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...