The Reaper's Token

I Bring Down the House... Literally

"If only... I had a phone," I muttered. I needed to get to a touristy spot that would still be hopping after midnight. Chinatown seemed a good bet. Now to get my bearings...

I glanced up at the street sign. California Street. Curious, I turned around to look at the massive building I had walked out of with Kieth. Concrete pillars jutted out of the ground to keep the upper floors suspended over a slanted, glass, triangular entrance. I'll definitely remember this building, and California Street was easy to remember too.

I started working my way down toward the TransAmerica building. I kept to the main street running through the Financial District as tall columns of banks and skyscrapers towered over me. The light from the streetlamps made a kind of orange glow against the light fog drifting in from the piers far behind me.

I still stopped at crosswalks because I thought that the only thing that could make my night worse would be getting hit by a car. Once I reached the foot of the TransAmerica building, I took another crosswalk leading into Chinatown.

I noticed a small cluster of college women walking past. Their eyes were glued to their bright phone screens - probably tourists. I followed, not quite sure yet what I had in mind. A bead of sweat snaked its way down my back as I tailed the flock from a distance. The young women stopped for pictures outside an outdoor Chinese park before continuing up to the crosswalk leading onto Grant Street. I picked up my stride and stood behind the group assessing which phone I should take.

"I'm dead. So they can't really see me, right?" I whispered under my breath nervously.

This wasn't my first time stealing something, but there was always a sick, twisting feeling in my gut whenever I had to.

I leaned in as my fingers prickled against the sudden burst of cold air.

Here goes...

Suddenly, a sharp slap rapped across my knuckles. I gasped and glared at the stranger to my right as he cooly lit a cigarette from behind a cupped palm. The light changed, and the women shuffled across the street. I felt a jolt of annoyance as I rubbed my thumb across my knuckles.

"Windy night," he said nonchalantly. He was tall, and his brown, spiked hair was slicked back slightly. He was also well-dressed in a dark leather jacket. He looked like he was close to my age.

Was he talking to me?

He blew the cigarette smoke out of the side of his mouth and away from me. Thank goodness! I have asthma... or I did. Anyway, I could see him sizing me up out of his peripheral vision.

"Yeah, it is," I decided to answer and return his unwelcome look with a bored expression.

So I guess I wasn't as invisible as I thought.

"You know, there's an easier way to get that... if you need one," he smirked and inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

"I don't suppose you're offering," I retorted. I was getting increasingly irritated by his superior tone.

"Of course," his chuckle ended in a coughing fit. Tough guy, huh? That made me laugh. He shot me an evil glare.

"Careful; those things will kill you," I said. I wondered if he was dead, too? Or, just... 'perceptive' as my eccentric, Aunt Theresa claimed to be.

"Not your problem." He said with a hint of irritation. "Do you want a cell phone or not?"

If there was a way to get a phone without stealing it, I was in. Maybe Keith had sent him to help me find my way. He was closer to my age and seemed marginally more willing to work with me than Keith had been.