by Bronwen John
His blue eyes flickered in sudden defeat, and he mouthed, Run. He then took several steps towards the platform, and raised his voice. “It’s just too much! Harry Holmes has done for me, Luke Gaines!”
Sensing what was about to happen, Ash turned and ran. She heard the screams of the commuters, only now stimulated into action by the screech of the Tube train. She screamed too as she ran up the stairs, colliding with Colorado.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“Luke… Luke’s dead…”
“Holmes’s men?”
“Sacrificed himself for me, just like Dee did… we have to get out of here.”
“Where to?! He’ll find us!”
“We’ve never been arrested; there are no photos.” She shoved him up the stairs and they ran, dodging past the Transport Police who were all too focused on a suicide than on two teenagers, and into the night air. “They don’t know us. They just have descriptions, and what good is ‘a black kid and an Asian kid’?!”
“You still haven’t answered me…”
“Where else?! To Esther’s!”
“She’ll kick you out! And what clothes do you have? Can’t exactly go back to the house; he’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t have anything in your life that you can’t walk away from in a second,” she said. “Everything I have is gone, and the safest place I can be right now is in Norway with her.”
Colorado pulled her into a small side street as blue lights flashed by.
“You follow me?”
“Fine. I’ll put the word out.”
And with that, the two separated, disappearing into the immersive blue lights and London mist; neither seeing the other's reaction as they realised how badly the con had gone astray… all from the wrong mark.
Putting Her
on the Send
or
How to Bow Out
with a Plan
Four
The plane was cold.
The lights were down.
To all other intents and purposes, it was the perfect time to hide and rest.
Yet to Ash’s overactive mind, it seemed like she was the only person in existence; even with the pilot up front. She wrapped herself in the tiny, ineffectual airline blanket, uttering the softest of curses.
She didn’t know how she’d got here. She couldn’t remember much, just fear and blindly following instructions from people she didn’t know but Luke did. People who had hidden her away and managed to get her onto the flight, and had told her that they’d arrange things with Crook and the British social system before they vanished into thin air.
This plane was actually going to land, and they were going to make her get out in this foreign country with only the clothes on her back and Esther Crook’s address stashed in the back left pocket of her jeans, and her passport in the right.
None of those helpers had offered comfort, although then again, Ash thought she’d probably have spat in their faces if they’d suggested they could make things better.
Even now, wrapped in rational rage, Ashia Cox had made a decision.
She was going to kill or con Harry Holmes if it was the last thing she did.
The Loen Skylift had a stunning view of all the fjords and lakes, let alone the Briksdal Glacier. Ash thought of this as she journeyed up it, looking darkly onwards. The messenger who’d met her off the flight had informed her brusquely that Esther Crook was at the top of the Skylift, eating dinner and recovering from a busy night of work. Ash had felt her stomach sink. A con artist who did honest labour didn’t seem much like an honest person to her. It felt like a trick of the light. She groaned at the thought as the Skylift ended its long journey. Sticking her hands into her pockets, she walked out and up to the small cafe.
There was a waitress serving and three couples sitting. Ash read them quickly. Two honeymooning couples – at least, that’s what she assumed from the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other – and a tourist. An older woman was looking out of the window; next to her, a younger woman with dark rings under her eyes was tucking into a meal and ignoring the room.
“Pardon,” Ash said, stopping the waitress. “Have you seen Miss Crook?”
The waitress nodded and pointed towards the window. “She’s there.”
Ash followed her gaze to where the two women were sitting. There was a table between them. Ash thanked the waitress and sat down, ignoring the young woman and looking at the older one. The woman eyed her and returned to her book, apparently snubbing her company.
Ash coughed into her hand. “Well, this is a nice time to prove myself to you, Mrs Crook. I’ve been doing some cold reading. The two couples over there are from the cruise ship; the younger couples who can’t keep their hands off each other are newly-weds, possibly on honeymoon. The older couple has probably been contentedly married for many years, judging by the design of their wedding rings. On the cruise for an anniversary.” She smiled and looked at the old woman, who was looking at her with… disdain? She knew she’d have to brush up her technique after all. “Shall I do you, Mrs – oh, congratulations; I didn’t know you were married – Crook?”
The older woman merely shook her head at the apparently unwanted and unwarranted conversation, before standing up quickly and rushing out, muttering as she went. Ash watched her go, surprised by her agility. Perhaps she wasn’t supposed to approach her? She’d explain that she’d never got the instructions.
“Well, you need to improve your cold reading,” said the young woman who had been sitting next to her. She had a lilt of an accent which bordered between French and English.
“You what?”
“The correct term is ‘pardon’,” corrected the woman, smirking as she continued to cut her meat before shoving a liberally sized piece into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, picking up her water and taking a sip before continuing. “And you heard. You’re not good at cold reading.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ash stood as the girl stopped drinking and returned to her meal. She’d barely gotten into the country and she’d already been made.
