I’ve always wondered whether or not I would smile in a mugshot. Is it socially acceptable to show enjoyment in breaking the law?

No worries, only minor misdemeanors I’d say, but I’m just working my way to the good stuff. One must know the system like the back of their hand before kicking it in the teeth and running away with its wallet. That’s what Papa used to say, before he got hauled off to jail of course. It’s ironic, but I’d like to think his mistakes were to teach me something, since he’s been gone too long to teach me anything else.

It was the mid 30’s, when I was about 15, when my Papa and his whiney girlfriend had planned their biggest heist yet. Keep in mind it’s the height of the great depression, and nobody had anything, well except us.

My mother died when I was 4, leaving my hopeless Papa heartbroken with a hefty sum of her family money. With a bumbling toddler and a broken heart we moved down south to start over, which unfortunately meant he wanted none of my mother’s money.

No. I take that back. Not none considering he kept it and passed it on to me, but the thought of using it meant that he would slowly be draining any physical tie my mother still had to us for his own personal gain.

Along comes Shirley, the needy blonde for whom my resentment is only so deep mainly due to the fact that I know she was never my mother’s replacement. She wished on every star that she could be, but in fact I think she was the quite the opposite. Though my Papa would never admit this, I think he chose her because she was the absolute polar opposite of my spontaneous, generous mother. You know, like a constant reminder that my mother was the one, and there was no one he could find that would ever come close. Even so, my Papa said you always needed a partner.

My mother grew up in the North, her father making his bread being a businessman of sorts. I don’t know a whole lot, but I do know my grandfather was not a trustworthy man. He made his living scamming and manipulating, most likely why my mother was the most down to earth, trustworthy woman. How she ended up with Papa, well you know what they say; you marry your father.

But enough of that, Shirley and my father planned to rob the biggest bank in Atlanta. I, a mere 15 year old, watched from the sidelines, the feeling of dread heavy like a ball of lead in my stomach. They didn’t do enough planning and I knew it, and when they didn’t come home, I thought about what Papa had told me to do.

He had said to pack everything up and take the next train back home where people knew me and could take me in.

Absolutely not.

I was going to stay in Atlanta, maybe even for the trial. But when Papa and Shirley started making headlines, the same picture every time, I rethought my plan. For all intents and purposes, I’m an orphan. I have no parents and I ain’t got the slightest clue where my mother’s money is. I could always do laundry and help at a home like most girls my age, but I’d rather learn from my Papa’s mistakes, and continue the legacy.

I’d always helped Shirley and Papa plan out different heists, usually sitting on my Papa’s lap, and I picked up a few basic things, I’ve even gotten real good at pickpocketing. But if I was going to do anything, I needed to know what to avoid.

I was 15, so any police that caught me could be easily convinced that I was stealing to support my starving family, though I did feel bad using the Great Depression to my advantage. Nevertheless, I needed to know what I was getting myself into on a much smaller scale.

I went down to the Henry Grady Hotel, a well-to-do place for those who had escaped the tight clench of the Great Depression’s fist. Papa always said to go to places with money if you want to get money, there’s no use hangin’ ‘round a hole in the wall bar if you wanna make big bucks.

I presume this is why banks fascinated him.

The hotel was about 2 miles from the small apartment we had been renting on the outskirts of the city, so I had a nice walk down. Mid-summer in Atlanta was absolutely brutal, but today, walking under the shade of the trees above me, it was quite nice. Everyone was out working, small tasks for which they were only going to be paid a coveted 3 bits. I walked by a newspaper stand and saw that d*** picture yet again.

“Man and Woman Caught Robbing Atlanta City Bank; Sentenced to 20 years” the headline read. The picture showed Shirley, helpless as always, in the passenger side of the old Studebaker, which they stole as well.

I threw the newspaper back on the stand, not bothering to read the article. They were a national news story, yet here I am, no parents, no money, no way to pay next month’s rent. The fact they got caught infuriated me, what’s a family if you don’t stick together?

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the allure of crime. It’s exhilarating from start to finish,  the planning to the return home. But I loved my Papa, and though I never liked Shirley I certainly did not wish her 20 years of jail time. Crime ruins families.

As I arrived on the corner of Peachtree Street and Cain, I could see the gold script that decorated the awning of the hotel. The doorman tipped his hat politely at me as I strided through the doors with purpose. Look like you belong, I told myself, and I did. I had dressed in my nicest clothes and swiped on some of Shirley’s old makeup with unpracticed hands.

As I stood in the grand lobby, polished marble floor reflected my inexperience. I hadn’t really planned out what I was going to do, I guess I take after my Papa. Looking around the crisp suits and professional looking adults, I chose an unsuspecting man as my victim. He was standing near the door, obviously waiting for someone who was not going to show.

I approached the man, getting into character while walking over. He looked up from his polished shoes to acknowledge me. “Hello there young lady, is there something I can do for you?” he said politely.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my father”, I said, sheepish and distraught. “This is the first time he brought me on a business trip and now I’ve gone and gotten myself lost and without my room key”, I sold my story like a natural.

