. Your views of our world are rather intriguing to me, and I find your intelligence fascinating. Your husband is a very lucky man."

She giggled at that, looking down for a moment. She told me, in the sweetest of voices, "I am divorced, Mr Ambrose. My ex-husband had no appreciation for art, and cared nothing about culture and refinement, save his own looks and vanity. He was a miserable man, with the morals of an alley cat, and the temper to match." She looked down and bit her lower lip, and I could feel her attraction towards me in the air.

"Sounds like the world is full of men like that," I whispered back. "Not able to treasure the wonderful gifts they're given, but are instead always greedy for more, even at the expense of what truly matters in life. Money doesn't buy happiness, as so many people have tried to convince themselves and others, only to end up miserable. No, I believe that what matters most is the people you surround yourself with, and choose to love."

She looked at me, a warm look in her eyes. "How old are you really?"

I answered truthfully again. "19, ma'am. Why? Do I look older?"

Melanie laughed again, looking amused. She placed her hand on mine, rubbing my palm. She was obviously a little tipsy, but in her state of inebriation, she seemed quite willing to listen to anything I had to say, or anything I suggested we do together. Her touch sent a pleasant thrill through my body. She grabbed a new glass of champagne from the table nearby, sipping on it, then asked, "Are you aware that I'm quite a bit older than you are?"

"I did notice," I replied, returning her grin. "But my father always told me that women age like wine, and I find your mature beauty most pleasing." In reality, the only thing my father had ever told me about women was that they were all untrustworthy bitches with more venom in their veins than any snake I had ever heard of.

"My ex-husband did not share that view", she said with a hint of disgust in her voice. "You should know I have no children with him." She said it in such a matter-of-fact way that I found myself impressed by how brazenly confident she could be, even with someone she barely knew. "It's been a long time since I've met a man like you. A true gentleman. How can you afford to have so much confidence? It must come naturally to you, as if your birth gave you that which you were missing, and the soul of a poet."

"You flatter me greatly, Melanie," I answered truthfully. "And I am humbled that you would allow someone like myself to bask in the radiance of your intellect and grace. It is refreshing, to say the least."

Melanie's hand drifted across my chest, feeling my body through my suit. I didn't try to stop it. Her touch was soft, but full of meaning. She said, "Come to dinner with me tomorrow, and perhaps we can discuss fine arts and worldly matters further at my home." Her voice sounded so innocent that if I hadn't known better, I might have believed she wasn't really thinking about what her hand was doing or what her words suggested. But no, her approach was almost as calculated as my own.

"I would be delighted to, but alas, I am very busy tomorrow." I made it sound genuine. As if I were a gentleman of any worth, and not just a liar, I would have been disappointed. "But I am free tonight.." It was already late, way past dinner time, and that was to my advantage. I didn't have enough coin in my wallet to treat this lady to an expensive meal at a classy restaurant. But if I could convince her to take me to her home, and then further convince her to let me into her bed.. Well, I would give her exactly what she wanted out of me. She just didn't know that I would escape with her jewellery box or some equally expensive possession before the sun would rise.

Her lips curled up into a smile. "It seems you are busy a lot, Mr Ambrose.. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who would turn away an offer such as this.."

"My sincerest apologies," I replied, staring into her eyes. "If only I could, then I would accept your gracious offer without delay. And please, call me Gabriel."

She placed her hand on my cheek, brushing her fingertips across my skin, and whispered, "My place is not far. Let me tell my hostess I am leaving early. Will you wait for me outside?"

I nodded and leaned in close, speaking in a soft tone, "I would be delighted to, Melanie." My face was so close to hers that I could have kissed her lips without needing to take another step, but I held back, watching the colour rise to her cheeks. I leaned in, brushing her cheek with my lips, and whispered in her ear, "The evening is young.. Who knows what other interesting conversations we will have before it ends?" She smelled of elderflowers and honey. She looked up at me, smiling innocently. I could not deny she had a certain something about her that made my blood boil, but I tried to put that out of my mind.

