Sting

by Jude Watson

  FX had been a makeup artist in the movie business before he realized there were more lucrative ways to use his skills. He’d known Alfie from the old days. In addition to being able to transform faces and fabricate knife wounds, gunshots, and scars, he was a clearinghouse for information on valuable property — jewels, paintings, artifacts — that were up at auction or temptingly open to steal.

  They climbed the stairs to his apartment door and knocked. The door flew open.

  “Hello.” FX didn’t smile. Maybe it was because half his neck appeared to be sawed through, and his head was half-severed.

  “You’re looking good,” March said.

  “Thanks. Ginger tea?”

  “Sure.”

  FX ushered them inside. He started an electric kettle and left the room. Five minutes later he reappeared in tinted glasses, a brown wig, and surgical scrubs. A silk scarf was tied around his neck, and Izzy looked relieved. March had seen FX in disguise every time he met him. He still didn’t know what he really looked like.

  “Where’s your handsome African American friend? The tall one with the eyes?”

  “Staying with his mother for a while.” March remembered that he’d promised himself to text Darius today.

  “Aw. Mom.” FX said the words without a trace of sentiment. He fussed over the tea, placing porcelain cups on an enamel tray and adding a flowered plate with small, crunchy cookies. The gang sipped and crunched politely.

  “How was Paris?” FX asked. “Have a chance to hit the Louvre? I hear the Mona Lisa is a cinch to snatch.”

  “Maybe next time,” March answered.

  “Heard a third of the Gate of Heaven went missing.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And that foul beast Abbo in Miami lost something precious.” Unexpectedly, FX beamed. “You’d make your dad proud.”

  The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. FX carefully placed his cup down on the table and adjusted his glasses. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure, but I’m not a people person. Can we cut to the chase? You’re here for …”

  “A little help with a disguise,” March said. “I need yellow hair.”

  FX stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. “You came to me to turn you into a blond?”

  “Well, it’s an unusual color —” Jules started.

  FX clutched his head, disturbing his wig. “And would you go to Michelangelo to create a comic book? To Julia Child for a peanut butter sandwich?”

  “I think comic books are awesome,” Izzy said in a small voice. “Who knows what Michelangelo would be doing if he lived now?”

  “And I bet Julia Child would make a mean peanut butter sandwich,” Jules pointed out.

  FX gave them a withering look. “You are reminding me that I hate children,” he said.

  “You could throw in a fake nose,” March offered.

  “Well, there you go,” he said drily. “At last, a challenge.”

  “Plus, we’ll pay.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Look, it’s not blond. It’s yellow.” Jules pushed her phone toward FX.

  He gave it a brief glance. “Ah. Of course. That minimally talented pop star with the Evening Star necklace.”

  “You know about that?”

  “It is my business to know these things. And it’s my business to know that you’re getting into business you don’t want to have. I admire your daring, it’s true. But I don’t admire your recklessness. Meaning it’s over your head. Meaning you don’t know who else is after it. Meaning don’t come to me when it blows up in your face. There’s no crying in criminality.”

  “The Top Cats, yeah, we know,” March said. “Do you know if they’re in New York?”

  “No. But I’m certain that if they are here, they have a local contact and a place to hide. Like all good thieves, they know how to plan, and you’d hardly see them doing it. So why, foolish children, are you continuing to think it’s a good idea to steal it? You’re taking serious things very lightly.” With one finger, FX pushed the teapot more precisely into the middle of the tray. “I would think that after your experience with the moonstones you’d have more respect.”

  “So you know about the curse?”

  “The curse of these stones has repeated and repeated over the centuries.”

  FX fumbled on the bookshelf next to the table and withdrew a newspaper.

  LEMON CARTELLE FIRES AGENT

  Rumors Fly about Personal Struggles

  Rift with Mother-Manager Trudie Cartelle

  Mansion in LA Up for Sale

  “Fortune and family,” Izzy murmured. “Going, going, gone.”

