A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  “Fat chance,” Gwen grunted.

  “—it’s always better to be honest.”

  “Kathryn, you have a terrible record with honesty,” Shelly said in her quiet way. She stepped forward, looming over all of them in her heels and with her height. Marcey was grateful; the conversation was a private one being had in front of a collection of criminals. It didn’t need to be had here. She and Kat could fight about this some other time.

  If there ever was another time.

  “Why did you lie to me?” Kat demanded.

  “Think about it, Kat. We needed to have Johnson be absolutely convinced that you and Topeté were on opposite sides in all this. We all knew about your arrangement. Hell, I’m sure even Johnson does.” Shelly laughed. “Marcey came up with it when you sent her back from London and she found she couldn’t go visit her friend anymore. Your girlfriend’s emotional, invested.” Shelly leaned against the workbench. “I’ve been talking to her since she came back to New York.”

  “You—you—”

  Kim laughed at Kat’s spluttering and nudged Gwen with her elbow. The two of them started to gather things into neat stacks that would, by Marcey’s estimation, burn quickly.

  “It’s amazing, really, what lengths Topeté will go to in order to ensure that you both are free to fuck up your lives some more at the end of this. Romantic if it wasn’t so doomed.” Shelly leveled an accusatory gaze at Kat. “She cut a deal with Marcey up in the mountains and never looked back.”

  While Shelly admonished Kat and brought the two plans together, Marcey’s stomach was roiling once more. This time the sick was not from the syrup, or even an overdose on Pepto, but from the chilling, aching feeling of heartache. Whatever foolish dreams she’d allowed herself, whatever lovelorn ideals she’d slotted Kat Barber into, Kat was not that person. This was the end. This was where they parted.

  The notebook in Marcey’s hands held diagrams of some bank vault in Dubai. Marcey closed it, her eyes fluttering shut. This was a good-bye in so many ways. It was cathartic, to know that it was the end of the job, this final moment of denouement before the leveling out of life once more. The weight on Marcey’s shoulders was lessening, transitioning to the dull ache that came with success.

  She’d succeeded, hadn’t she? They were all about to get paid.

  Why did she feel so awful?

  “—could have just told me, Shelly. I’m not the enemy here.”

  Gwen cut in, her voice softer than Marcey could ever remember hearing it before. “No one is saying that you’re the enemy, Kat. Not even me, and I have every reason to hate you for what you did back in Rio. But in order for Marcey to step into Charlie’s shoes, she’s the only one who can know the full plan. That’s her role: she’s the mastermind.”

  Marcey’s cheeks burned. It was high praise from the usually quiet Gwen. “Thanks,” she whispered. Gwen winked at her.

  Kat looked around the locker. “This feels like a death, then. We’re burning Charlie’s funeral pyre.”

  Thoughts of gratitude and relief filled Marcey. Kat was letting the subject drop. Thank God.

  “In a way, it is.” Marcey looked down at the mess of papers in her hands. She straightened them, yellow and wrinkled as they were with age. “This was the last of Charlie’s legacy—the last that we control, at any rate. And we’re going to burn it.”

  “That’s it then.” Shelly put her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “We come together this last time, Kim distributes the funds, and then what? We rely on Topeté to break the news of Johnson’s demise?”

  Marcey nodded. “Got it in one.”

  “You sure relying on her is a good idea?” Kim glanced over at Kat, who was still stewing in the corner of the storage unit. “Like, I know you’ve got her pussy whipped or whatever, Kat, but that’s an awful lot to ask a LEO who maybe isn’t too keen on this anyway.”

  “I think you’ll find,” Kat said shortly, “that the feeling of distaste is entirely mutual. Wei does not want this any more than we do, but she also is required to do her job. Interpol works to expose things like this, illegal art sales and the like. While it’s bothersome for her to destroy so close an ally, for the book, she’ll do pretty much anything.” She cocked an eyebrow at Marcey. “And she knows it’s a fake, before you start thinking you’ve won.”

  “Guess you can’t fool everyone, huh?” Marcey bit her lip. That was the hold out, the part of the plan Marcey wasn’t going to tell anyone. Topeté had agreed to it, and with it she’d promised something to Marcey far more precious than any book of names Topeté had no intention of ever turning in anyway: she was going to make sure Darius got his parole and got out, by the end of the month. “Topeté will get it.”

