A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  Marcey turned and smiled sweetly at her. “Why, Ms. Johnson, if I had, do you think I would come right out and tell you?”

  Wei stared at the two of them, at this silent war of attrition. The circle on the back of that photograph made more sense now, a promise from Kat that Wei had never thought possible. This whole time she’d been caught up in the hurt of what Kat was doing to her, but she’d never thought about the reason why. This girl, this perfect patsy, was sitting here willing to give herself up for something she did not fully understand.

  Or perhaps that was the problem: she understood too well.

  The insult of it was almost perfect. Kat played the victim as only the best could. The girl must think Wei heartless, to see this as the only way out. Why hadn’t Kat reassured her that this was the always the plan?

  Perhaps it was that Kat and Marcey were working in concert, each playing their part toward a common goal. If that was the case, what was Marcey’s goal in all this? Kat’s was as transparent as the sky was blue, but Marcey? Wei’s brow furrowed. To see a future with Kat? It couldn’t be that. Kat had been clear enough, and Wei had seen the honesty in Marcey’s eyes back in Lincoln. Why would she think this was the only way for this to end unless Kat—

  Kat wouldn’t.

  “Should I call in an officer?” she asked. Wei kept her face perfectly straight.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.” Johnson leaned forward, almost greedily, wanting to get a look at the papers in Marcey’s hands. The papers, the papers! Fuck. “What did you discover, Ms. Daniels, when you started digging into your mother’s past?”

  Wei retreated out the door, her head swimming. She moved quickly, sending the first duty officer into Johnson’s office and retreating to her desk. She sat, knee bouncing, fingers drumming on the desk for five minutes—ten minutes—until she couldn’t take it anymore. She got to her feet, pushing the chair away from the desk and grabbing her jacket and purse. Kat wouldn’t be acting, not with the sale going on. She’d be in her hotel room, watching the slow destruction of this girl’s life.

  The sacrifice was almost perfect, whittling away this girl until there was nothing left. Johnson’s hubris would stop her from seeing the truth—seeing Kat’s game. The game Wei’d played right into, the game where Marcey Daniels was nothing more than fodder to prove Kat’s point to Wei.

  The city was alight in spring, the temperature rising throughout the day to push the warmth of the forgotten sun into Wei’s bones, seeping into her skin and reminding her of better times: a beach, a forgotten dream, a carefully hidden promise. People who loved each other hurt each other more than anyone else. Wei knew this. This was Kat’s endgame: the final act of defiance. The refusal of everything Wei offered her.

  Once, Wei would have simply asked why, but now, her face turned up to the sun as it hung heavy in the sky above the aching fingers of the skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan, she knew that the why was unimportant. Kat was a cornered animal, trapped and unable to break free. This book, the perfect forgery that saved all their skins at the expense of this girl who was playing her own game, it wasn’t good enough. Johnson wouldn’t see through it, but Wei’s bosses at Interpol certainly would. Wei lit a cigarette, watched the smoke curl around her hand, sucking cancer into her lungs.

  Kat’s hotel was ten blocks north and seven blocks east. The walk took twenty minutes. Wei went in, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door of the last room at the end of the hall. Kat answered, her eyes sunken, her face scrubbed free of makeup. “Wei.” Her voice was full of trepidation. “What are you doing here?”

  “What did you do, Kathryn?” She didn’t want to push into the hotel room. Didn’t want to see the evidence of Kat’s creation that was certain still to be scattered about. She could barely hide the hurt, the insult. Kat had refused her. Kat had gone and made a contingency plan because she didn’t believe that Wei could fix this when Wei was on the cusp of doing just that. How could she? Wei wasn’t some damn puppet.

  Her hands were shaking, staring at Kat. Wei couldn’t look at her—couldn’t keep her hands steady.

  “Do?” Kat reached out, grabbed Wei’s wrist, and pulled her into the hotel room. Wei resisted, only just, just enough to give the pretense of the semblance of dignity to be there, before allowing herself to be led inside. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  From her pocket, Wei produced the photograph, the perfect circle and the façade of the mountain sketched onto the back. “Everything comes full circle, Kat.”

