A short story from a work in progress called Little Crimes.

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That day was an early start for Kurt and Regalia. He was waiting for her, as usual, stamping his feet and blowing into his cupped hands. When Regalia finally arrived, tall and scruffy, she was wearing her usual green cardigan. Her brown hair was in a messy knot, and she didn’t look too clean. She never did. Who the hell calls their child, Regalia, Kurt often wondered? She had an accent from somewhere, but where, he never discovered. He thought she might be Roma, but she lacked the dignity of a nomadic people. She frequently stooped or twisted, and there was a chameleon air about her like she might change at any moment. Once in a while, she stood up tall and squared her head on her shoulders, breathing deeply like a prize-fighter. Kurt was a little afraid of her then. She was taller, and he was sure she was stronger and fitter too.  

She was assigned to him, and he was supposed to train her. His handler listened to his complaints about how scruffy she looked and how it made people suspicious. If someone called the police, they might be caught because of her, he insisted. His handler was not especially concerned but was bothered just enough to send Regalia some new trousers. She sneered when she saw them. Cheap, from a discount store. She put them on in the station toilet and sulked for the rest of the day. Kurt thought they were a definite improvement. Their IDs were fake, and their photographs were real but fuzzy. They would stand up to a quick inspection, and as long as they had the card machines, the unsuspecting commuters just handed over their travel cards. What caused trouble was when they caught someone cheating the fare, but there were not too many of those. There were ways out of that situation, and Kurt would usually rebuke them and take their names and addresses, which would be fake anyway. Then there were the confused tourists who argued. Kurt had memorised the rules and regulations. He had done the job for real for a few months before he got sacked.

The scam worked like this. Kurt and Regalia got on the train at the first stop outside Amsterdam. No one took too much notice, and they could duck around the platform cameras. Kurt wore a smart cap, which he hoped looked like a uniform. It shaded his face pretty well. Regalia seemed not to care. Kurt had an idea that she was used to dissolving into a crowd with her unremarkable looks and dull hair. Looking boring was a disguise that seemed to work for her.

They worked their way through the top level of the first carriage, scanning the travel cards as they went. Then along the lower level and so on. Once they had done the train’s busiest part, they jumped out at the last carriage and crossed over to catch the train back. Three or four hours going back and forth at peak hour would be hundreds of cards scanned and recorded. At the end of their shift, the machines were passed to their handler in the station café, and they were paid for the day’s work in cash. The next day they would be handed new machines, and they repeated the process. Somewhere at a secret address in a quiet industrial district, the handlers removed a small amount, say five or ten euros, from each card and downloaded it to a bank account. From there, the money took a short hop across the globe and ended up newly laundered in a bank account in Luxemburg. A few thousand scans a day would be a nice little earner if you had ten or more people working the rail network. The commuters never noticed their money disappear; perhaps they never checked their cards.

Kurt would have preferred to work alone, but there had to be a backup, in case of trouble, someone to get away with the machines. If a single cop stopped them, the trick was to pretend that one of them was a trainee. If they were questioned too carefully, Kurt would explain that this was Regalia’s first day and she made mistakes. She was new and please treat her kindly. If they knew that Regalia occasionally slipped a hand into a loose pocket and extracted a sleek iPhone, they would be less sympathetic.

‘Regalia?’

‘Yeah?’

Kurt is about to offer her a crumb.

‘Pants look nice, kinda smart.’

Regalia turned her head and looked at him like she was translating his words in her head. Then she gave him her black toothed grin. Kurt wished he had not spoken. Her teeth were perfectly sound, just black, with some yellow towards the back molars. Ordinarily, he did not comment on them, other than to suggest that she did not smile when they were working.

The two went down to wait for the train, deliberately keeping their backs to the driver and the cameras, then boarding the first carriage packed with commuters. There was a cold wind whistling along the platform, and most people were keen to get inside and grab a seat. The tourists struggled with their cases, tangling the wheels on the steps and hitting their ankles. Those little wheels were so perfect at bearing the weight of over-indulgent packing until you had to lift the whole thing off the floor and up the steps.

Once the doors closed, they began with the people leaning against the doors. No one took much notice of them. The regular travellers just handed over their cards, barely taking their eyes off their phones. Only a few people looked closely at their faces or the plastic badges swinging on lanyards around their necks. Exact replicas of the real thing, right down to the logos and watermarks.

The plump tourist was an older woman in a pinkish coat and Sketchers. She was struggling with a shiny black suitcase with disobedient wheels. Kurt approached. The women wanted no truck with male authority, and she looked right past Kurt and regarded Regalia. This was the person she intended to deal with. The tourist handed over her card, explaining in firm tones that she had not scanned it at the entrance. She had run for the train, and the driver waved her aboard despite her protestations that she had not scanned her card. Perhaps he did not understand her.

