Krampus Kruk

Iglance at my friend across the room, the silent signal enough to call him over. The moment this girl in a tacky Christmas sweater with no business being here walked in, she’d become my focus, and he’d been relegated to the background, left at our usual table. As Jan approaches, I switch to Polish.

“Check her car. Get everything you can on her.” My eyes don’t leave her as I speak. Her purse hangs carelessly on the back of her chair. She’s too comfortable in a place like this. Either she doesn’t know my bar’s reputation, or she knows and doesn’t care. Both are dangerous in their own ways.

I graze her knuckles with the pad of my thumb, holding her attention as Jan slips past her with practiced ease, lifting her bag without a hitch.

An old memory surfaces—him doing this trick when we were kids, stealing money from our moms’ purses.