"So, what? You're like Joan of Arc, now?” Remi said as we re-read the same articles for the tenth time. “I’ve got news for you, Cat; Joan of Arc never showed off her ta-tas while her brother John of Arc picked a mark's pocket, I guarantee you that. Maybe she'd have gone farther if she had. Point is; you don't fit the bill for being someone God would want to talk to."

"But it's right there," I said.

Truth being told, I wasn't worried that God might have wanted a word with me - I imagine in this day and age He'd probably use Whatsapp like everyone else. I was worried that my mind was creating this scenario. The institution in which my mom seemed doomed to spend the rest of her life was filled with people who thought that God spoke to them on a daily basis. I bet I wouldn't have had to check many rooms before I found one who saw rains of frogs all the time. Was I one of those people? For the moment, I still had the wherewithal to ask the question, but perhaps the time would come when I came to believe it myself.

"You know, if you scroll down through the results," Remi was clearly wishing that he had never shown me the phone, "there are other albeit less sexy and interesting explanations. There've been loads of reports of raining frogs.”

"Reports?" I asked, skeptically. "Any photos?"

"Well, be fair, who carries a camera with them on the off-chance it rains frogs today?"

I held up the phone and waved it at my foster brother. "Everyone, Remi. Everyone carries a camera. People take pictures of their breakfast to post on Facebook, you think they're not going to post one if it rains frogs?"

"I didn't say it was common."

"You said 'loads of reports'."

"Point is; other people have seen it," Remi insisted.

"Other crazy people, maybe."

"They say,” Remi wasn't letting go, "that tornadoes or water spouts pick the frogs up and carry them into the clouds and through the air to rain them down miles away."

"Just frogs?"

He shrugged. "I think it happens with fish as well."

"Don't frogs usually hang out in ponds?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What sort of water spout is centered on a fucking pond?"

"Even water spouts have got to start somewhere."

"Any scientific evidence?" Although I was the one disparaging the idea, I really wanted there to be a good solid scientific backing to the theory.

"Well, no one's ever properly documented it," admitted Remi, knowing that I could just check for myself if he lied. "But it's a widely believed phenomenon."

"Like alien abduction?" I suggested.

"Most widely believed things are true. You're just picking on one that isn't."

I shook my head. "It's an urban legend."

"So, you're insistent that you're getting warnings from God?"

I deflated. "I don't know... I don't know what to think."

"What would God be warning you about? I mean, He should have been warning you not to grift in Queens but it was a bit late for that."

"Maybe He's warning me to live a better life?" Or maybe my own subconscious was imagining warnings from God because, deep down, I thought that I should be living a better life?

"There are worse people than us, Cat," said Remi. "If God warned all of them that they need to live a better life then we'd be knee-deep in fucking frogs by now."

"Doesn't that just confirm that it's all in my head?" I pointed out.

Remi paused with the face of a man who has lost track of the point he was trying to make. "Let's do the concussion protocol, yeah?”

I tossed his phone back to him. "You do what you like. I'm watching TV. Maybe there's something on the news about raining frogs."

I said it lightly, but I was really hoping that there was something on the news, anything to suggest that someone else had seen this, that I might not be completely crazy.

"Let me do that for you."

I was having trouble holding an ice pack to my head at the same time as putting band aids on my knees and Remi stepped in to help.

"So, other than the frog thing, how did tonight go?"

"Pretty good, I guess." I nodded towards my bag, bulging with money. "But we need to know the alleys around Queens if we're going to be working that area more."

"You think it's worth it?"

"For sure."

We talked more about the grift, about what we might try next, about the possibilities for further expansion in Queens, but my mouth was working on autopilot while my mind remained fixed on frogs.

As Remi carefully washed away the grime on my skinned knees and prepared them to be bandaged, I kept my gaze trained over his head as I skimmed back and forth through news channels.

All the shit happening in the world these days, you'd think God would have had more to say about it - surely someone else must have seen a rain of frogs? But, apparently, it was just me. A very small concentrated rain of frogs on one alleyway that happened to have me in it. Not even the urban legend sites online believed in that. How crazy did you have to be that there wasn't one person on the internet to back you up?

"How's that?" Remi leaned back from his handiwork and I admired my knees through the patchwork of bandages.

"You don't think this is overkill?"

"Looks right to me."

I laughed. “Okay, then. Thanks, doc.” I held up my hand and we exchanged a high five. “I’m beat. I think I might just head to bed."

He nodded. "Cool. I've got a date, anyway."

I glanced at my watch. "It's close to midnight. What sort of date starts in the middle of the night?"

Remi shot me a wink. "A good one, I hope."

I grinned and shook my head in mock disapproval. Remi could always cheer me up.

"She's a waitress down at Jackie's. Midnight is when she gets off."

I arched an eyebrow suggestively. "Surely you're the one who determines when she 'gets off'."

Remi held up crossed fingers. "Here's hoping. Third date, you know. Well... technically second, I guess. And the first was kinda weird cause she'd only just broken up with her boyfriend a few minutes before. But still, I'm optimistic."

