A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  “I wanted to give stuff to Becca. I wanted everyone to have a good time.” Marcey whirled to face Kim, her nostrils flaring. “Isn’t that fucked up too? That I let it happen?”

  “You couldn’t predict an OD.”

  “No, but I could’ve been responsible for it.” Marcey exhaled hard. “I’m a disaster, Kim. People who come near me get hurt.”

  “Oh, boo hoo, the white girl with the inheritance of a grandmaster. Get back to me when your life is actually hard.” She said it gently, but there was an air of finality about her.

  Marcey let it drop. She thought of Charlie. Was he really a grandmaster? He hadn’t known Marcey beyond the girl he’d sometimes played chess with, and yet that was enough to draw the connection to Linda Johnson, enough to damn Marcey to this life. She stepped forward and took in the painting, the memory of it propped up against Kat Barber’s thighs still fresh in her mind.

  Kim had stories about Kat Barber. Stories that Kat wasn’t willing to share and Shelly was too polite to breathe aloud. Marcey’s jaw tightened, and she swallowed. “Tell me about Kat Barber.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Charlie was planning this job with her. He’s got it all worked out, but she thinks that this is as much her job as it’s his.”

  “You told me this was Charlie’s job.”

  “It is.” Marcey gestured to the painting on the wall. “But Kat’s the one who forged this.”

  Kim let out a low whistle. “That has got to be the most terrifying painting I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.” She pulled the photocopy from the wall, her beat-up, oversized army surplus jacket falling off one of her shoulders, dragged down by her messenger bag. “What the shit is this? Who the fuck does Charlie think he’s playing if he thinks that this is going to earn us any money at all? Who the fuck would buy something like this?”

  “Fucking beats me. Kat told me it’s a minor work of some unknown painter, but maybe that it inspired The Scream.”

  Kim hummed. “That sounds like some artist bullshit line. The sort of bullshit Kat Barber excels at. It’s an ugly painting, Marcey. Everyone knows The Scream came about because Munch was dealing with some pretty messy mental illness. And if Kat had Charlie all up in it’s shit then maybe we have bigger problems.”

  “Why?”

  “Kat doesn’t play well with others. She doesn’t like being out of control. You holding all the cards on this job where she’s done the leg work? She’ll see that as a threat. She’ll screw you like she screwed Charlie.”

  “Did she resent him like that?”

  Kim shook her head. “Nah, man, he was like her father.”

  A white-hot surge of anger laced through Marcey. Her hands, still tucked away in her pockets, twisted into fists. How could he? How could he when Marcey had been right there? “Oh,” Marcey said.

  Kim turned to Marcey. “You weren’t really a criminal, Mar, not like Kat. I wouldn’t stress about it.”

  The anger, white hot and cutting, surged forth in Marcey. Her mouth was moving before her mind caught up to what she was saying. “You don’t get to say that. No one gets to say that. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve done in my life. Linda Johnson branded me a criminal even if she never succeeded in getting the conviction she wanted.”

  Kim glared. “She ruined my life too. My mom…Christ, Marcey, my mom was dying and the woman wouldn’t grant me leave to go to her bedside. She’s on a damn power trip and we both know it. You want her ruined. I want her ruined. We’re not going to get anywhere unless we can work together.”

  Marcey put up her hands, placating. Vulnerability was not something she did per se, but it was something that she could put on when she needed to achieve an end. The problem was Kim knew her well enough to see that the hurt she felt over Charlie Mock caring for someone like Kat was at least somewhat genuine. She swallowed and then closed her fingers over her thumbs, a gesture she’d learned long ago would make her feel calm. “Charlie’s last job is all we’re here to do, but I think I know how we can get some comeuppance in the process.”

  Kim grinned. “That I’d like to hear.” She relaxed visibly. Her eyes flicked down to the picture in her hand. “I seriously can’t believe that this painting has any value at all.”

  Marcey chuckled. “Beats me, but Kat says it’s valuable.”

  “Why couldn’t it have been pictures of kittens or puppies? Not some gross dude’s face screaming. This is horrible, Mar.”