  “Let me put it this way,” FX said with a glance at the paper. “If you are foolish enough to go after that stone, you might be doing that young woman a favor. But you’ll be passing her bad luck onto yourselves. You already have two. Three might be fatal.”

  “We can outrun it,” March said. “As soon as we have the third, we pass it off.”

  “Uh-hmmm. And nothing has happened to you since you got the stones?”

  “We lost all our money,” Izzy blurted. “And we lost Darius!”

  “It’s only the beginning,” FX said.

  “We have a buyer,” Jules said. “But we can only sell them if we have three.”

  “Ransome,” FX said. “He’s the only one who’s managed to reverse the curse. Been obsessed for years. He put the word out.”

  “We only have two days left,” March said. “And we need you to turn Jules into this.” He nodded at Izzy, and she pushed her phone forward. She flicked through the images of Blue in full performance regalia.

  FX looked from the images to Jules. “Of course I can do this. I’m just surprised you want to tempt fate so cruelly once again.”

  “You mean the moonstones? This is different.”

  FX shook his head slowly. “Not so different. The moonstones almost killed you and Jules. The sapphires killed your mother.”

  March and Jules froze.

  “You know?” March asked. “You know that Alfie stole the sapphires from Ransome?”

  “What are you talking about?” FX shook his head. “It was Blue.”

  March could feel his pounding heart. Under the table, he felt Jules’s knees shaking.

  “You didn’t know?” FX asked. “Maggie and Beck — Blue, she calls herself now — stole the sapphires.” He tapped his fingers on the tray.

  Jules leaned forward, her hands clasped hard between her knees. “Tell us.”

  “It was their first big caper,” FX said. “They got jobs as maids. The plan was for Maggie to steal the key to the study — your mother had the hands of a violinist — and hand it off to Blue. She was the lookout. Blue did the research, Maggie came up with the plan. Everything went right. Except one thing.”

  FX looked away.

  Jules’s voice was quiet. “What happened?”

  “Blue changed the plan. Instead of taking off with the jewels, she gave them to Maggie without a clear plan to smuggle them out. She walked out the door, hitched a ride with the gardeners, and left Maggie there, holding the loot.”

  March could feel Jules holding her breath, as though it was all happening in real time. He could see it in front of him, a younger Blue making her escape, leaving her sister to take whatever punishment might rain down.

  “The theft was discovered. Everyone there was searched. Maggie, too.”

  “She put the jewels in a vacuum-cleaner bag.”

  “So you know the story.”

  “We know Blue’s version. She said that Alfie was the thief.”

  “Did she. Typical. Beck never liked telling the truth about anything. Thought it gave too many people an edge. She even lied to Maggie. All the time. The only person who loved her. This time Maggie felt betrayed. Stung by her own sister. When I told her about the curse, she didn’t want to go through the usual channels. Not Hamish. She wouldn’t even tell Alfie. They weren’t married then.”
<
br />   “What happened?” March asked, his heart pounding the way it always did when someone mentioned his mother.

  “She came to me to ask what to do. I told her that Beck knew about the curse — she’d come to me when she’d been researching the stones, so she knew about it. Maggie couldn’t believe her sister would keep that kind of secret from her. Something broke for Maggie that day. Finally. They were never close again.”

  “Lose your fortune, lose your family,” Izzy said.

  “Maggie held on to the stones for years. She had no choice — they were hot. She put them in a safe-deposit box and told only me about it. After she died, I gave the key to a fence I knew. I warned him, told him the whole story, but he was willing and needed the cash. He sold them individually. Met an unfortunate accident shortly afterward.”

  “Lose your life,” Izzy whispered.

  “Did Alfie ever know any of this?” March asked.

  FX shook his head. “Maybe Maggie had a little feeling left for Blue. She didn’t want Alfie to have a reason to really hate her. She thought … maybe they’d reconcile someday. They were close as kids. Really close. You know they lost their parents, right? Brought up by an uncle who, well, wasn’t a nice guy. I knew them when they first started in the business. Nobody prettier or nicer than Maggie. Charming. Making her way in the world the best she could. And Becky was the same — pretty, charming, nice as could be … except with Maggie it was real, it was who she was. With Beck it was an act.” FX shrugged. “People get broken. Sometimes they take that and make themselves strong. Or else they don’t. Those are the ones you have to be careful of. They burn you.”