I just chuckled. With his youthful good looks and easy charm, Remi had worked his way through most of the cocktail waitresses of Brooklyn. He had a knack. "Although," he went on, his expression changing to one of concern, "if you need me to stay, I can?"

I shook my head. "Go. Have fun."

"You're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Okay. Hope you have a good night's sleep."

"Hope you don't."

When Remi was gone, I relaxed back on the couch. In a way, I was relieved he had gone, as it gave me the brain space to try to think about all the things that were bothering me one at a time.

My eyes drifted to a hospital bill on the table. Care for the mentally disadvantaged is not cheap and good care is incredibly expensive. I never tried to excuse what I did for a living by handing anyone a sob story about how I needed the money to pay for my poor dear mother's hospital bills. Truth be told, I would probably have been a grifter even if she wasn't in an expensive hospital because I was good at it and I enjoyed it. But that was why I need the money. That was why I took risks like the one I took tonight. And while I wasn't asking for anyone's sympathy, I did feel that maybe I deserved some. Just a little bit. But, truth be told, at that point I wasn't really feeling sorry for myself because my mom was in an institution, but because I was terrified that I was heading the same way.

It was late, but I didn't feel much like sleeping. Both Remi and I are night owls, which tends to be the case with grifters on the bar circuit - life is easier if the mark is drunk. I ran a bath and climbed in for a quick soak to clear my head and wash away the lingering scuzz of the night, careful to leave my freshly bandaged knees above the water-line.

Spending time with people like Hank and Leon always leaves me feeling dirty, like their sleaziness has gotten into my pores. Afterwards, I changed into the leopard-print footie pajamas that I always wear when I'm feeling a bit down, and headed back to the couch with a mug of rich hot chocolate and the intention of snuggling down in front of a movie. Preferably a dumb rom-com.

A knock on the door made me freeze where I stood. Who the hell was knocking on my door at this time of night? Was it conceivable that Hank had found me? Yes, it was. Was it possible he had called the police? Yeah, that, too. Come to think of it, there were any number of reasons the police could have for wanting a quiet word with me in the intimate surroundings of a cell, for one. On the other hand, Mrs. Kowalski from down the hall could have gotten locked out again and wanted her spare key.

I tiptoed to the door, as the knock sounded loud again, and looked through the peephole. Outside stood three massive men. My normal description of large, intimidating guys at my door would have been 'scary', in this case, and I didn't know why, the first adjective that sprung to mind was 'sexy'. They were handsome - all three of them - in the sort of way that you really couldn't miss; a handsomeness that smacked you in the face. But there was more to it than that. I found myself simultaneously creeped out and turned on.

Still, the sight of three attractive men was not quite arousing enough to void my good sense or survival instincts. I could come up with several reasons why large men would be knocking at my door in the middle of the night, and none of those reasons were good. I decided to leave them outside and see what happened next. Hopefully, they would go away.

Another three knocks, loud and solid. Then, "Miss Cain, we know you're in there and it's imperative that we speak with you."

That did not sound like someone who was going to just go away.

"You're standing just behind the door," another of them said, as if that was going to make me more likely to open up. "We can see your shadow through the crack."

So the game was up from that perspective; they knew I was here. But I still wasn't hearing any good reasons for me to unlock the door.

"We are unable to leave until we have spoken to you," said the third man. "Please, open the door."

It was nice to hear a 'please', but that certainly wasn't enough to change my mind.

"If you don't go away, I'm calling the police!" I yelled back.

"That seems unlikely since you are a criminal yourself," the first man spoke again.

The fact that they knew I was a crook did not bode well. Were they here to get revenge for someone I had grifted? You heard stories about people in the game who had conned the wrong man - a mobster or something. They were not stories with happy endings.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

"We need to talk to you, Caterina," the lead man continued. "We need to talk to you about the frogs."

The shiver that passed across my skin at the fact that they knew so much about me was countered by a warm wave of relief going the other way. Someone else knew about the frogs. I wasn't going crazy.

Which was a relief, but still raised a whole bunch of other questions about these guys. Had they been hurling frogs at me earlier this evening? They didn't look the type, but then again, what did a frog hurler look like? I was more frightened now than I had been before, but I was also desperate to know more. Almost sick with relief that someone else knew what I knew. That I wasn’t crazy, after all.

I wasn’t going to find out about the frogs unless I opened the door. And it was rapidly becoming apparent that I wasn’t going to get rid of them in any case. Something in my gut told me, if they wanted in, they’d manage it whether I allowed it or not.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. "Stand back and I'll open up."

Beside the door, stood the high-heeled boots that I wore when I was on a grift. In hot weather they could be hugely uncomfortable when I could be wearing high-heeled shoes of an equal sexiness, but they had the great advantage of being able to secret a knife inside of them.

I reached in now and drew out the slim blade. I had never had to actually use it so far - I'd threatened a couple of times but even that was pretty rare. I was really hoping that tonight was not the first time that I would need it.

With the knife burning a hole in my pajama pocket, I took a deep breath, and opened the door.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?”