by Raquel Belle
“Yep, just about,” I say.
“Yeah,” Deanna answers.
He walks to the door, opens it and then turns back to nod to us both, “Okay, good luck, guys. See you on the other side.”
Anton pulls the door shut before we can respond. He’s always been the kind of person who hates long goodbyes. He’s all about business. I open up the box he’s left. It’s a set of fake prints. I’ll need Deanna’s help.
“Give me a hand with this, would you?” I say, and sit down at the table.
“Sure.”
“They’re really delicate, so I know you’re going to be better at this than I am.”
She gives me a crooked smile—it’s my makeup.
The fingerprints are basically clear, thin adhesive skins that are sticky on one side and have the prints of anyone you want on the other. I told Anton to choose any random dead criminal. They also feel like real skin so you can shake someone’s hand and they’d be none the wiser. They wear off in eight hours, they just disintegrate as you use your hands.
I explain to Deanna how to put them on for me and then we’re quiet while she works. It’s strangely intimate…her working on my hands…then she says, “Is it weird that I want to fuck you even though you’re repulsive?”
I laugh, “Well, you made me this way.” I’m getting hard. “Deanna, stop it, we can’t ruin Alicia’s work.
She grins at me and strokes my thigh, then uses her nails and claws at my cock through my jeans.
I give her a look and she bursts out laughing.
“Okay, I’ll behave,” she says, then mock frowns and laughs again.
Once the prints are done its time for me to suit up.
Two button, shimmering charcoal black with a black shirt, silver cufflinks, my own Omega wristwatch and a silver neck tie. I think the ensemble works well with the look of my face. It’s stern and businesslike. Deanna helps me dress and takes every opportunity to fondle me.
I get the jacket on and she asks, “Okay there, Jackhammer?”
“You know I’m not, you’re just being mean,” but of course, I enjoyed every minute…I just wish we could act on it.
She laughs. “You look amaze-balls!”
“I need blood flowing upstairs, Deanna, not down.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve still got the drive to calm you down.”
“You’re driving then,” I tell her, “that’ll keep your hands occupied.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jack
It’s showtime. We go to the garage and find the 911 Carrera S Cabriolet—gunmetal grey. It looks awesome. I’ve always felt that an automatic transmission Porsche just doesn’t make sense, there’s not enough control. Thankfully, Deanna knows how to drive stick, which is why Anton got us the car.
He said he ‘borrowed’ it from a friend at a dealership and that it’s going to be reported stolen in the morning.
She is so excited, I love it!
“WOOHOO! Porsche time with DEANNA!” She laughs.
I can’t help it, I laugh too.
“Did I tell you that I once got my license taken away?”
“What for?” I ask.
“Speeding.”
She gives me a wink and starts the engine, makes it roar, then puts us in reverse and jolts out of the parking space. She does a wheelspin before getting us to the exit. “Just getting a feel for her,” she says.
We ride with the top up, I’ve never had a prosthetic face before so I don’t know what the wear and tear is like, I’m just being cautious.
This is a hell of a vehicle. I’d love to take it for a spin before we’re done.
Deanna uses the GPS and gets us to the Konquest building at 6:50pm on the dot. We don’t talk much on the way. I did a breathing exercise and Deanna enjoyed the drive.
If any one thing goes wrong tonight, we’re fucked. We’re relying on a lot of luck here. This really has been a rollercoaster of a week. Right now, I’m thinking that if this thing goes off without a hitch, I’ll be more surprised than anybody. We’ve been making this up as we went along. It’s definitely not your typical heist.
Deanna pulls up to the curb across the street from the entrance. She gives me a tiny peck on the lips, “Good luck, Jackhammer, you’re going to destroy this.”
I give her a small kiss back, “Watch your phone.”
“I will.”
I exit the car and start crossing. There are limousines dropping people off, fancy cars being valeted, I see a helicopter overhead…this sure is some snooty stuff. It’s like a mini Oscar night.
Alonso wasn’t kidding, the security presence is intense. These guys look like big, mean, sons of bitches. They’re dressed in full body armor—all black with red emblems on the arms. On the crest is a yellow double headed eagle with the letters DPS.
There’s a scattering of photographers on the sidewalk, probably hoping to snap a shot of some reclusive millionaire or billionaire. I flash my ticket to a man at the beginning of the red ropes and join the line behind two couples, one dressed conservatively, one ostentatious…I wait for my turn.
The people in front of me are not impressed with having to wait in line. They jibber to each other at the audacity of the staff. They show their tickets politely enough though, and pass through the metal detectors without incident.
The building is glittering and there are searchlights dancing in the sky for effect… Melvin has really put on a show. The Paparazzi are going nuts.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Someone’s going to wonder who the hell I am.
I get to the door and show my ticket to a well-dressed male attendant. He scans it.
“Uh, this ticket was for a Mrs. Carruthers. Mr. Whittaker told me to keep an eye out for it.” The guards on either side eye me cautiously. They’re trying to keep to the background but those P90s make them hard to miss…so do those Slavic jawlines.
“Yes, she’s my wife,” I say, “I have two tickets, unfortunately she’s not feeling well so I came on my own. I hope it’s not a problem?”
“Um, not at all sir, very well. Enjoy your evening.”
Fantastic.
“Thank you.”