  When Kat was angry, her eyes became like emeralds, hard and unbreakable. There was none of the storm that a woman with blue eyes could manifest, but rather a shocking, vibrant green that set Wei’s stomach churning. Kat wasn’t a violent person, but it did not mean she was incapable of the act. Kat was angry now, her nostrils flaring and her eyes like grass after a rainstorm were electric.

  “She was always meant to fall. Into my lap, into yours, a perfect patsy for our freedom.” Kat reached for Wei, her fingers scrabbling on the fabric of Wei’s jacket. Wei didn’t pull away, but she hated herself for following the line of logic through. “She gives the book to your boss, and then we’re free. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be free of all of these petty, miserable obligations?”

  “What about the real one?” Wei asked. “The book you promised was not that fake. It’ll fool Johnson, but it didn’t fool me.”

  Kat looked away, seeming to settle herself, but then pulling on the fraying thread of what they had together. “I did it for you, for us. The real book is safe. It can’t hurt us anymore.”

  “You don’t have it.”

  The mood in the room turned sour, icy. Kat looked back at Wei sharply. “I never wanted it.”

  “Don’t lie. You bargained with it like it was always yours to have. I remember you sitting in that interrogation room in Barcelona plain as day, Kat. I watched you sell my bosses on this plan of yours to rid yourself of the guilt of that forgery.”

  “It was just a shame I got caught.” Kat’s eyes flashed dangerously. Wei wanted to take a step back. “What’s the life of some ignorant babe if we can be free of all of this? We can go away somewhere. We could be anything, Wei. Anything at all.”

  Wei reached out on instinct, grabbing Kat’s shoulders and drawing her close. She shuddered in Wei’s arms. It was all Wei had ever wanted, but she couldn’t. Not at the expense of another, even one who’d been so cruel. Her mind had been halfway to made up when Marcey Daniels had looked up at her from that interview room up in the mountains, but now, seeing Kat and Kat’s game laid bare before her, Wei knew what she had to do. There was no way around it, the crumbling of a great love. What Kat wanted to destroy without so much as a second thought. Wei couldn’t stomach that. Not so flippantly. Never like this. She exhaled, then drew a shaky breath, staring at Kat. There was no way that this could work without Kat, no way that this was viable. She had to be firm; she had to be ready.

  “I had a plan. I had a plan, Kat, and you didn’t trust me. You didn’t let me execute it. I’m not some puppet. I don’t do as you tell me. I never have. We had an agreement. An arrangement about how this was going to go.”

  Kat stared hard, her expression steely. Wei met her gaze evenly. “I love you.”

  Wei wanted to vomit. She swallowed down the bile and forced her expression to soften. “I will not allow you to throw that girl’s life away for your freedom, Kat. Our freedom. I won’t let you make me dance this time. I can’t. Not like this, not for this cost. We can save her and ourselves without losing our integrity.” Earnestness crept into her voice. Wei wanted to hate it, but found, in the moment, she couldn’t. This was their truth, after all.

  Kat looked up, pulling her arms from where they were trapped between the crush of their bodies. She hesitated, as though at war with herself over the act of charity. “You don’t have the stomach for this.”

  “I think you’ll find that I do. When I need to. When I’m asked before I’m forced to ac
t.”

  Kat cupped Wei’s face, wonderment on her face. “How?” she asked.

  Wei smiled. She bent, kissing Kat gently. “I’ll show you,” she promised as she pulled away. What Linda Johnson had done to that girl was enough to destroy her. Kat was willing to do the same.

  It was time someone threw her a lifeline.

  CHAPTER 34

  Marcey, Stewing

  Marcey slept poorly in lockup. The other women in her cell were nice enough. One was coming off a heroin high that had her shaking and sweating, muttering to herself and crying. Marcey gave her the blanket from her bunk and sat, her knees drawn up to her chest, on the hard steel, her pillow forgotten beside her. She’d known this was going to happen when she walked into the DA’s office. That was part of the problem. Johnson had reacted exactly as anticipated, and Topeté had fulfilled her part of the bargain once she threaded the plan together. It was up to Marcey to keep up appearances now. Until the final act.

