A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  Wei took another drag. “Shame indeed.” She exhaled. Smoke curled in the air for a moment before it dissipated. She had to let herself be played, because it was in the moment when the game ended that Wei would strike. She tilted her head, looking at Shelly. “We’re all in the same boat, then. I trust you will keep this to yourself, for the time being?”

  Shelly nodded. “I won’t be around if Johnson comes calling for you.”

  “Then I don’t want to see you again until this is over.”

  “Consider me gone.”

  And she was gone, in a swirl of gray coat and pale leggings. Wei watched her retreating until she cut down a block, heading south toward the subway station. She sat on her park bench, immobile in the ray of sunshine. It was foolish to think she could play Shelly. The woman saw much. She was a formidable foe. There was a reason Charlie Mock had loved her.

  Charlie Mock’s book was Linda Johnson’s white whale. Johnson didn’t know what was in it, only that the criminals documented on the pages would be enough to solve most, if not all, of the white-collar crime she’d encountered during her career. Johnson wanted that and she wanted petty revenge on the girl. Not for reasons that made sense to Wei. The connection between the girl and Charlie was lost on Johnson still. She didn’t think about the relationships that existed behind the pages of Charlie’s book, the ways in which the world would be altered if those names were ever to get out. Johnson didn’t know that Wei would be ruined should the contents of that book ever leak. That LePage would be no better off. Charlie Mock had kept careful records for a reason: mutually assured destruction.

  Wei sucked on her cigarette and thought of Kat. Johnson knew about Kat only in the loosest sense. She knew of her in the way that LePage knew of Kat: the art thief, the bored rich girl turned criminal because there was nothing else going for her in her life; the woman who got caught in Barcelona. What Johnson didn’t know about Kat, about Wei and Kat’s relationship, could fill Charlie’s book five times over. Kat was so much more than some debutante gone bad.

  Wei pulled her phone from her pocket and navigated to an app she rarely used. Guilt ate at her, but Kat was cagey at the best of times and sometimes, only sometimes, Wei really needed to know where she was. It was a violation, a breaking of trust, and something Wei did not use lightly.

  But there, clear as day, was all the proof she needed that Shelly wasn’t fucking with her. Kat Barber’s phone, flashing a location in the city. She flicked her cigarette away and got to her feet. She walked north, past dull office buildings, for a long time. The shade was cold, and the breeze off the river wasn’t warm. Wei cut over a subway vent and wrinkled her nose. The smell was awful, warm garbage mixed with sewage. People cluttered the sidewalks, heads down and walking briskly.

  After close to fifteen blocks, Wei checked her phone again and cut east, going up three blocks before she found herself looking up at a boutique hotel entryway. A short laugh escaped Wei’s lips. Of course. She pushed the door open and walked up a flight of stairs into the lobby.

  Inside it was warm, and the air was still. Most of the hotel’s patrons were either asleep or had already left for a day of tourism. The guy at the front desk gave her a disinterested look and returned to his newspaper. Wei spared him a thin smile before pushing open the fire door to the stairs. Wei climbed to the third floor and walked to the room at the back of the building.

  Kat was a creature of habit. She liked everything in her life to be just so. Wei was accustomed to hotels like this—small, posh, and hard to find if one didn’t know where to look. She took rooms on the third floor, as far to the back of the building as possible. There was only one door this far back. Wei knocked on it, stood back, fidgeted. Wanted another cigarette.

  When the door opened, Kat stood there for a moment, sleep-tousled and confused. “What are you doing here?” She sounded accusatory, but she stood aside to let Wei inside.

  The curtains were drawn and the room smelled of hotel chemicals and Kat. The smell of her shampoo and her perfume mixed into a heady combination that had Wei inhaling deeply, calming with each pull of air. Kat bent and switched on a lamp, eyeing Wei with a curious expression. The question still dangled, heavy in the air.

  Wei shrugged off her coat, draped it over a chair. “I wanted to see you.”

