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“Hey kid, how old are you?”
“Why should I tell ya?”
“Smart kid. Can you run?”
“Yeah. Why?”
——•——
Name: Patrick “Spot” Conlon.
Age: Unknown, young.
Appearance: Dark blonde hair, pale blue eyes, many freckles.
Known for: Faded red suspenders.
Weapon: Slingshot.
Calling Card: Burn mark on door.
He glanced around the empty house, eyes immediately finding anything of value in the room.
Silver candlesticks in the mantle, porcelain vase on a pedestal, gold-tipped walking stick. Nothing escaped his ice-blue gaze.
There was a bag slung over his shoulder, much like the one the newsies carried their papers in.
In went the candlestick, in went the vase, in went the beautiful portrait over the mantle.
The gold-tipped cane slipped through his suspenders like a sheathed sword.
Now the bedrooms and kitchen.
Silver spoons, delicate china, gold earrings, diamond rings, pearl necklaces.
The black stovepipe hat on the hat rack looked lovely.
Pleased with what he found, the small open window waited.
But first, the door.
His pockets held an abundance of matches. Striking one against the wall, he held it to the back of the front door, making a black spot the size of a silver dollar.
A spot.
Spot Conlon smirked, reveling in the smell of wood burning.
The spot would be immediately noticeable when the owner of the house came home, but Spot never took anything that could be noticed right away, driving the robbed insane with worry.
The match died, the door was marked, and he made a hasty exit.
——•——
Name: Patrick “Spot” Conlon. Age: Unknown, young. Appearance: Dark blonde hair, pale blue eyes, many freckles. Known for: Faded red suspenders, black stovepipe hat. Weapon: Slingshot, gold-tipped cane. Calling Card: Burn mark on door.