Most kithfolk could not tell the boys apart, and they used it to their advantage. Pick a pocket and run. Pop up in another place and shout. Do it again from another corner and confuse the mark until he span in a circle and chased his own tail into the ground. Always using the crowd and distraction to their advantage. 

“Come over ‘ere, Carlos, an’ give an ole girl a terrifik hug!” JoJo Dickens called. 

“Iz not Carlos, yuz ole tart. Iz Juan. The gud lookin’ one, remember?” Carlos said. He had a smart mouth for a boy who had only seen fifteen years.