  “I didn’t tell you where I was.” Kat sat on the bed, drawing the throw over her legs. She looked small, her hair frizzing a blonde halo in the lamplight. A surge of affection shot through Wei, and she stepped closer, sitting down beside Kat on the bed and letting Kat curl into her. “How did you find me?”

  “You’re predictable,” Wei said. A small huff of laughter escaped Kat’s lips before she hummed, curling her arms around Wei’s waist and snuggling closer. “Wasn’t hard to pick out which hotel you’d go to, what floor you’d be on.”

  “You’re lying,” Kat answered. “Someone’s told you I was in town.”

  Wei wasn’t about to correct her. Kat was, after all, very good at lying. Kat’s fingers tugged on the soft material of Wei’s sweater. Wei saw it for what it was, saw the pout in Kat’s lips and the clever manipulation of Wei’s emotions in the way Kat’s fingers danced over her body. This was all a game to Kat, and this was the next step in the game. “You’re still cross with me.”

  Making no effort to push Kat away was hard, far harder than Wei had ever thought possible. She was here for a reason, with Kat for a reason. Shelly’s words were a warning. This was escalating, and quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s easier to do this over video chat…” Wei trailed off, looked down at her hands, fidgeted. She hated the indecisiveness of this. There was no reason she should be like this. She and Kat had made their peace with what Kat did. It was for a good reason. A justified cause.

  But it still hurt so much.

  “I’m sorry too,” Kat said. Her fingers were gentle, brushing the hair away from Wei’s forehead, tucking it behind Wei’s ear. “For what I did. I thought it was the right move… It seemed to be the sort of thing that would keep her guessing…keep her coming back.”

  “We never agreed to that.” She’d never been bothered by Kat’s games with other women. Wei wanted to know and wanted to consent. With this girl, Kat hadn’t been forthcoming, and Wei’s anger at Kat—at the girl—had only grown in the time since she’d seen them together.

  Kat rolled onto her back, staring up at the painted ceiling of the hotel room. “We never agreed to anything. We don’t talk about anything. We just are, Wei. And because of that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the good of the end goal.”

  I saw you, she did not say. In Nev’s apartment, watching like some Peeping Tom. Did you enjoy it, love of mine? Wei’s stomach clenched. She focused on the wall, the swirling patterns reminding her of a time when they could look up at the sky together and not see two different things, clad in easy lies and the good-natured acceptance that came with understanding that so much of who they were was lies.

  And worse still, Wei did not feel anything at all when Kat sat back up, her lips twisted into a grimace of concern. She tugged at Wei’s shoulder, fingers brushing against Wei’s cheek. “Look at me,” she said.

  Wei met her green-eyed gaze and felt only regret. “Will you do it again?” she asked, not for the first time.

  Kat kissed her, rolling on top of Wei and pushing her down into the soft mattress. It was a drowning kiss, the sort that choked away all of Wei’s fears and set them to rest. Wei let it happen, her eyes fluttering closed as Kat tugged at her sweater and pushed it up enough to touch smooth skin.

  In the darkness of this hotel room, in the darkness of the unspoken agreement between them, Wei splintered into a million tiny pieces. Pieces that could only be reassembled at the hands of Kat Barber. Over and over again. Fuck, fight, fuck, fight. Everything would be good for a month or two and something would happen. Without Kat there was nothing for Wei, nothing but the void that could not even be filled by her lingering presence. Kat was everything to Wei—breath, the hear
t beating in her chest. Wei loved her desperately, and without her there were just fragments of memories half-forgotten.

  Who even was she, before Kat Barber made and then unmade her? Kat had taken her heart and cast it in gold. Rendering Wei incapable of wanting anything more. They belonged together, and they were nothing apart.

  And when Kat unmade Wei that night, it was a lie Wei could almost believe.

  CHAPTER 23

  Marcey, Making Friends

  “That is a spectacularly bad idea.” Kim smacked her lips around a fry and gesticulated wildly with another. Perched on the stool in the far corner of Shelly’s kitchen, Kim looked all angles, her small frame condensed into an even smaller space of knees, elbows, and a McDonald’s Happy Meal. “Like, I’m pretty sure the only worse idea would be her trying to bring in Topeté.”