  FX poured out the rest of the tea. “I guess that’s it, the thing Maggie couldn’t take anymore.” He took a sip. “Becky liked the burn.”

  SHOPPING LIST:

  FIVE HUNDRED FAKE BACKSTAGE PASSES

  BLUE VELVET COAT

  BLUE LEOTARD

  TOP HAT

  YELLOW CAR

  It was like he was in an ever-repeating loop and he couldn’t bust out.

  Blue’s treachery, Alfie’s fall, the family he made falling apart, a jewel to steal, a curse to break.

  Karma, Hamish would have said. You’re trapped in your karma.

  Or his worst nightmare.

  He picked up his phone to text Darius. What could he say?

  Wasn’t mad at you, dude.

  I mean I was, but not for long.

  I think

  I think

  I was just mad at my dad

  Because he always blew the cash

  He couldn’t text that. He could barely allow the words to invade his head.

  In the end, he typed one word.

  Sorry

  Darius didn’t text back.

  * * *

  “I feel sick,” Jules said. Her lined blue eyes looked electric. FX had gotten that azure color exactly right with contact lenses. The letters T-E-A-R ran down one cheek. It had taken them three times to get that right.

  “You’re sorta scary-close to Blue,” Izzy said. “But it doesn’t mean you are her.”

  “Look at me.” March couldn’t see his lemon-yellow hair, but he knew it looked bad. At least it was a wig. “I look ridiculous.”

  Izzy giggled. “You do. Sorry.”

  “Anyway, you won’t even have to see Blue,” March reassured Jules. “Izzy will take care of her. The routine starts with you in the rigging. It’ll be dark, and Lemon will be nervous and have a spotlight in her eyes. She won’t be able to tell it’s not Blue, and then she’s in the air twirling on the swing and lip-syncing. You know the routine?”

  “I’ve gone over it a million times. Thanks, Izzy.”

  Izzy inclined her head. She’d spent the morning at a café across from the InvestaCorps Center, breaking into their CCTV feed. She’d swiped the feed of Lemon and Blue rehearsing the routine in the space. Jules had memorized it in a short amount of time.

  “Standard moves,” Jules said. “Lemon is a little shaky on the silks. Blue will do all the hard stuff. I mean, I will.”

  “You all set?” March asked Izzy. His stomach twisted when he thought of Izzy going up against Blue. Izzy had assured them that she could hack into Blue’s phone with Lemon’s number, which she’d gotten off March’s phone during the tap transfer of the bar code. Pleading “nerves,” Lemon would demand Blue meet her for one last run-through. But it had to be where no one could see her. In a room with a lock.

  “Stop looking at me that way, you two,” Izzy said, suddenly bristling. “Like you want to protect me. I’m not scared.”

  “We know,” Jules said. “But Blue is …”

  “Scary, yeah, I know,” Izzy said. She drew herself up to her full height of not quite five feet. “I can take her.”

  They didn’t smile. Izzy’s power was awesome.

  “Remember, you have to ghost your way in,” March said. “Nobody can notice you.”

  “That’s easy,” Izzy said. “Nobody ever notices me.”

  The yellow Mini had been delivered that morning. Hamish nervously sat in the driver’s seat. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a wheelman.”

  “Relax,” March said. “You’re driving us to the scene of the crime. You’re not the getaway car. There’s a subway station across the street.”

  They piled into the car, and it rattled over the cobblestones. By the time they got close to the InvestaCorps Center, the streets were crowded with young people.

  “Look,” Jules said. “Lots of them are carrying our tickets.”

  It was true. Many of the kids were clutching bright yellow tickets that they knew said KIDZPIX BACKSTAGE PASS FOR LEMON-ADES! COURTESY OF LEMON! They’d printed them up at a copy center. March knew the tickets wouldn’t pass muster at the door, but they wouldn’t have to. All he needed was confusion.

