Beauty Rising by Mark W Sasse Page B

a very firm grip. I resolved to stare him down. My eyes were watering, asking him Why? Why are you being so cruel to me? Why did you grab me? You are hurting me. He looked away from me but continued his firm hold. But I knew he was wavering, for I saw the doubt in his eyes. He looked to his left and then right. He seemed unsure. He didn’t know if he had the right person. He looked once more into my eyes, and I felt his fingers release their grip one by one. I turned, head down, and tried to put some distance between me and tay , who was so kind to leave his wallet in such an accessible position.
    I learned never to run from a scene. I also had learned if no one in the general vicinity of the incident got a good look at what happened, then it was often a good idea to stick around. No one ever suspects a nicely dressed young woman loitering around a crime scene to be the culprit.
    About ten meters down, I forced myself through the crowd and into the temple courtyard, which sat on a small bank overlooking the main strip. I watched the tall, red-headed foreigner from behind the courtyard’s metal gate. He kept looking in every direction. He was agitated and so very out of place. I almost felt bad for him. He seemed to have no friend in the world, and now he had no money. I thought it was silly to feel bad for him because after all, he was a rich foreigner. After another minute, he was out of sight. I would now go and meet up with Hung and see how we did.
    ______________________

    Eight hundred and twenty one American dollars. It was a good haul. I skimmed a hundred off the top and put it in my bra as I waited for Hung to show up at the small boarding room he rented off the backend of the university. I was surprised to beat him here. His loss. I kept the rest of the money in the wallet but looked through everything else. A credit card, an insurance card; then I pulled out his driver’s license.
    “Martin J. Kinney. You have a fat face. Where are you from? 1201 Home Avenue, Lyndora. You are a long way from home Martin. But I thank you for your kindness, and I thank you for putting your wallet so conveniently in your back pocket.”
    I heard a motorbike pull into the courtyard. It was Hung. I slide the license into my bra with the money, and threw the wallet onto his bed. He entered and closed the door behind him.
    “Well, how did we do?”
    “See for yourself.”
    “You didn’t look, did you?”
    “No. You know I would never do that.”
    He went to the bed and opened the wallet and counted it out.
    “Seven hundred twenty one.”
    “Good,” I said. “Now give me my share.”
    “I’ll give you three hundred.”
    “You’ll give me half.”
    “Hey, I’m running this operation.”
    “I do the hard work. Anybody can push someone from the back. Give me three hundred and sixty dollars.”
    Hung talked tough, but I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t really afraid of anybody. I’ve been battered, beaten, and bruised enough to know when I should back down from a threat. But Hung was nobody. I knew he would give me the money, and he did. I headed towards the door.
    “Tomorrow?” he asked.
    “No, I’m working tomorrow.”
    “But that’s the last day of the festival.”
    “I don’t care. This is enough to last me while.”
    He came towards me and grabbed my arm.
    “I want to do it again, tomorrow.”
    “Then you’ll be doing it yourself. I’m busy.”
    I yanked my arm free and left.
    I had been renting a couple of rooms with my friend Hoa off the back courtyard of a house that belonged to a local university teacher. A teacher’s house lends an aura of respectability that we tried to maintain. I took off my ao dai and removed the items from my bra. The license caught my attention again. He had such a funny looking face. His face was as wide as three Vietnamese faces. I couldn’t help but think what Martin was doing right at that moment. How would he cope with losing his wallet? What would he do? How would he get