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James Sheehan

The Law of Second Chances

PART ONE

1

New York City, August 29, 1998

Benny Avrile wasn’t a bad guy. He just looked for the easy way out of things-like every major obligation in life. Consequently, he had to steal a little to eat and sell a little to get something for himself. Cocaine, marijuana, liquor-it didn’t matter to Benny. Whatever he could get his hands on. He steered clear of heroin and crack, though. The boy knew his limitations. He wasn’t an addict-at least, that’s what he told himself. He simply needed some help to deal with the stress of living on the street. People didn’t understand the mental strain involved in not working, in not supporting a family, in not being responsible for a household. It was almost too much.

Another Saturday night found Benny at the Crooked Fence, a bar on the Upper East Side. The Crooked Fence had the perfect setup for a man with Benny’s talents. It had a long bar near the front door with tables in the back. The place always rocked on Saturday nights. Benny would position himself at the bar, usually in the middle somewhere, and start talking-to anyone and everyone about anything and everything. He might be homeless, and at twenty-eight he might have abused his body more than the average fifty-year-old, but on a Saturday night, with a little shower, a little gel, and a little Kenneth Cole, in the dark shadows of the bar, Benny looked okay.

“Nice necklace,” he said to the blonde on his left, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, the optimum age for Benny’s conquests or, as was normally the case, his attempted conquests.

“Thanks,” she replied and then turned her back to him.

It was so perfect and he had it down to such a science.

As she turned away, Benny, knowing exactly where her purse was, reached in and slipped her wallet out. Almost without looking-he had to take a little peek to be sure-he found the credit cards and put one of them in his pocket. If he took them all, she might realize too soon that she’d been robbed. With only one gone, she would probably think that she’d left it at home. Benny could do as much damage with one credit card as he could with ten, and it usually bought him more time because the victim might not report the card missing for hours, or even until the next day. He was very proud of himself for developing this system-he was a real thinking man’s thief.

A minute or two later, he tapped the blond, who was talking to another woman, on the shoulder. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” Benny asked, giving her his fabled Li’l Abner-I’m-a-hick expression.

“Listen, stupid,” she began, turning more toward him to make her point. By the word “stupid” Benny had the wallet back in her purse. “You don’t take a hint, do you? Get lost! Do you understand that? Get lost!”

“Okay, okay. Geez, I’m sorry. ” Benny was already off his stool and headed for the door. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he yelled back over the din of the crowd and the music as he retreated. Then he was out the door and walking down Second Avenue. “I just needed your credit card,” he said to nobody in particular as he patted his back pocket.