The tourist spoke English, the clear piping language of Shakespeare and the schoolroom. Kurt’s knowledge of English came from computer games and American movies. He had watched porn in English, but he was not really interested in what they had to say. He pretended to Regalia that he was good at languages, but his blank face betrayed him this time. Regalia looked blank too. She had never had a computer, just a phone, and the sound of English was not familiar to her. She understood body language and could read expressions very well. The face before her was full of life, humour and anxiety. The tourist’s eyes were bright with fatigue, her jaw ready to snap if she was not given the dispensation that she required.

‘Next station. You get off. Go to the machine, scan the card and catch the next train.’

Kurt used his most commanding voice, acting as if he had authority. Usually, tourists did as they were told, assuming that he was an official of the railway. Today he wanted as little trouble as possible. Women were the worst.

He waited for the woman to finish her list of complaints and waited as she articulated her grievances to Regalia in a loud voice. When she stopped, Kurt looked stern. He wanted her to think that he understood her and then reissued his former instructions, in case she was stupid. He had used up most of his English phrases already. The woman reached over and took his ID card gently. Her hand trembled, and Kurt stood completely still. Her movements were not threatening. Appearing to be long-sighted, she held the card out so she could read it. Kurt was suddenly aware that most of the carriage was watching the little scene with interest. Real-life confrontations beat the stuff on their phones. The woman studied the writing carefully, turning the card over in her hand to read both sides. When she completed her study, she looked Kurt full in the face and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Then she turned toward Regalia, who helpfully handed over her card for inspection. The woman held it for a moment, glanced at the ID photo and then smiled at Regalia. To Kurt, the two women seemed to move closer to each other in a moment of female complicity. He hated that.

The woman sighed loudly, implying that she was now in command of some new facts, which altered the situation. She leant down and straightened the suitcase wheels, then walked past Kurt to a vacant seat and sat down heavily. Kurt turned towards her, while the passengers, phones at the ready, were waiting for a drama to unfold. If he showed weakness now, people might want to look a little closer at his ID card and then post a secretly filmed video to Twitter #TheRailwayCompany.

‘At Zaandam, you get off and get the next train. OK? Understand?’

‘No’, said the woman firmly. ‘I am tired. I am staying right here.’

She looked at Kurt, using her age and vulnerability as a powerful defence. Kurt considered for a moment and decided that it was best to let this one go and move on as other passengers seemed ready to intervene.

The train pulled into Zaandam a few moments later, giving Kurt and Regalia an excuse to walk towards the stairway between the carriages. It was wise to leave this train and board another. No sense in attracting attention. They reached the opening doors and in front of them, ready to board, were two uniformed railway police. One wrong move and they were caught.

‘Get off quick and split up’, Kurt hissed to Regalia as he pushed the card machine out of sight under his armpit. Regalia didn’t move for a crucial second, giving the two cops time to register the situation. Kurt grabbed her elbow to get her moving, but she just pulled away, making it seem like he was an aggressive man grabbing a defenceless woman.

‘Move, you stupid cow,’ he hissed.

He pushed her angrily, only then realising he was making the situation worse.

Drawing attention to yourself is the best way to get caught; his handler instructed him on his first day.

‘Run!’

‘Now!’

Pushing the alighting passengers aside, they jumped off the train and ran in different directions as the two police turned and hesitated, deciding which of the pair to chase.

Regalia shot off along the platform towards the exit. As she ran past the carriage window, she was aware of the woman in the pink coat watching her go.

‘Catch!’

In his panic, Kurt tossed the card machine to Regalia, which she caught with one hand like a baseball pro. He dropped down onto the line knowing that he could jump over the rails and run to freedom on the other side. The two cops hesitated, and their attention distracted just long enough for Regalia to tear off her green cardigan and toss it into a bin, then pull on a cap over her dull brown hair. She rounded her shoulders and slouched low. She could have been a different person.  

When the cops looked back down the platform and decided that they had more chance of catching Kurt, she is gone; blended into the packed commuters.  

There was a shout from the other end of the platform, and their attention turned again to Kurt. He was stuck fast by the buckle on his boot twisted around a metal loop attached to the rails. He struggled hard to get his boot off, giving up on the laces and trying to wrench it from his foot. Then he overbalanced and fell, sprawling onto the piles of dirt and stones. The passengers on the platform stand transfixed, then one after the other they shout a warning.

‘Train!’

‘Look out!’

‘Run, mate!’

But no one jumps down to make a last-minute rescue. Kurt looked up to see if Regalia was coming to help him. She was long gone. He saw a flash of red as his eye caught sight of the geraniums far off on the other side of the tracks. Their vibrant colour was the last thing he saw. The train clipped him side on, then caught his arm, dragging him with it along the other rail.

By Jessika Jenvieve

From: Netherlands

Website: https://jessikajenvieve.com

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