Declan sat in his office, distracted momentarily by the dust motes spiraling in the air in the golden afternoon sun. He rubbed his wrist absently before dipping his quill back in the ink pot. His wrist only bothered him when he wrote too much and when it was cold, both of which were true today. He looked out the gleaming french windows at the soft drifts of snow, and saw a pair of street urchins, dressed in coarse brown cloth, throwing mushy snowballs at each other. They laughed and screamed as each ball struck, their rosy cheeks beaming and their clear voices ringing. A soft knock on the door brought him out of his reverie, as his lunch had arrived. He thanked the delivery man, and took the bag back to his desk, as he opened it, the aroma of the warm pita bread and falafels reminded him of the day he met Jack.

It was a little over a year ago while Declan was in Israel, working as a street thief at the time. He stayed mostly to Jerusalem, where many travelers and tourists came. The rich men and women in their fine suits, pointing and clucking over holy relics, sampling the Mediterranean fare, and leaving their money and jewels unattended. He recalled seeing a particular pair that day, surrounded by the acrid stench of unwashed bodies, the lingering smell of burnt falafels, and the radiating heat of the sun. It was one of the hottest days that summer and a wealthy looking man and his daughter were escorted under the shade of a large umbrella, by two valets. Declan watched them shrewdly, hiding behind and under things to watch how they moved, his mismatched eyes trained specifically on Jack. He was a tall gentleman, in his late thirties. The sunlight glinted off a white gold money clip as he removed a few bills and tapped the girl on the shoulder with them, then he yawned and stowed it back into his gray woolen slacks with a almost bored affect. He removed a tourism guide and opened it up, yawning again in the stifling heat.

She was beautiful, maybe fifteen, with pale skin and full pouty lips. Her green eyes glimmered with excitement, taking in every little detail of the city. Her short, curly brown hair was the color of a rich mahogany that gleamed in the sunlight like it was a polished piece of marble. She placed her hand impetuously on her hip and reached out with the other for the platinum money clip. Throwing her father an impish grin, she turned and strolled into a small shop to look at trinkets while her father hung back, casually scanning through the small book. Declan wiped a small bead of sweat off his brow and stole forward silently. He had perfected his technique on many unsuspecting travelers to the point where he could take the money, replace the wallet, and leave without the person even turning around. He paused for a moment as the girl bounced back out of the shop talking to her father about a piece of jewelry she had just bought. She reached up to her neck and unfastened the clasp on her necklace so that she could try on the new one. She placed it gently in her purse on top of the money and jabbered animatedly to Jack. He took her distraction as the sign to move and reached into the rose colored satin purse, closing his fingers around the cool metal of the clip and the chain of the necklace. As he slid it out of the bag, a hand grabbed his wrist and wrenched it with a fluid movement. He heard the crunch and felt the pain, as though a knife, heated to white in a fire, had been forced through his arm. He looked up in alarm and saw Jack staring at him. His face belied no emotion, but his eyes were ablaze with anger. Declan gazed back and a cold shiver ran through his spine, making him convulse and causing his arm to scream in protest. He dropped the clip as Jack released him, turning around to smile at the girl, who was digging through her purse to retrieve the delicate six pointed Star of David. He stared in awe at how a man like that could have looked so cold and then smile at his daughter like he had just stepped into the sunlight after a long winter. Jack held his arm out to his daughter and they melted fluidly into the crowd, though the valets stayed behind. The young girl continued her rapid fire chatter, unaware of the debacle that had just happened.

The burly men reached down and picked Declan up as though he were a rag doll. He bit back a scream as they buffeted his shattered wrist, seemingly taking delight in causing him discomfort. Within a few short minutes they reached a small shack made out of bricks and threw open the door. Declan found himself the next moment, dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Then they were gone, leaving him on the dusty tile floor. There was nothing that he could see except spots of sunlight on the floor, filtered through the squalid, boarded up windows. Exhaustion finally overtook him and he lay down on the gritty floor. He closed his eyes and dreamed of his days at St. Columba's, playing rugby, when a sharp, violent kick to his ribs brought him back. He jumped up, winded and looked wildly around. The two valets stood on either side of him, dressed in black pants and white oxford shirts. They advanced on him in the dim light, and he scanned the room desperately for an escape. He dodged the next blow from the front, only to be slammed down to the floor from the back. It took him longer to get up this time, but he stood, facing the two men. They attacked in tandem again, one swinging out wildly while the other grabbed his arm and twisted it back behind him. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring his vision as they closed in on him. He had been in many fights before, but never pinned down and beaten like this before. Then, it stopped. He opened a swollen eye and stared in fear at Jack who had entered the door. The man raised his hand as though to strike, and Declan raised his chin in defiance. He looked at the tall man who waived the men away that were holding Declan. The dropped him and left swiftly, closing the shabby door behind them and leaving Declan alone with Jack.

Jack dropped to his knees, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "I didn't ask them to hurt you like this, but what's done is done." He helped Declan off of the floor and gently dusted him off. With one fluid motion he tugged his neck tie off and used it to bind the broken wrist. "We'll get my personal physician to see to that, until then this will have to do." Jack guided the younger man out of the shack and onto the street where an idling car waited for the two of them. The car's gentle purr made Declan feel drowsy. He placed his head against the windowpane and closed his eyes. The gentle voice of Jack brought him back from the edge of sleep and he turned to face the older gentleman. He spoke with a gentle yet powerful voice and it reminded him of his own father. He listened as Jack praised him for his pick pocket skills. At this, his eyes widened as his last attempt had been rather unsuccessful but Jack continued, undaunted by the young mans surprise. "I want to offer you a job." Jack said, looking at Declan's frozen face. "Your skills, stealth, and ability to keep quiet are all valuable aspects in the kind of job that I do. If you're interested, we'll fly back to New Orleans to begin your, ah, training." At this Jack twisted his mouth into a mocking smile, his eyes sparkling with the promise of a new associate.

Declan took a bite of his warm pita bread and nodded in satisfaction. It had been a good year, learning the trade, settling down, and working alongside Jack as his partner, as his brother, as his friend.