“What does your father look like?” he asked, “Maybe I’ve seen him around.”

“Well he’s got dark hair and a suit just like yours!”

“I’m afraid you’ve described every man here darling, can you point me in the direction you’ve last seen him?”

I lifted my finger the other way, and as his head turned I slipped my hand into his pocket, swiftly pulling out a black leather wallet, and slipping it into my own dress pocket.

“I’m sorry darling I don’t believe I can help” the man said with a hint of impatience.

“Oh it’s no worries sir, here he is now”, I said looking up at another man dressed in a suit. “Thank you so much for your help!” I said as I skipped off to the next man I sold my story to.

I repeated this once more, so as to not raise suspicion. Regardless, I walked home with one side of my dress sagging with wallets. In hindsight I realized I should have returned empty wallets, but there is always room for improvement i suppose.

As I neared the final stretch before my outdated apartment, a small boy, age 10 or so caught my eye. He was far too thin, homeless by the looks of it, and his eyes pleaded with me from a distance. I stopped near him and struck up a short conversation. I’ll spare you the uneventful details, but when I left that boy, I was 10 bits poorer.

Arriving home, I laid on the ugly sofa we’d had for longer than I could remember. Our apartment was small and run down like most. There was a sparsely furnished living room, a kitchen half the size, and a master bedroom with a bed and a bathroom less reliable than my father.

I’d always admired my Papa when I was younger, but now that I was following in his footsteps, all I could think of was how disappointed my mother would be. She was so good and kind, she would have never done what I was doing. Then again her Papa didn’t go to prison when she was 15, so that made me feel a little better.

I placed todays earnings in a large soup pot in the kitchen. It always bothered me I never got to learn how to use it, not that we had oil or gas for cooking anyways, so I liked its new purpose better. Returning to the cramped living room, I fell asleep early, resting up to repeat the next day.

This became my routine for the rest of that summer, though not always the Henry Grady. I would switch up my venue to make sure I didn’t raise any red flags, but one thing remained constant. Everyday I would stop to give 10 bits to the little blonde kid on the corner. I didn’t feel sorry for him, he didn’t seem like the type who would like being pitied very much, I just liked him. So I talked to him, told him of my day and who I had conned. He listened intently, his chin resting in his tiny hands, but never saying a word. Despite not knowing a single thing about him, I grew very fond of the boy and our daily chats.

A medical convention in early August brought about a particularly successful day. Since the depression had left most in the medical field unscathed, everyone always needs doctors, there was plenty to work with. My story changes person to person, you can’t tug the same strings for everyone, which is why the “lost father” story works so well. Businessmen strive to be successful, so when you give them a chance to help and let them succeed, they’re not paying attention to where their wallet is. Doctors, however, love to help people, which makes fainting on a hot summer’s day the epitome of distractions. Unfortunately, I could not impart this wisdom onto my new friend as he was nowhere to be seen.

The next day, however, he was there. I caught sight of him and smiled. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, the childlike spark gone from their blue irises. Concerned for my friend, actually I had started to consider him family, I asked what was wrong.

He told me of how his parents could not afford to care for him anymore, that his father said he was holding them back from living a decent life. That sparked a fire deep inside me, my care for the boy fanning the flames.

I asked the boy if he’d like to come bunk with me for a while, to which his face lit up and he wiped away his tears with one last sniffle. He agreed graciously and we walked back to the apartment. I felt good about this, almost like I had a little brother, and it would be nice to have someone else in the house.

For the next couple weeks, life carried on as usual. I went to the hotels, and I think he would play outside, sometimes work for families in the area, but honestly I didn’t really know what he did during the day. We both contributed though which made everything run smoothly.

One day I came home to find the house suspiciously silent. I called out asking if anyone was home when I heard clattering in the kitchen. I rushed in to find the boy, who’s name I still did not know, snooping in my soup pot.

“What are you doing!” I cried out, not wanting to feel the betrayal until I was sure of what I was seeing. His eyes darted between me and the kitchen door, grabbing everything he tried to run. I caught him by the ear, dragged him next to me and questioned what the h*** he thought he was doing.

“So what you sell me a whole sob story about your parents and then think it’s okay to take advantage of a stranger’s kindness?”

“I actually got the idea from you. That’s what you do at those hotels everyday, how is this any different?”

Good Lord I hadn’t thought of that.

Letting go of his ear I asked the boy his name.

“Lawrence”, he said after a pause.

“Alright Lawrence, I’m going to make you an offer. I’m right impressed by your performance, a little too impressed mind you. Rather than stealing from me, how would you like to steal with me?”

“So I can still stay with you? Because I really do like you...” he paused at a lack for my name too.

“Eve.”

“Eve. I’ve always had to do this it’s nothin’ personal, you understand, right?”

“Understood, Lawrence,” I said, genuinely smiling for the first time in too long.

With that I had found myself a partner, and not a useless one like Shirley. Crime was the reason my life had been turned upside down, but it was also the reason I’d been happy in a while. If I ever found myself in cuffs, I am my father’s daughter after all, there’s not a doubt in my mind I’d be smiling from the backseat to mugshot and everywhere after.