  “I know.” Marcey bent and blew some dust off one of Charlie’s work benches. Using a series of short, spitting breaths, she cleared most of it off. This left her coughing, miserable as a mouthful of dust settled in her nose. She rubbed at her nose, straightening up and stepping away for Kim to start to set up her laptop. “Kat Barber sure knows how to pick ’em.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Kim said.

  “What’s another?”

  “Manipulative.” Kim eyed Marcey. “She’s already got her hooks in you.”

  Marcey frowned. “How do you mean?”

  From her pocket, Kim produced a flash drive and dropped it into Marcey’s hand. Marcey’s frown deepened. “What is this?”

  “It’s an insurance policy. For you. Everything that I can find out about what happened to Kat in Barcelona.”

  “What happened there?” Marcey asked. “I thought everyone got nailed in Rio?”

  “Oh, Kat got nailed all right, just not in that sense.” Kim shook her head. “No, that’s what happened afterward. When Interpol caught up with her and no amount of loudly proclaiming she was fucking Wei Topeté would get her out of the charges.”

  “Then Kat’s been to jail.” Marcey stared down at the drive in her hand. Kat had never mentioned time spent in prison.

  “Didn’t say that. She should have, going off of that arrest. But she never did. Makes a person wonder why.”

  Marcey closed her fist around the drive. It did. Kim’s expression was far off and almost deliberately aloof. “Then you’re okay with this?” Marcey shot back. She tucked the flash drive into her pocket and checked her watch. Shelly would be arriving soon.

  Kim bent down and fiddled with her kit. “It’s boring, you know? Working there. I hate every moment of it. Mom’s dead, Dad’s just wasting away. I lost my chance to say good-bye because of Johnson. She hurt Charlie. She hurt me. She’s got the damn cops up my ass every two weeks demanding to inspect my computer and phone as though I’d ever let them find anything on it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Getting sent to prison, no matter how shit that was, and everything I missed…it really did put some perspective on things. Being out the game for a while was nice, in a way. Gave me time to breathe.”

  “Are you okay with my getting you back in?”

  Kim nodded. “To take down Linda Johnson? To see Charlie’s legacy though to the end? Well.” Kim shrugged. “You’re an old friend, Marcey. I could do with more of those.” She glanced over at the entrance and her whole face lit up. “Speaking of old friends. Shelly!” Marcey stepped out of the way just in time to see Kim launch herself into a comfortable hug from Shelly.

  Another pang of longing swept through Marcey. Shelly had been Charlie’s lover, and she had the maternal way about her that Marcey didn’t feel from her own mother. She wondered if the awe and rush she’d felt back at that bar with Shelly had been something else entirely. Maybe it was the thrill of maternal approval. She shook her head. How silly could she be?

  “Hey, Kim.” Shelly’s voice was low. “How’s your dad?”

  They talked to each other despite the fact that Kim was “out of the game.” Marcey filed that bit of information away carefully, hoping she’d never have cause to use it.

  “He’s getting there. Mom, well, you know she was his everything.”

  “That’s how it goes.” Shelly nodded.

  “And how are you? It couldn’t’ve been easy.”

  “It’s day to day. Afte
r Rio, everything fell apart anyway.” Shelly looked away. “I see Marcey’s got you up to speed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think that there’s a lot we still don’t know.”

  “Like if you’re going to get involved, Shelly. Or just supervise from afar.” Marcey glanced over at Shelly. “Care to weigh in on that?”

  “A great deal of my willingness to participate revolves around what, exactly, Kat Barber has planned for this painting and how it fits into Charlie’s plan for Johnson.” Shelly’s eyes narrowed. “And what sort of security this place up in New Hampshire has.”

  Marcey frowned, thinking back to the conversation she’d had with Shelly at the airport. Had she spoken to Shelly about the details? There’d been so much going on, Marcey couldn’t remember. “Okay,” she said. “How do we do that?”

