Cars squealed down the icy roads, spewing exhaust in their wake as they clumsily cut through a winter rush hour. A variety of people briskly strolled on the cluttered sidewalk, while others hollered and whistled for taxis, furthermore contributing to the cacophony of a busy city morning. A black- clad man towered over everyone else, standing tall and strong despite his spindly frame. He donned a wide-brimmed fedora, dark as night, that matched his long coat. He was a pale figure, with greasy, jet black hair and gray eyes. Not that anyone could see this, as he was almost always dressed in the concealing outfit that he wore presently. His name was Russell.
Russell’s eyes scanned the area slowly, a predator searching for its prey. He did not falter in the quick-paced gait that he had assumed an hour ago. Finally, a bright flash of color over the dull, gray city graced his eyes. The corners of Russell’s lips curved upwards slightly, and he narrowed his eyes. He redirected his stroll towards his prize. A man in a bright red and yellow jester’s outfit flipped and twisted in an alley. A small membrane of passersby had formed, gaping at the grinning man.
Just an everyday street show.
Russell pushed through the tiny crowd, using his height to fight his way through. He stepped to the front and slid his hands into his pockets. There, he waited, like a statue. Not moving an inch, just watching the show.
At last, it was time for the grand finale. Russell checked that nobody was paying any special attention to him. Then, in one elegant movement, he reached up and slid off his hat. He took his hat, his pride and joy, his impeccably cleaned, pitch black hat, and set it on the dirty white sidewalk. Like a dab of paint on a blank canvas, it appeared a deeper black than before.
Then, he waited.
Finally, the yellow-striped fool straightened, and took an exaggerated bow. Grinning like a madman, the jester listened to the clacks of the coins and the swish of the bills. They landed in the hat that had been placed out for them.
Russell’s hat.
And then, with one fluid motion, he swooped down and grasped it in his spindly fingers, and slid onto his head.
Money and all.
Russell grinned to himself as he strode away, head held high in arrogance. The jester’s grunts of confusion were music to his ears as the cash jangled against his scalp. Now, for the next show.
The process continued. Hat placement after hat placement, Russell slid bills into his pocket, escaping flawlessly each time. It was an over-rehearsed, natural act at this point, and he was beginning to enjoy the significantly greater weight of his jacket.
First, a jester. A saxophone player. A quartet. An opera singer.
The list went on and on and on.
At last, as the sun was losing its grip on the darkening sky, the con in black arrived at his final destination. A young man strumming a tiny acoustic guitar. Russell smiled. What a way to end the night.
The strummer cried out in perfect harmony, strumming a consistent pattern to the eager audience. They all smiled warmly, eyes bright in admiration for the guitarist.
Russell tried to burn a hole in his head with a cold as ice stare.
The guitarist faltered ever so slightly as Russell forcefully made his way to the front of the small crowd, throwing the grace of that morning out the window. He was content as ever as he listened to the crinkling sound he received upon shoving his hands into his pockets. His attention drifted, losing his focus on the task at hand. I could be here a while, thought Russell irritably.
He was snapped out of his daze when he felt the end was near. It had become a sixth sense to Russell, being able to read when the conclusion of a show was coming. He perked up and hurriedly grabbed his hat from his head. Russell looked down to see a guitar case open for cash. No big deal, he thought as he plopped the hat down inside.
Finally, the guitarist struck is final chord, hit his final note. It was finally time. There was a smattering of applause that Russell shrugged off. The real applause began with the swishing and clacking of money, and that got his attention. This man was good. Really good. Russell grinned in sheer excitement. This was one good haul for the day.  Dollar after dollar was thrown in, collecting in Russell’s hat. At last, the flow of cash started to slow, from a rushing river to a trickling creek. Still grinning, Russell waited. There was still income. Maybe he was getting a little too greedy, but street show performers were clueless. There was no way the guitarist would know.
A minute passed, and Russell was stretching it. Nervousness crept through his stomach, but he wanted just a little more. Just a little more. His eyes went wide with the wealth that he would attain. He could take tomorrow off with this bounty.
And still he waited for just a little bit more.
The next few things Russell saw happened in a flash. It started with the widening of the guitarist’s eyes. He tensed, realizing. Confusion and awe clashed within him as he stared at the hat in his case that did not belong to him. He had been collecting his last few coins of benefits, but something clicked in his brain. Something about that expression was not right.
And from there, all Russell knew was the definite clamp of a closing guitar case, and the defeat of a thousand wars.
As the click resonated through the now seemingly silent city,  Russell’s brain took a second to process what had happened. Then he caught on, and his grin disappeared from his face as quickly as it had came. His mouth dropped open uncontrollably in sheer awe. He was stunned still, eyes still wide but for a different reason. Astounded, Russell ran his hand through his greased hair, not able to process what had just transpired. He stared at the guitarist walk calmly away, hard-earned money in hand. Russell hung his head low, the burden of his stolen cash weighing him down as he called it a night. A great sadness took the place of his astonishment as he wished away all the things he had planned to do with the money. Looks like it was back to work tomorrow.
And though many things can be bought with money, stolen or not, there was one thing Russell knew he could never replace. Something that had been stolen by something much larger: greed. It was irreplaceable, Russell realized as he trudged home in defeat. One thing he could never steal back.
His hat.