I felt her shiver at my touch and the sound of my voice, and stepped away from her, allowing her some room. She smiled at me like I was her favourite meal on a hot summer day, and watched me leave.

Outside, the night air was cool and there was a chill in it that made me shiver. It was a pleasant contrast to the humid atmosphere inside the art gallery, and helped to bring me back to my senses. I looked down at my watch - the cheap one that I had gotten merely because it looked quite expensive from a quick glance due to it's golden colour. It read 09:17pm. It was dark already, and this wasn't a residential area, but there were lights on in several houses nonetheless. I looked up at the sky and could see stars through the light pollution.

As if reading my thoughts, an elderly gentleman came outside just moments after me, holding a cigar between his teeth. He spoke with a soft accent, "It's rather chilly tonight, is it not?"

I turned around, looking him over. "It most certainly is." He was of Asian descent, with long grey hair and a beard that matched, yet he was youthful looking for his age. His eyes were as black as night, and glimmered with the confidence of a man who knew how to wield power. He was wearing a suit similar to mine, with the same expensive sheen to it. There were golden rings on his fingers that suggested wealth.

The old gentleman held out his hand and introduced himself, saying, "I am Dr Arthur Fu, of the Arthur Fu pharmaceutical company. My apologies for eavesdropping, but you must understand, such a rare sight is worth the intrusion into another man's conversation. How old are you?"

"Old enough to buy this suit", I answered, shaking his hand. I said nothing about my age, since it seemed he wanted to know and his intentions were not yet made clear. "And what rare sight do you speak of?"

"A man such as yourself with no interest in the arts, or even in speaking of it, if that conversation had been any indicator." His accent made the words seem quite intense and his dark eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"What are you implying, Dr Fu? Are you suggesting I am some sort of philistine? If so, I am afraid I must correct you, sir." But before I could continue, he held up a hand as if to interrupt my train of thought.

"You misunderstand me. I'm merely impressed by how you managed to turn an art gallery into a hunting ground for women, and captured none other than the most desirable one in the room, at that." His eyes turned toward Melanie, who had just emerged from inside and was coming over toward us. "I bid you a good night."

She placed a delicate hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly, and looked up at me with her sandalwood eyes full of promise. "Ready?" she asked. I smiled and took her arm, walking away with her as she bid the good doctor a pleasant continuation to his evening.

We didn't speak again until we were out of sight. Then I asked, "Did you hear that? A hunting ground?" I looked at her in mock confusion.

Melanie giggled sweetly, then explained, "That is exactly what he is suggesting, Mr Ambrose. A man such as yourself shouldn't be surprised.." She turned to face me as we stopped in front of a luxury car. A man stood near it, holding the door open for us. Melanie stepped inside, taking off her hat, then gestured for me to get in as well.

The car was large enough that there was a plush leather bench on either side. The seats were covered with velvet and sat so deeply they felt like I was sitting on a cloud. It was like stepping into another world, and I had never once set foot in a car even half as comfortable. As I slid into the seat next to Melanie, I asked, "A man such as myself? Is there something wrong with how I am?" I pretended to be ignorant, letting her fill in the gaps. I looked into her eyes, keeping eye contact as much as possible, and held her hand in mine. I could feel her skin, soft and delicate, even through the thin gloves she was now wearing. I watched as she stared back at me, appreciating my touch, her lower lip between her teeth again. I let my fingers slide over her palm, barely grazing it. The gesture made her shiver with pleasure.

"Mr Ambrose..," she said in a sultry voice that matched her looks. "There are some men who simply do not have any interest in being civilized. But you.. You have everything it takes to be an exemplary gentleman, yet you pretend not to notice, as if you are trying to avoid inflicting your ego upon others." She placed her other hand on mine, holding both of hers around it gently. "It is almost endearing." She stared into my eyes and continued, "I must confess, I am no stranger to this game, and you have already lost."

"How so?" I asked innocently, pretending to be almost unaware of the obvious attraction she was feeling towards me. I leaned back against the seat, keeping her hand in mine, and watched the glow in her eyes flicker from brown to amber and back. Her pupils seemed to expand and contract with her emotions.