  Kim pulled her tablet from her bag. “Now, granted, this was only what I was able to uncover based off public records, but this”—she tapped the screen and an image of a clean-cut older man appeared—“is John Unita. He’s a collector. Really weird dude, too, from the looks of his collection. He’s looking to unload the painting for liquid capital. That means he wants cash on hand, Marcey—”

  “I do work for an accounting firm.”

  “Oh.” Kim looked sheepish. “Barber’s appraised the thing at way over its actual value, which means that this job is going to involve an element of the lost heir con. Kat loves those. She enjoys playing princess.” Kim made a face. “Anyway, so this painting is going to develop some tangible connection to a great work. Best guess being Munch’s The Scream based on the similar subject matter, style, and color palette. Though that’s risky.” Kim paused. “I was able to hack into the security company after you left yesterday. These are the blueprints for the house in New Hampshire.” She flipped her finger and the blueprints appeared.

  Marcey inhaled sharply. “You did all of this…in like, a night?”

  Kim scoffed. “Nah, did it before my shift was over, then went to a rave over in Jersey City.” She shook her head at Marcey’s baffled look. “You underestimate me, Mar.” She bent down and tapped her anklet. “Amazing what you can do once you know how to spoof the GPS on one of these things.”

  “Guess so.”

  From where she stood, Shelly was irritatingly stoic. Her expression was blank. “So we know a bit about this property and the system guarding it, but nothing about the man himself.”

  “Yes, that’s the problem,” Kim answered. “I need time, and I need capital to do that kind of dig.”

  “I’m not fronting the cash for this,” Shelly said. “I don’t have it, and neither do you two.”

  “Kat’s got it covered.”

  “And then there’s that.”

  Marcey rolled her shoulders back and stared at the ceiling. “Must we do this, Shelly?”

  Kim set her laptop down heavily. “Look. I get it. Kat Barber’s not exactly anyone’s favorite after Rio, but if she’s going to foot the bill for this, why not let her waste her money?”

  “Marcey has a blind spot where Kat’s concerned,” Shelly answered. “It’s something that you need to be aware of as well, Kim. She’s not coming into this the cold arbiter of Charlie’s last wishes.”

  Later, Marcey would recall this as the final straw, the moment when she lost her temper at Shelly’s judgment. At the time, though, it just felt like more of the same. The anger was still there, a bubbling resentment at anything resembling the people who’d known and were known to Charlie Mock, but it was the fear that settled into Marcey’s stomach now. Not knowing if Shelly wanted anything to do with this job and knowing that they would depend on her expertise in all things Charlie was an all-consuming fear.

  She stepped toward the workbench, toward Kim’s laptop where it’d been set up and was slowly buzzing to life. “We all have our roles to play,” she began. It felt like a fool’s gambit, a chance that they wouldn’t think less of her if she were to speak now. “I don’t give a shit about Charlie Mock. I care about Linda Johnson. I care about that revenge. I will have that revenge. Be with me, or be against me. We can earn a lot of money if we work together and take down an absolute bitch at the same time.”

  Marcey turned back to Shelly and Kim. They looked at her oddly, as though there was nothing more to her than the put-upon bravado of her words. She held her hands out open, welcoming. “Yes, I fucked Kat Barber. Yes, she’s probably going to try and screw us all. The only protection against that is awareness. And I do not intend to be caught with my pants down.”

  The scowl cutting across Kim’s face was deep. “You want to play a game with Kat Barber. Kat fucking Barber would eat you for lunch, Marcey. What makes you think that you’ve got anything that could pull something over on her?”

  “I know that she’s desperate for Charlie’s book. I want to find out why.”

  Shelly’s gaze fell heavy on Marcey. She didn’t say anything, but her head dipped just once. “So we’re stealing this painting.”

  “Seems we are.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Wei, at a Crossroad

  Wei lay awake, staring up at the crackle board ceiling of her hotel room. She was bone-tired, but sleep was elusive. She’d been on both sides of the Atlantic for just long enough for her internal clock to start adjusting before leaving once more. That was the problem with this work, the problem of her liaising with Linda Johnson, the problem of having to let a crime unfold before going in for the kill: too much travel, never enough time to recover. Her body ached of it.