There was a gentle clatter of knife and fork as the girl looked up at Ash through hooded green eyes and flashed a smirk. “You were right about one of the young couples. The others were all wrong. The couple you asked about, Mr and Mrs Nielsen, are having a baby and that’s why they can’t keep their hands off each other. They’re making up for future lost time. The cruising couple are having an affair, but their partners are on board and this is the first time they’ve had the opportunity to be truly alone. I would bet my poker winnings that the one man has vertigo and the other lady a bad head… possibly both sides are playing each other and having affairs, thinking the other party doesn’t know. Mrs Hansen, who you scared off, is very hard of hearing and struggles most ferociously with it. She thought you were going to jump her and rob her.”
Ash stared at her as the ‘cruise couple’ began to pass.
“How’s your husband’s vertigo?” the young woman said to the woman she’d just accused of having an affair in a friendly tone of voice.
“Doing very well, thank you, Miss…?”
“Esther Crook.”
It took all Ash’s strength not to collapse into the seat in shock at her youth.
“We met at the captain’s party. Remember? Your dear wife had a headache?”
There were a few more nods of acknowledgement, and Esther summarised a fictionalised version of events aboard the cruise before they took their leave. She then turned to Ash.
“Esther Crook. People will believe anything if you say it with confidence. Now, unless I’m mistaken, you’re Ashia, right?”
A nod.
“Thought so.”
“You?”
“Why, certainly I’m me,” Esther mocked.
Ash continued
to stare at her. She couldn’t be older than thirty. She certainly didn’t look like the mastermind everybody made her out to be. It made her angry that she’d already been conned. That this mere girl, who looked barely older than her, had conned her! Had a reputation that was envied…
“Would you like a bite of what I’m eating?” Esther said, sipping from her glass of water and returning to her food. She gestured for Ash to sit down, which she did. “It’s veal schnitzel, potato salad, home-made ketchup and lemon. It’s delicious, really.” She sighed. “Would you like something else to eat, then? I’d advise either the waffles or the strudel.”
“I’ve seen people eat; I’m here to work,” muttered Ash, throwing an accusatory look at Esther, who didn’t seem concerned and continued with her meal. “Get me?”
“I get you; I just don’t need to follow you.” Esther’s green eyes flicked to her, and she smirked. “Listen, you may have eaten on that airplane into Stryn, let alone between whichever godforsaken London airport and Oslo, but I’ve not eaten since an all-night poker game. I am allowed to rest.”
“You win.” A curt nod. “How much?”
“None of your concern,” Esther responded sharply. “And it was illegal, so you can keep that question to yourself, too. God knows I won’t be prosecuted for grifting, but illegal poker…”
“Why do you bother with con work, then? You could stick to an honest day’s work,” Ash sneered, folding her arms across her chest petulantly.
Esther looked up properly then, and emerald-green eyes collided with dark brown. The eyes were the windows to the soul, according to Gaines, even those of a con artist; but one look at Esther’s told Ash nothing beyond that they were green. Even that might have been a lie. It was no wonder that she was an excellent poker player.
“A good con artist doesn’t get caught. The mark thinks his plan, which he fell into via greed, has fallen through and they’re out by a few monetary assets. If they have worked it out, they’ve got to admit to criminal activity.” Esther downed the last of her water. “I’ve advised on most of the big jobs… if it wasn’t for my damned promise I’d be out there now. And before you ask, no, I’m not discussing the promise. So here I am, a year off – a gap year, you Brits say, right? Right – and stuck here when I could be with Mariana Lei out in Hong Kong, running that long con on the Hong Kong Stocks. By the way, if you have shares, sell them next week.”Ash narrowed her eyes at the sarcastic tone as Esther pushed the plate away from her. “And anyhow, it’s all to do with confidence… thanks for putting me off my grub, by the way.”
“What do you mean, confidence?”
“Before ‘con’ became taboo for those honest citizens, it was just an abbreviation of ‘confidence’ – that damned thing I’ve had endless lectures about.”
Esther stood and tossed money onto the table, throwing a “Thank you” to the waitress before gesturing for Ash to follow her. When Ash didn’t move quickly enough, she began to walk off, and cut off the protest as Ash quickened her pace.
“You didn’t want food – instead you put me off mine – so we leave at my pace. My home is a mile from here; we can walk.”
“So all con artists are saints?” mocked Ash, as the two exited the building and began a long walk down an embankment which led to some woods.
“Any industry has rogues,” replied Esther insincerely, kicking a rock with particular vitriol. “We certainly do, or Luke wouldn’t have been murdered. Someone must’ve been on the inside.”
Ash looked at Esther, ready to snap at her, but instead she found herself trying to read her. Esther’s expression was glacial to say the least, but there was a slight squint to her eyes which revealed that she was trying to be sympathetic. Ash changed her mind about her being ‘too honest’; human emotion seemed a foreign affair.
“Good news travels quickly… I am sorry.”
“I want to get even with the guy that did it.”
“There’s enough time for that. For now, though, we get our heads in the game,” responded Esther, as they came to a small wooden cottage. “My home.”
“You bought this?”
A nod.