  Kat’s painting had arrived that morning. Kim had skipped out on Hon-Ya and Gwen had showed up from wherever she stayed when she was in New York to open the crate. Marcey was sweaty and exhausted, chewing pensively on a chicken nugget. They’d gone to the McDonald’s around the corner from Shelly’s apartment for milkshakes and dinner for Marcey and Kim. Shelly was cooking something vegetarian for herself and Gwen; it smelled of curry and the nutty whiff of lentils.

  “That ship’s sailed, sweetie.” Shelly tapped the spoon against the side of the pan and turned the burner off.

  Gwen frowned, passing Shelly a bowl. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said,” Shelly answered. She filled the bowl with lentils and onions and turned to the rice maker. “If Kat is involved, Topeté is involved. They’re a package deal, for better or for worse. I don’t know if she’ll try and directly involve Topeté, but I wouldn’t put anything past Kat Barber.”

  “I don’t like that.” Gwen took the bowl from Shelly and retreated to her stool. “I don’t like being beholden to the whims of someone who makes getting caught her damn MO.”

  “Then why stick around?” Marcey demanded. “No one is keeping you here.”

  Gwen leveled her spoon at Marcey. “That’s where you’re wrong. You have the book, Marcey. You have the book and any mistake you make has the potential to cost me my freedom. So forgive me if I want to keep track of you and the book to make sure you don’t fuck me and everyone else here.”

  The room grew colder, Gwen’s expression hardening and Marcey’s anger rising with each passing second. This was her job. Gwen couldn’t dictate the terms to her like that. No one could. Marcey lowered the french fry she had in her hand and set it down beside the pool of ketchup she and Kim were sharing.

  “That isn’t how this is going to work.” Marcey’s voice was barely over a croak. She was holding back so much. All the emotion over Darius and being barred from seeing him, they were threatening to bubble over. The terrifying fact that his release might get pushed back because of Charlie Mock hung heavy around her. “I have the book, yes. Which means that I can end you, Gwen. I can end you and not even worry about it.” She exhaled. “We will do this my way. Not Kat Barber’s way, not your way, and certainly not any way that’s going to involve goddamn Interpol.”

  “Her way is Charlie’s way, Gwen,” Shelly clarified. She glanced sympathetically over at Marcey before continuing. “Charlie wanted this job done because it was meant to be his legacy, his final fuck you to Linda Johnson and your ex. Why are you still worried? We’re going to get the bastard for what he did to you and to Charlie.”

  Gwen frowned. Marcey scowled at her. Gwen turned away. “Look, it isn’t that I don’t love this idea. Screwing Linda Johnson? That’s fucking beautiful. I just don’t understand why the fuck Kat Barber has to be involved at all.”

  “Because she has the goddamn painting.”

  “She’s sent us the painting, Marcey. We have it. She isn’t fucking here. Why not take it and ditch her? We’ll give her her cut, which is what she deserves, but why not just take it and bail?” Gwen gestured with her spoon. “Look, I know that you’ve got some sort of emotional bullshit going on with Kat or whatever, but she’s bad fucking news and if she stays I walk.”

  “We all should walk if Kat sticks around.” Kim scowled down into her pool of ketchup, got up, and went to the refrigerator to get the bottle. She squirted more onto her plate. “Marcey is too new to this to be effective. She might have Charlie’s plans, but she’s also done something Charlie never did—”

  “Which is?” Marcey growled, kicking Kim under the table.

  “You got in with Kat Barber.”

  “Kim, I hate to break it to you, but Charlie was also in deep with Kat Barber. Everything about this job screams her, even if she can’t claim direct involvement.” Shelly sighed. “We’ve all made mistakes in our past. But it’s done. The past is the past. We need to talk about the job. Kat’s inserting herself into it adds a wrinkle, and we need to consider, together, what she’s after, in wanting to come along.” She leveled a stern gaze at Marcey. “Which means no more threatening people with their freedoms if they’re exposed. It means being goddamn honest about what’s goin’ on for you so that we can communicate and determine how best to move forward.”