  “This was just supposed to be a walk away,” Gwen said, her voice low in her throat. “You told us this would end. If Topeté has the book, there’s no way she’ll ever go away. She’ll have dirt on us, evidence. We won’t be free to move. You fucked us, Daniels. Fucked us good.”

  “I don’t think so,” Shelly answered. “Because she’s done things documented in that book too. That’s why Charlie kept it up to date. It’s a document that’s damning to all parties. Knowing she has it, has it and can never use it, that’s good enough for me.”

  “That isn’t good enough,” Gwen said. “It’s a fine plan for now. We get paid, take on new identities as was part of the deal, but what happens when Topeté finds a way to get herself immunity and starts going through the book?”

  “She won’t,” Kat answered. “I’ll destroy it before it ever comes to that.”

  “Your word is no better than dirt.” Gwen’s frown was deep now. Marcey watched helplessly, not quite knowing what to do or what to say. “Send it back to Marcey if it ever comes to that.”

  Marcey shoved the stack of journals she was holding into the metal trash barrel and put up her hands. “And my word is any better?”

  “You’re a kid, Mar,” Shelly said quietly. “You can keep it safe, or destroy it.”

  “I could just do that now,” Marcey pointed out.

  Kim opened her laptop. “Yes, but we won’t get Johnson without the book.”

  “I’ll give it to you once we know Johnson’s going down.” Marcey turned to Gwen. “Is that good enough for you, Gwen?”

  Gwen nodded. “It’ll have to be.”

  “Good.” The hair on the back of Marcey’s neck stood up; the chill that ran through her at the icy tone in Kat’s voice was enough to make the involuntary shiver of fear she felt seem more pronounced, more real. This was the woman they’d all warned her about, her expression a black and stormy sea. “Then this can be the walk away we all wanted it to be.”

  From her bag, Kim tugged her tablet and a Bluetooth keyboard. “Shall we then? So we can get out of here before this all comes to blows?”

  “It won’t, Kim, stop being dramatic.” But Gwen’s voice was tight, her expression pained and annoyed. This was hard for her. Marcey hated it for her.

  Marcey glanced over her shoulder, trying to catch Kat’s eye, trying to figure out if this was the end, but Kat was not looking at her. Kat’s expression was eerily blank as she stood before the metal drum, her hands plunged into her pockets.

  “Okay. This is a program I’ve built, you input your account and routing numbers into it, it disperses money. It’s auto refreshing—the cache deletes every three minutes, privacy and security, whatever, anyway, so you have to go quick, but once you punch in the numbers, your allocated amount will transfer from the shell we set up for the auction house to pay. They’ll be deleted once the money transfers, or three minutes, whichever comes first.” Kim held out the tablet to Gwen.

  “How do we know you don’t keep a cache?” Gwen muttered, keying in numbers. Marcey looked away.

  Kim shrugged. “Suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “That’ll be the day.” Kat’s smile was without mirth.

  Gwen passed the tablet back to Kim and flipped her wrist over to watch
the time. The silence drew out. Gwen’s phone chimed. She pulled it out and nodded to Kim, who held the tablet back out to her.

  “See, history erased.” Kim sounded almost smug.

  Gwen flashed a thin smile at Kim. “Okay, I believe you.”

  It was as though the ice had melted. Victory churned, uncomfortable and unrelenting, in Marcey’s stomach. They passed around the tablet, and after Kat had put in her final series of complicated account numbers and pins, Kim took the tablet back. She heaved a great sigh and swiped her finger over the screen in a zig-zag pattern. The screen went dark. Smoke started to emanate from the headphone port. Kim threw it into the trash can with the rest of Charlie’s papers. “That was my only copy of that program.”

  “Shame,” Kat said airily. “That could have earned you some good money.”

  “Sometimes personal safety and preserving professional relationships is worth more than two hours of coding, Barber.” Kim rolled her eyes and slung her bag over her shoulder. “You need help with the burn?”

  “Nah, I got it covered.” Marcey shook her head.