“They said on the flight how much these cost…”
“Ill-gotten gains pay well.” Esther walked to the door and opened it. “Get in.”
Ash sighed and stepped indoors, smiling as she looked around. The cabin was attractive in a rustic kind of way, although it was dark, even in the afternoon sun. Esther smirked softly before turning on the lights and closing the curtains, then heading outside and beginning to close the shutters.
“Don’t believe in natural light?” Ash asked, attempting to sound cavalier, although she caught a glint in the window before Esther closed the shutter. She did it for protection.
An equally cavalier answer came. “I play late-night poker with the local police. We play in the dark, so I have little use for daylight.” She freed her long, dark hair from its ponytail. “You’re as anxious as a cat on a hot tin roof. The best spare room is downstairs.”
“I don’t want sleep. Slept plenty on the plane. And I don’t have anything any more, bar the clothes on my back. He’s helped kill Luke… he killed himself to save me. He’s done God knows what to Dee… I want to beat him. I want to—”
“Hold on! Hold on,” Esther interrupted, raising her hand and managing to stop Ash’s tirade. “I know you want to get even, but I can’t in good conscience train you without knowing the full facts.”
Ash paused. Her rage and guilt at what had happened overwhelmed her, and then came the realisation that Esther had so little information to guide her in what needed to happen. She wet her lips and sank down onto the sofa like a rag doll.
“Well? I’d like an answer. Parlez-vous Anglais?!”
“His name is Harry Holmes. London—”
“Gangster?! Are you freaking nuts?!” Esther’s eyes widened in shock, and she prowled towards her. “You don’t even know the basics and you’re thinking of trying to sell me the idea of going after the nastiest son-of-a… that’s an insult to dogs. You don’t know anything about him?!”
“I know he killed Luke.” Ash didn’t even have fight in her voice any more.
“He’s pissed on other people’s parades too… but most of them have the good sense that they are born with to stay well enough away from him.”
“You’re afraid of him too?”
“If you’re in your right mind, you’re scared of him,” Esther stated emphatically. “I’m not frightened of any bogeyman, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then what’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of how many ways the man can kill me on any given day!” she snapped, running her hands through her hair. “He has agents in all the three-letter majors. Christ, you are green,” she snarled, realising that Ash didn’t know what she meant. She held up five fingers. “FBI. CIA. MI6. MI5. ATF.” Esther put a finger down each time she spoke with concentrated emphasis. Once all the fingers were down, she waved her hand exasperatedly in the air. “And that’s not even counting Interpol or any other interested law enforcement agency in the world. All those have figures in that would willingly give over info to him. He’s friends with the former Mayor of London. He’s got the backing of three newspapers. He’s smart. He’s hard to con. His damned wife puts Nazi-stolen artworks on display. She’s proud of it, and he’s got so many people in his back pockets that every raid has failed. Damn it all!”
Ash listened, her eyes widening slightly. “You’ve been thinking to mark him?”
Esther smirked, then shook her head. “I’ve been waiting to.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa. “The problem is, he’s a legal eagle, totally. He’s a mark that’s difficult at the best of times. He’s got the interest of honest men at the aforementioned agencies, and believe me, they have some interest in me.”
“But you’ve got an intere
st?” Ash interrupted.
“And a promise to consider.” Esther threw back her head and gave a short bark of laughter. “Yes. It’d be the con of my short career.”
“Promise?”
“The Interpol agent that was murdered, shot dead in a steakhouse… four years ago? Tied to the crime was Mr Holmes, who wasn’t such a big name as he is now in gun-running. Heading the investigation was a young woman. Remember?”
Ash closed her eyes and pictured the photograph in the newspapers. It had been international news as it had been so blatant and brutal. The woman had been shot dead in a diner, and it had all the hallmarks of a mob hit from the ’20s – several bystanders had also been killed. “A woman, Anne…”
“Anne Crook. She was the one murdered, and I feel it only fair to share that she was my mother,” Esther said quietly. Ash watched the pain briefly swathe her neutral expression before the mask returned. “Well, my father was part of the investigation with her. By the way, he’s a federal agent in the States.”
“You’re joking? He could run us in?”
Esther shook her head. “Got to prove it, and I don’t have a paper trail, as the now-obsolete expression goes. Not that I’m supposed to know he’s my dad… very overprotective parents.” She walked to the kitchen, and Ash could hear water running. “Want a glass?”
“Please.”
Esther returned, holding one glass out to her, filled with water.
Ash took it numbly and took a long sip, coughing lightly at the coldness. “Sorry… what do you mean?”
“I con him into thinking I don’t know he’s my pop and he lets me think he believes it; we’re both fantastic con artists and it works better that way.” Esther looked around the room. “Anyway, when my mother died, he made me promise not to go after Holmes until I had a rainmaker, and it seems you walked right through my door like a proverbial black cloud… and by that, my dear girl, I mean you were as thundery as hell. Nothing to do with your skin colour, I can assure you of that.” She shook her head. “But… I need to work out if I can do this.”