The Good Thief's Guide to Paris Read Online Free PDF

couldn’t be overheard because the waiter had moved away and the acoustic café music was quite loud. “But maybe I will be terrible,” he said, rolling his ‘r’s with gusto. “Maybe I will see how it works and know if I can do it.”
    I raised my hand to my face and covered my eyes. I peered out from behind splayed fingers. “Breaking into your own place won’t do that. The job’s about nerve as much as anything else.”
    He demonstrated his shrugging prowess once more. “But this way, I cannot be arrested, yes? It is my home.”
    “I guess. So what’s your plan, you want me to run some kind of course here? First I show you how to crack your own place, then someone else’s?”
    He pouted. “It would be up to you.”
    “Because let me tell you, it’s not going to be as easy as you think. Picking locks takes practice. And there are all kinds of locks. Every manufacturer has something different going on. I mean, granted, the principles are the same, but still.”
    “I would like to try, even so.”
    I snatched up my wine glass and reacquainted it with my lips, meanwhile glancing over Bruno’s shoulder towards a corner table where Paige was sat with some of her colleagues from the bookshop. Dirty plates filled the centre of their table, alongside empty bottles of wine. One of the men, an Italian-looking guy with shimmering, coiffed hair and a high, square forehead, was being awfully tactile with Paige. He was smoking a cigarillo and gripping Paige by the shoulder, clinching her towards him, and the truth was she didn’t appear to mind all that much. Her cheeks had a boozy flush to them and every so often she would roll her puffed-up eyes and collapse at some wildly amusing comment the Italian made.
    Mike, the dreadlocked Mancunian I’d met, was sat opposite them, pouring more of the wine I’d paid for. He had on the same frayed, red woollen jumper he’d been wearing when I’d first spoken to Paige and I noticed that the overstretched sleeves were brushing against the rims of the wine glasses as he poured. Beside him sat a man in a garish skullcap who sported a pointed goatee that was weighed down with a colourful glass bead. The final member of their group was a serious-looking young woman with very fine, jet-black hair, purple lipstick and perhaps eight studs in her ears.
    “Why do you want to be a thief?” I asked Bruno, my gaze still focused on the table across the room and, in particular, the intricate movements of the Italian’s fingers on Paige’s neckline.
    “Maybe it is the challenge,” he suggested, spreading his hands on the bar. “It is not easy, as you say. Maybe I would like to learn something like this. Anyone can break a window, yes? Not so many people can find another way in.”
    “So it’s an intellectual exercise?”
    “For me, I think so,” he said, straightening on his stool.
    “Well, for me it’s about the money. So tell me, how much are my services worth to you?”
    Bruno seemed taken aback by what I’d said but he recovered soon enough and delved into the back pocket of his jeans, withdrawing a folded bundle of notes. I gripped his wrist and forced it below the counter of the bar, checking to see the barman hadn’t noticed.
    “You want it to look like I’m pushing drugs here? Keep the money in your pocket. How much?”
    “Five hundred euros.”
    My eyes widened. “And you figure that’s enough?”
    “It is all I have. I could get a little more, only . . .”
    I looked at him, shook my head and took another draw on my cigarette. I exhaled over his shoulder, towards the ceiling. Just then, Paige exploded with laughter, the outburst beginning in her nose with a loud snort. Her body buckled and she nudged against the Italian in a playful way.
    I tried to ignore how things were shaping up between them and focus on what Bruno was asking me instead. I didn’t need the job or even the hassle for that matter but I couldn’t deny I was interested. I’d been around