  Kim grabbed Gwen’s elbow and drew her to her feet. “Come on, I have to show you something about that thing you asked about last week.”

  “What—oh.” Gwen got hurriedly to her feet. “It was nice knowing y’all.”

  “Same to you,” Shelly said, a weak smile on her face. “Shame I’ve already forgotten your name.”

  “I’ll call you, Mar,” Kim called over her shoulder as she and Gwen hurried away.

  Marcey watched them go, full of a hollow ache, wondering if she’d ever see either of them again. Her fingers flexed, twitched. She looked to Kat, staring down at the papers and broken tablet in the trash can.

  Kat turned to Shelly, her face oddly open. “Are you all right with this plan?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I, Kathryn? You have what you want, Topeté gets her due, and you’ll get your freedom?”

  “There’s always a choice,” Kat replied. She moved the workbench before taking a handful of papers and crossing back to the trash can. “It’s just a matter of making sure that the one you make is the correct one.”

  Shelly watched Kat like a shark evaluating her next meal. Her expression was closed off. Marcey could not read it at all. “I understand that. Do you, Kathryn?”

  Kat’s reply came breathily, as though she was exhilarated at the mere prospect of it. “You’ve no idea what it’s like, having something like this hanging over your head, Shelly.”

  “It’s a noose we’ve all willingly slipped out necks into,” Shelly said. She swept large armfuls of the paperwork into the trash can. “Getting involved with Charlie was a risk. You knew it, I knew it. Hell, even Topeté knew it. This is just the end game of that. You have to own the ending or else the beginning is nothing.”

  Kat nodded. Shelly dusted off her hands. “You’re done in here?” she asked Marcey.

  Marcey nodded.

  “I’ll take this out then, burn it. Will you wipe down the place?”

  Marcey held out the lighter from Devon. “Devon said to use this.”

  A smile curled at Shelly’s lips. “Charlie’s lighter. That’s fitting.” She tossed it up, caught it, and put it in her pocket. “I guess this is it for us, then, isn’t it Marcey?”

  “I suppose so,” Marcey said. Her promise to Devon was forgotten. She would go home tonight, beg her mother’s forgiveness, find a place for her and Darius to live when Topeté came through with her final piece of the puzzle.

  “It’s been nice knowing you,” Shelly said. And then she was gone.

  And Kat lingered, like a moth to the flame. Her eyes tracked Marcey as she scrubbed down the unit, wiping away any evidence of themselves. The space was gaunt, the echoing crusting remains of a place forgotten, Charlie’s legacy stripped away from the walls and burning. The lights illuminated the dark hollows under Kat’s eyes, making her look skeletal. She hadn’t slept last night either, then.

  “Is this going to work?” Marcey asked.

  “I don’t know.” Kat wrapped her arms around herself. “Wei’s connection to the Justice Department should be enough to get them in the door. Especially if we can couple it with Kim’s leak to the press.” Kat sucked her lip into her mouth. “This is the end for us too, Marcey.”

  Marcey turned, rag in hand, and stared at Kat. It was the truth she had known was coming, but they were the words Marcey refused to accept. Even in her moments of clarity the night before, knowing that Kat was using her, positioning her in the perfect place to take the fall, Marcey had still wanted this, had still been most of the way to loving her. “I don’t want you to walk away.”

  Somewhere in the distance, there was the slam of a unit door being closed. Kat cast her eyes down and looked away from Marcey. As the words tumbled from Marcey’s mouth, Kat’s nostrils flared and her posture went rigid. Her gaze was icy. “You don’t control me, Marcey.”

  “That doesn’t change that I don’t want you to leave when this job is finished!” Marcey threw the rag down and raked her fingers through her hair. Her mind racing, mouth outpacing her logical thoughts. She stared down at her feet, shoulders quaking with the humiliating tears that stung at the corners of her eyes.

  Marcey wanted to hate her.

  Kat’s shoes, expensive with the red bottoms, swam into her blurry vision, and Kat’s fingers brushed her cheeks. Her thumbs smoothed the tears away from Marcey’s skin and tilted her chin upward to meet Kat’s green-eyed gaze. “You knew how this was going to end the moment you got on that plane. The moment you called me.” Her lips were warm, sweet, good-bye. “You are a wonderful girl. You will make someone very happy one day.” Kat shook her head sadly. “But it can’t be me, darling. As much as I’d like it, we’re no good for each other.”

