Uptown Thief Read Online Free PDF

murals had become discolored. Red paint faded quickly, so the Puerto Rican flags were now pale pink, white, and blue. These days offered plenty of bright red neon for ATM or Under New Ownership signs. Where there used to be glinting mirrored mosaics on somebody’s storefront or crazy sculpture installations in a vacant lot, now there were galleries, and graffiti lettering to advertise beauty salons that mostly catered to straight hair.
    Even people’s fashion colors had dulled. The visual riot of Latin clothes had yielded to subdued hipster hues. Tropical turquoise, magenta, yellow-green, and violet still appeared in women’s outfits, but no longer all together.
    The cab dropped her on a quiet street between Avenues D and C. She held her purse closer. It wouldn’t do to get mugged on the way back from a burglary.
    With the exception of that small hitch tonight, her burglary modus operandi was working flawlessly. Kim had a client who was a tech consultant with these Ivy Alpha guys. He and his lovely Asian “girlfriend” got invited to their parties. Kim could take pictures with her date in strategic locations, and Marisol would research the technology in preparation to do the hit. With wealthy Manhattanites, it was easy to pick a night they’d be out.
    Half a block from her apartment, Marisol noticed a figure huddled in a doorway. The block was deserted. At first she stepped back, in case it was a setup. But as she got closer, she could see it was a young woman. Her face was hidden, but Marisol could see a bare bruised leg in a scuffed-up pair of eight-inch, silver platform boots.

Chapter 4
    â€œY ou okay, honey?” Marisol asked the girl in the doorway.
    She didn’t stir.
    â€œHello?” Marisol saw the slight rise and fall of breath. She tapped the spot she estimated to be a shoulder.
    The girl shrieked and curled into a ball. “I’m sorry! Descúlpame! ”
    Marisol saw the girl’s face for a second. So young. Marisol had a flashback of her own bruised teenage face, a late-night trip to the emergency room, lying to a social worker.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Marisol said, placing a hand on the girl’s back to calm her. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, nena. ”
    The girl released the fist that her body had become.
    A hospital ID bracelet peeked from under the sling on the girl’s arm. Marisol recalled the times she’d cut hers off before she returned to her uncle’s house. She didn’t want to get in trouble for involving the authorities.
    â€œ Mamita, you shouldn’t stay out here,” Marisol whispered. “I’ll take you to the clinic down the street.”
    â€œThey’re closed for the night,” the girl muttered into the sheet that fell back from a heavily bruised face. She was Latina, with honey-blond hair, midnight at the roots.
    Marisol reached out her hand. “I work there. I can get you in. Come on, mija . Do you need help up?”
    â€œHe said he’d kill me if I ever went there,” the girl said, tears spilling across the plum and violet of her face. “He dumped me at the ER and said to come home when I could walk. There ain’t many places in the city a beat-down whore can go. He said he knew all of them and he’d be watching.”
    Marisol felt a flash of rage. She remembered her uncle’s words, decades ago: I’m your only family now. Nobody else wants you . His words stung. He had reached toward her body, but she sidestepped him easily that night since he was falling-down drunk.
    â€œ Mira ,” Marisol said to the girl. “Of course you’re scared of whoever did this, but he’s not here now. There’s a place for you a few buildings down.”
    Marisol took the girl’s good arm to help her up, but she stayed put.
    â€œ Corazón , look around.” Marisol knelt down. “There’s nobody here but us.”
    The young woman looked out at the