  Johnson had sent her to the local precinct for processing. The staff wasn’t on hand, so late in the day, to book her at the DA’s office, and the seven o’clock shift change happened in the middle of her booking. There hadn’t been enough time for her arresting officer to take her to Central Booking without clocking in overtime that the city, apparently, wasn’t that keen on paying out to some meter-minder who happened to be on desk duty when Johnson’s people delivered Marcey.

  “She gotta sit overnight,” the woman had explained. “Bus’s already left and I don’t have an officer free to drive her. She’ll stew with the drunks for the night.”

  The court officer—Marcey’s escort—had been all right with that. He left her to get her pictures taken and her body roughly searched before she was pushed unceremoniously into a women’s holding cell.

  It was loud; the whole block echoed. Marcey wasn’t intending on sleeping much anyway. She was too busy thinking through Topeté’s next move. The woman had disappeared after sending in the duty officer, never reappearing in Johnson’s office. Johnson hadn’t commented on it, but Marcey was sure she’d noticed Topeté’s absence as well. Marcey guessed what she was up to, running to Kat to demand how she could let Marcey take the fall for this job just to get the book. That was part of the act too, because Kat had to believe she’d won. Marcey thought about Topeté, pushing away the surge of jealousy and the want, no matter how selfish, to sell out their ticket to freedom for one more chance with Kat Barber.

  The woman was like a drug, distracting, intoxicating. Marcey wanted her, even when she knew it was all a lie. A carefully wrought manipulation to ensure Marcey’s compliance in Kat’s foolish plan. Sex was like that, she supposed—a drug that she could go without, but that, when she had it, she wanted more and more of it.

  And she wanted Kat Barber.

  Not because of some sort of desire that would allow her to feel love for Kat Barber, but because they were fucking and the sex was amazing. Feelings didn’t factor into it. It couldn’t. Topeté was the one who felt for Kat. She was the one Kat went back to. Marcey couldn’t be that person and she didn’t want to be. Leave that for Topeté, for her twisted mass of emotions when it came to Kat.

  Marcey tilted her head back. It was encouraging that LePage had never resurfaced either. It made this next step, the next act, so much more exciting.

  A slow, almost smug smile drifted across Marcey’s face. In the two minutes Topeté had allowed her alone in Johnson’s office, she’d removed the flash drive from her pocket and set it into the back of Johnson’s computer. It was small, designed to look like a transmitter for a wireless mouse. Getting it back would be tricky, but Kim knew a guy who could slip in and out of such spaces looking like an IT technician. After it had done its job, it would mimic a bluescreen error and force Johnson to call for assistance. The drive would be in Kim’s hands soon enough, as she had to check in with her parole officer two floors down anyway.

  The whole thing was genius, really. On that flash drive was the evidence, the authorization of the transfer of funds directly from Johnson’s campaign to the Super PAC. From there, Kim would do the rest remotely.

  Marcey rested her forehead against her arms, curled around her knees. She was exhausted. She wanted to get out. The plan was starting to come together, but she was troubled by Topeté’s disappearance. She’d anticipated Topeté being there, shepherding Johnson through the interview process. Johnson did not know as much as Topeté about what the book contained. She’d flipped through it, demanding details, answers. Marcey had none to give her. She didn’t know how much Kat had changed the information in the book about herself and Topeté, her real reason for doing all of this.

  It wasn’t until Johnson had turned the page to reveal a short entry about Marcey herself that the lie started to crumble. Kat had done that too. Marcey had known because it was the only way to make this believable for Johnson. She had to pull off the confusion without giving anything away. She didn’t know if she was that good, especially in the face of someone like Johnson, someone who’d torn Marcey’s entire life to shreds because of what had happened to Rebecca. Marcey’s hands had shaken; she’d buried them in her lap. She wouldn’t allow Johnson to see her fear. She’d kept her chin up, her jaw clenched. When Johnson had asked why Charlie would damn his child in his petty little paper trail, all Marcey could do was shrug. She had no idea why Charlie had done it, she’d said. There was no other lie to tell.