  “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

  “Wei?” Kat laughed bitterly. “This has nothing to do with her.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Kat leaned in, her lips brushed against Marcey’s bottom lip. “Of course I am,” she whispered. Kat’s fingers tangled in Marcey’s hair. Marcey wanted her to let go, to walk away, not make her feel this pain again. Marcey bit down on Kat’s lip. Kat pulled away and Marcey tasted copper with the stars in her vision. Kat’s tongue was relentless, taking, taking, and taking again.

  Marcey pushed, aggressive. Her fingers tugged at Kat’s blouse, at the buttons of her suit pants. Kat pulled harder still, spinning Marcey around and forcing her up onto the bare workbench. It bit into Marcey’s ass, and Marcey hissed in pain. Kat hummed into the kiss, her eyes glistening with tears all her own.

  The workbench was low, and their hips bumped against each other. Marcey’s hand trapped between them. She kissed Kat back, her other hand wrapping around Kat’s neck and refusing to let her break the kiss. Marcey twisted her wrist in quick, erratic circles, pushing past until she felt slick wetness. She pressed into that wetness, marveling at how Kat shuddered against her.

  When they broke apart, Kat’s eyes were blown and a trickle of blood trailed down the corner of her mouth. “Inside,” Kat urged, lowering her lips to Marcey’s neck, one hand splayed out across Marcey’s breast. Her other still tangled in Marcey’s hair and she pulled so hard the pain shot through the back of Marcey’s skull. Her finger slipped inside and she had Kat. Had her exactly how Marcey always wanted her: wanting, willing, and utterly captive.

  Kat didn’t last long. Marcey rocked into her and Kat came, cresting on Marcey’s fingers. Her breath was sticky, wet on Marcey’s neck.

  Breathless, Marcey drew back. “Come back to my place,” she said, even though she had no place to go. “We’ll do this properly.”

  Kat bent, buttoned her pants and straightened her shirt, pocketing a busted button. “No,” she said. “We won’t.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be in touch, once Wei’s part is done. Good-bye, Marcey.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Wei, at a Moment of Decis
ion

  “My name is Wei Lin Topeté. I work for Interpol and am currently liaising with the New York Assistant District Attorney for Manhattan.” William scowled at her, but Wei forced a tight-lipped smile onto her face. She’d been on the phone half the morning with the police in Lincoln, New Hampshire. Apparently, a painting had been delivered to the eccentric collector who lived up in the woods, with a very polite note attached thanking him for the loan. William hadn’t understood it, and Wei hadn’t either, until they looked at the manifest for the shipping company. The package had been sent from the auction house where the painting was sold, but this was a second copy, as the purchaser of the painting had yet to collect it from the auction house.

  William came back from the auction house looking haunted, one of Linda Johnson’s campaign posters in his hand. “Look at this.”

  Wei hung up the phone. She could call back. “What?”

  “You were right. They were up to something.” He smoothed a sales receipt down on the table and set it next to the campaign poster. “Look at these.” He indicated the names. “They’re the same. Johnson’s PAC bought this painting.”

  “Why would she do that?” Wei’s brow furrowed. “Especially if the painting is back in New Hampshire?”

  “You’re the one dating Kat Barber,” William answered. “If I had to hazard a guess, she’s fucking with you.”

  Wei shook her head. “No, that isn’t what this is. This is too targeted, too calculated.” She flipped the receipt over.

  “Hey, do we have a Topeté in here?” The desk sergeant from the front of the bullpen called across the room. A few eyes slid around, looking for Wei. A few more wore expressions of confusion. A courier clad in a bike helmet and leggings stood at the desk, a small package in his hands.

  Wei got to her feet and crossed the room in five quick steps. “I’m Topeté,” she said.

  “Gotta sign.” The courier smacked some gum and passed her a form. Wei scribbled her signature and took the package. She ripped it open and a thumb drive fell into her hand, nondescript and black. Wei poked her fingers into the package and looked into it. There was nothing else.