  So many things could go wrong.

  The kids wouldn’t force their way in.

  Izzy won’t be able to hack the phone.

  Jules will be stopped.

  I won’t be able to get close enough.

  We’ll be arrested.

  We’re back in juvie.

  We never see each other again, or at least until we’re thirty — or old.

  We won’t even recognize each other.

  We will have lost everything important.

  And we’ll be the broken ones.

  “You okay?” Jules asked him, twisting around in her seat. “Because you’re muttering, and it’s freaking me out.”

  “Fine. Hamish? Pull over here.” March put his hand on the door. “I’ll see you when it’s over.” He held out his fist. Jules and Izzy bumped it.

  March got out of the car, and Hamish drove off slowly. March followed a few paces behind. Hamish drove down an alley marked NO ADMITTANCE. Crowds of kids ignored the sign, pressing their way in. A tribe of kids hammered on the stage door and then flourished their passes at the guard. They saw the car and began to chant.

  “LEMON! LEMON! LEMON!”

  The door to the yellow Mini swung open, and Jules strode up with Izzy. Jules walked differently, with wide strides, swaggering confidently. Like Blue. The kids fell back in disappointment.

  Jules brandished her phone. It was the bar code that Lemon had sent to him, but she was moving the phone so fast that the guard couldn’t scan it. Meanwhile he and his partner were trying to fend off the crowd of kids. March saw Jules wave an arm, explaining who she was.

  The surge of jumping, screaming kids suddenly pushed forward and spilled through the doors. March saw one guard speaking quickly in his mouthpiece, asking for backup. Jules and Izzy were swept up in the tide and disappeared into the corridor.

  Thanks to various online sources detailing celebrities backstage at concerts, awards ceremonies, and sports events, they had a pretty good idea of the layout. They had watched one particular video at least fifty times, as the cameraman followed a reporter down the hall. A freeze-frame showed one particularly out-of-the-way custodial cl
oset with a keypad lock. Child’s play for Izzy. In which, with any luck, Blue would be locked, in about — March checked his phone — twenty minutes. In the meantime that was where they would hide.

  March turned and made his way through the crowd toward the front of the arena. Things were more orderly here, and he presented his bar code in the VIP line. He moved with the flow of concertgoers. He blended in with the Lemon fans and followed the signs toward the floor seats. A guy in a black T-shirt and black pants with an earphone stood, blocking the VIP floor seats. His eyes moved over the crowd.

  “Rico?”

  “You Joey’s pal? Lemme see your ticket.”

  March held up his phone.

  “Okay, you’re up on the mezzanine, but follow me. I’ll get you close to the stage.”

  “Awesome. I’m a complete Lemon-ade.”

  “She’s not my thing, but enjoy.”

  The arena was gigantic, with a ceiling that disappeared into blackness. Rico left him in a row near the stage. “If anybody busts you, forget my name, okay?”

  “You bet.”

  March looked above and couldn’t make sense of the rigging. There were girders and beams and banks and banks of lights. Jules would have her hands full. She’d never performed in a place this big.

  In minutes the lights dimmed, and the show began. March counted off the acts, who strutted their stuff with deafening bass. Roars greeted every award winner. Soon the front of the stage was a writhing, jumping mass of fans. It looked good for the cameras, so the ushers didn’t interfere.

  The minutes ticked by. March felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was Izzy.

  All clear.

  That meant she was standing outside the closet, Blue locked inside. Everyone else stared at the BooBoo Girls onstage, but March looked up. He saw a slender figure climbing the rigging. For a moment he was afraid it was Blue. Then he recognized his twin as she balanced high above the crowd and reached for her silks.

  Showtime.

  The lights dimmed. The crowd screamed. Lemon Cartelle walked out onto the stage. She didn’t acknowledge the screams and applause, just stood and waited for the noise to die down slightly. Then the music began and she sang the famous first lines to the theme song to the biggest movie of the year, Dissolution.