  Blearily, Wei turned over and stared at the glowing blue of the alarm clock. Four in the morning. Kat would be awake, and maybe more willing to have the conversation she’d effectively shut down in London a few days before.

  The hotel room was cold. Spartan. Cheap—if cheap was a thing one could have in a city like New York. Wei set the coffee maker to brew and opened her laptop. A few texts to Kat ensured that she would answer.

  Wei sat cross-legged in the chair at the room’s small desk and waited, staring at a black screen. Pulse. Pulse. Finally, Kat answered, looking sun-kissed and sleepy. She was at her loft, amid her paints, wielding a thin calligrapher’s knife and not paying attention to Wei. She glanced up. “You look like shit,” she said.

  “Jet lag.” Wei sipped her coffee, which was scalding hot and black. She made a face. It tasted burnt and weak. “What are you doing?”

  “Bookbinding.”

  “Why?”

  “Thought I’d try my hand at something new.”

  “Ah.” Wei sat back. “Are you ready to talk?”

  “About what?”

  Grinding her teeth, Wei wished she didn’t have to spell it out. “Marcey Daniels.”

  “She has what you want, doesn’t she? After last weekend, she’ll keep following me until I can get it.” Kat set her knife down and turned to give her laptop screen her full attention. The picture went fuzzy, before sharpening to see the dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping either. The small, petty part of Wei liked that. Let her be haunted by her guilt. “You mustn’t be cross with me for it.”

  Wei took another sip of coffee. This one she had to choke down as it curled into a wave of nausea in her stomach. “I am cross with you for it.” Her English was slipping, fading into accented incomprehensibility. “You told me you would see what she wanted, see if you could get the book. You didn’t tell me you were going to have her.”

  Kat said nothing. Her pen scratched on the paper in front of her. “Maybe I wanted to have her.”

  There was a ringing in Wei’s ears. This was it. This was the end. “Why, Kat?” Her hand shook. She put her coffee in the hotel’s cheap paper cup down on the desk beside her laptop.

  Kat set her pen down. “Does it matter?”

  They were rubbish at this. Wei and Kat both. “It does to me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “It matters to me, Kat. That’s not what people who love each other do.”

>   “Do we?” Kat asked. She leaned forward, setting her book—a small cream-colored thing—aside. “Love each other?”

  A question Wei could never ask. I do. “Yes,” she said. It didn’t taste dishonest.

  Kat was silent, her expression unreadable. She shifted, picked up a mug of tea, bag still dangling off its side, and sipped it. Set it back down. Wei swallowed, watching her stew on the admission. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too.”

  What Wei wanted to ask was why, but the why stuck in her throat, too big and too damning to speak aloud. This was the lie they told themselves to keep this going because love was a lie they clung to.

  “What did you put her on to?”

  “Something that will guarantee things,” Kat said. “Free us of this yoke around our necks. Allow us to be free. Wouldn’t you like that, my love, being free to forget these alliances and the messy business of choosing sides?”

  Despite herself, Wei nodded. It was what she wanted more than anything else. “You want me to let this happen?”

  Kat shrugged. “William’s doing a fair job mucking it up as it is. Let him run it until you have to step in. By then the crumbs will be there and you’ll get the book.”

  “And you, your freedom.” That was the end goal of all of this, after all. Kat bartering with things that didn’t belong to her was hardly new, but this was meant to belong to her. The girl—the girl who Kat had manipulated into showing her hand—had it now. And it was just a matter of time until she messed up. William had already arrested her once; he just hadn’t seen the whole picture.

  “Darling, you make it sound so good.” Kat smiled, serene and beautiful. “Let me handle the girl.”

  “Will it happen again?”

  Kat pursed her lips. “If it does, will you be terribly cross with me?”

  Wei wanted to say yes, because it would be the betrayal all over again, but she couldn’t. Kat was right. They had to thread a needle, and controlling as many variables as possible was the only way to ensure that their desired outcome was the one effected. Wei clenched her teeth. “Do what you must,” she said through them. She reached up, not wanting to look at Kat’s face anymore, hit the space bar, and ended the call.