  “Nothing is going on with me.” Marcey set her chicken nugget aside, suddenly not hungry. Leaning forward, she wrapped her hands around the torn knees of her jeans.

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Sure there isn’t.”

  “You have been pretty bitchy since you got back from upstate,” Kim added.

  The idea of telling this room full of relative strangers what she felt was revolting to Marcey. No one needed to know what she was feeling, or how deeply confused she was about the myriad of emotions racing through her. She swallowed, biting at her lip, and looked down at her hands. Her fingers picked at the fraying edges of her jeans. She didn’t dare let them see her face, because if they saw her face, if they saw the pained look she knew she couldn’t keep from her eyes, she would lose it.

  “I went to see my friend up at Clinton,” Marcey began. “You all know about him. Kim, I think probably best. He and I were tight, you know. Like brother and sister. He took the fall for everything we did in high school, everything that went wrong with Becca, Johnson’s daughter. Becca and I dated for a while.”

  “More like had half the school in fits trying to figure out what was actually going on between you two,” Kim muttered, stealing one of Marcey’s fries. “And then half the school fighting over you both. And he just laughed and laughed.”

  “Shut up,” Marcey ground out. “He went to prison, I got off. Devon Austin Jackson was his lawyer. Pro-bono. I think at Charlie’s behest.” Marcey exhaled shakily. “That’s how I knew him, and why he was left in charge of Charlie’s estate. Because Charlie knew that Devon would get me the book and the details of the job. He knew that I’d speak to him about it and get Shelly’s name. He’s planned this from the start. We’re playing out his final game, guys. You were both named as potential people to be involved, and I took Shelly and Kat at their word that you’d be willing to engage. So fucking engage. Stop telling me that this is a bad idea. Stealing anything is a bad idea. My friend has been locked up for eight years because of a bad idea. I want this to be a crowning glory and ruin for Linda Johnson. I think we can do it. No, I know we can.”

  For a moment, no one said anything at all. Gwen set down her bowl on the counter and started a slow clap. “That’s some speech, but it doesn’t say shit about what Kat Barber’s doing trying to fuck this up.”

  “I think there’s something she isn’t telling us. Something big. It probably doesn’t have much to do with the technical execution of this job, but there’s been too many moments when we’ve spoken—”

  “When you’ve fucked.”

  “Okay, Kim, we get it,” Marcey snapped. “It was a stupid fucking thing I did, pissing off Wei Topeté, but I think that might have been the point. Kat’s got this…thing with Topeté.” Marcey exhaled. “I know that you think they’re like star-crossed lovers or whatever, forever doomed be on opposite s
ides of the same conflict, but there’s something off about the way Kat talks about her. I can’t put my finger on it; they’re working against each other but I think toward the same goal. Pretty much all anyone’s told me from jump is that Kat should have gotten Charlie’s book. Don’t you think it’s strange that it ended up with me, rather than her?”

  “You think Charlie knew about whatever is going on between them.” Gwen was leaning against the counter, having picked her bowl back up and holding it under her chin. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Marcey. “You think this is part of some longer game.” Turning to Shelly, Gwen asked, “Something to punish her for Rio?”

  “Not sure. It could be. The signs are definitely there. In giving you the book, Marcey, Charlie took away a bargaining chip both Kat and Topeté have been fighting over since Charlie got arrested.” Shelly drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the counter.

  “Fighting over?” Marcey frowned, and they looked at her expectantly. Wiping her hands left greasy marks on the edges of her paper napkin. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Kat’s been caught a fair bit. Do you think some of that might be more to do with the fact that she’s turned evidence or something for Topeté?”

  “That seems a bit farfetched, even for Barber.” Kim shook her head. “She’s not the type to work without an agenda, and wanting the book is a good one. She can’t get it, obviously, but if that’s what we know she’s really after, then maybe we keep it at arm’s length.”

  “Kim?” Shelly asked. “Are you saying that you’ll be okay with her coming in?”

  “Whatever. Just don’t expect me to be nice.”