An hour later I paced the floor in my apartment. I had a trail of crumbs from the box of Oreos I had opened, and I could feel my waistband tugging at my midriff. I always ate cookies after a job. I’d done it so often, I was afraid if I skipped the binge my luck would run out. I am superstitious like that. The wig was the first thing I discarded when I got home. I stopped pacing and stared at myself in the mirror I’d hung over the couch. Dark brown curls like corkscrews fell to my shoulders. I’d removed my Jimmie Choos in favor of bare feet on the plush carpet. All the jewelry was tucked away in my safe, the one I had behind the false wall at the back of my closet. I lit a joint to calm my nerves.
That was close. The guy could have been home cleaning a gun instead of humping a ho. I was getting overconfident. When I was younger, I never would have barged in like that. Even if I was sure a house was empty, I knew better than that. I ate another Oreo. I like to eat the middle, white, s...