  But now, surrounded by the quiet din and bright fluorescent lights of the drunk tank, the agreement fell short. The agreement they’d come to, back in London, lying sweaty and sated in Kat’s bed, wasn’t meant to feel like this. Marcey wasn’t supposed to fear what might come next. Believe me, Kat had promised. Wei’s too much of a do-gooder to allow herself to not do the right thing in the end. When the time comes for her to act, she’ll do what’s necessary.

  Destroying Johnson had never been Kat’s goal. She wanted the book. Marcey had wanted Johnson destroyed, and Kat had promised that. Kat had wanted the book—not to keep, she’d assured Marcey, but rather to duplicate. If she duplicated it and exonerated herself in the process, she could rid herself of the yoke of Interpol around her neck.

  “And Topeté?” Marcey had asked, feeling guilty, mentioning Kat’s lover having just fucked Kat. “Will you be free of her too?”

  “No,” Kat had said. “What I want is unimportant when it comes to Wei; it has nothing to do with you or what we did here.”

  “Doesn’t it though?”

  “As I said, it’s none of your business, Marcey.” Kat had pulled her shirt over her head, hiding small breasts and freckled skin. Marcey had looked away, down at her hands, at the bruises purpling at her hips. “What Wei has to do with the book should be apparent, you’ve read it.”

  Marcey had thought about it. Thought about Shelly flipping easily to a page and showing her details about Topeté; about how easily Shelly found the information. “She’s in it.”

  Kat had bent and picked up her pants. “So, you see why she’s interested in getting it.”

  “But what about me? What about us?”

  “There is no us, Marcey. This is fun. But don’t get attached, darling. You won’t do well in the end.”

  Marcey sat back, her head resting against the concrete wall of the drunk tank. Kat was setting her up. Kat was setting her up to take the fall so that Kat could walk free of everything because Topeté would ensure her protection. Kat wanted to be rid of Charlie’s insurance and rid of Interpol. Marcey getting caught took care of both. Kat had delivered what she promised. “That bitch,” she breathed.

  The woman beside her blinked drunkenly at her. “What bitch?”

  “No one,” Marcey said, curling back into herself and chewing on her lip. Kat had used her, fucked her over and over, let it fester like an open wound peppered with the guilt of this great love she shared with Wei Topeté. Why? Why let that happen? Marcey would have gotten involved with Kat and her plot anyway. Their two goals were intertwined. So wh
y bring sex into it? “Some girl I was involved with.”

  “She hot?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” Marcey said. “But she’s in love with someone else.”

  “Don’t be a homewrecker, kid, it isn’t worth it. Everyone gets hurt in the end.” The woman smiled, glassy-eyed and drooping, at Marcey. “And besides, don’t you have scruples?” she slurred.

  “Do you know where we are?” Marcey raised a wry eyebrow. “Ain’t nobody here got scruples.”

  The woman waved a hand at Marcey, opening her mouth to speak. But the wave of detoxifying nausea struck her hard and she lunged for the toilet in the corner of the room. Marcey forced herself to breathe through her mouth to push away the smell and looked toward the door. A uniformed officer was approaching keys in hand.

  “Daniels?” he called.

  Marcey got to her feet. She crossed to the door. “I’m Marcey Daniels.” She tried to put Kat’s face and her gentle kiss outside the building out of her mind. It couldn’t happen again. It could never happen again.

  “Hands.” The guard gestured to the gap in the cell door. Marcey balled her fists and presented them, trying not to gag over the smell of sick and the feel of metal encircling her wrists. “Fucking stop vomiting, Amerson. I don’t have time to clean up after your drunk ass every damn night.”

  The woman waved from the toilet. “This isn’t urp—drunk. This is some stomach thing. Bad sushi.”

  “Sure it is.” When the handcuffs were locked in place, the guard indicated for Marcey to back up. She stepped back. The officer opened the door and Marcey stepped out. “You’ve got a visitor,” he explained. “Two, actually.”

  “Did I make bail?” She was eager. She wanted to go home, to scrub the filth of this place from her skin.

  “You can’t make bail until you go down to Central Booking, kid.” The officer gave her funny look. “This isn’t your first time in. You know this.”

  “Maybe I got hopeful,” Marcey shot back. “Maybe I thought Johnson grew a conscience and was just going to throw out the charges because I did the goddamn right thing.”