That’s one hurdle down. I enter and pass through the metal detectors. There’s a group of people waiting at the elevator so I join them. An aged man with a handlebar mustache greets me.
“Thorvald Blomquist,” he says, extending his hand, “you look familiar, have we met?”
“Alexander Carruthers,” I shake his hand, “I don’t believe so.”
“Of the Maine Carruthers’ perhaps?”
“Oh, no, my mother hated that side of the family,” I laugh.
He does too, “So often it happens that way, doesn’t it?” The jewel on his wife’s necklace is the size of an apple. She says nothing. The elevator doors open.
“Shall we,” I say.
“Indeed.”
The five of us get in and travel in silence. They all look impatient and bothered…like being anywhere outside their mansions is an inconvenience. The ladies fiddle with their outfits to pass the time, a gentleman coughs, another smooths his tie and then the doors open.
We step out and start walking. I stay behind them with a leisurely and disinterested pace.
Guards, guards and more guards…they all look battle hardened. We get to the end of the hall and the large double doors are flanked by, you guessed it, more guards.
At the door a young blonde woman in a long, flowing, gold dress with sequins is checking the tickets again, then helpers in formal waitress attire show the guests to their seats. I feel the eyes of the soldiers on me. It’s either because of my face or because I’m just as big—if not bigger—than they are.
When I get to the blonde and hand her my ticket she makes the briefest eye contact before cringing slightly and looking down.
Am I really that bad looking?
She passes the ticket to a girl next to her and says, “Cindy will show you to your seat, sir.”
Cindy is a bit more forgiving and throws me a smile. She takes me to a seat all the way up front and to the far right. This couldn’t be any more perfect, it’s precisely the one I’d have chosen.
“Can I offer you something to drink, sir?”
“Sparkling water with a twist, please,” I unbutton my jacket and sit.
“Of course,” she bows slightly and sets off.
I’m only a few feet from the dais. This is great. The view through the window from this high up at night is spectacular.
I can’t turn around in my chair to look at everyone coming in, that’d be too conspicuous, and I don’t want to look straight ahead because the guards are staring at me. I decide to play with the little screen on my table and scroll through auction lots.
My water arrives shortly after and I pretend to be busy for the next few minutes while the room fills. I hear the hustle and bustle behind me but I don’t look back.
The doors to the left of the stage open and out strolls Melvin Whittaker. I try not to be obvious as I watch him take in the room with a smile, but when he gets to me he frowns. I’m prepared for this.
He walks towards me and I stare him down as he does.
“Excuse me, sir, I believe you’re in the wrong seat.”
I stand and say, “I don’t think I am,” with a sneer. “So, you’re the one sleeping with my wife.”
“Pardon me?” He looks flustered.
“You heard me, Melvin is it?”
“That’s right, and I’m quite sure I don’t know who your wife is, but this seat is for—”
“Audrey?” I cut him off and watch the poor bastard pale.
“Then, uh, you must be—”
“Alexander Carruthers,” I extend my hand to him, he hesitates with his mouth hanging open but then shakes it. “Look, Melvin, who Audrey chooses to spend her time with is her business, I’m sure she feels the same way about me. Regardless, I happened to be in town and all she could do was talk about this damned auction, so I thought I’d come by and see what all the fuss was about,” I give him a cold stare. “Audrey couldn’t make it unfortunately—that time of the month I’m afraid.”
“I see.”
“Oh, and I was certain you wouldn’t begrudge me the use of her ticket, after all, if we can share a woman, what’s an empty seat at an auction?”
“There seems to be some misunderstanding here Mr. Carruthers. I haven’t slept with your wife, I—”
I cut him off again, “Really Melvin? Are we going to play that game? Whether you have or you haven’t, we both know that you want to. Or have I changed your mind?” I raise my brow at him questioningly.
He’s in shock. He says nothing.
I look at my wristwatch like I’m annoyed, “Time we got started isn’t it?”
“Uh, yes, please, enjoy yourself.” For a moment he doesn’t seem to know where he’s going but then turns and heads to the podium. I can guarantee he won’t be looking my way for the rest of the evening. The embarrassment alone will steer him clear. Maybe he’s even wondering how much of a gold digger Audrey is to have married someone who looks like me.
While I’m standing I turn around and quickly scan the room. I see the Sheik, a Russian oligarch or two, but otherwise it’s just a room full of stuck-up rich people I don’t know.
I sit down just as Melvin taps his microphone for a soundcheck. He starts a speech welcoming his esteemed guests, colleagues and friends and then goes on…it’s nothing important.
Now that everybody is looking at him, I can look at everybody else, namely the guards.
The first lot comes out and it’s hidden by a satin sheet, a guy dressed in a suit carefully wheels out the item on a stand that’s about waist-high. It’s got a cloth draped on it to hide the frame—I suppose for that added elegance. After he parks the stand to Melvin’s left, quite near to me, Melvin gives us a small talk about what we’re going to see, then whips off the satin sheet. Atop the stand rests a vase encased in thick glass.
I wait for the bidding to run its course and then use my watch to time how long it takes for the item to be wheeled away and the next one to be brought out.
I was hoping that they’d take the vase down to the vault first and then bring up the next piece—it’s a painting—and that’s exactly what they do.
Only one man is trusted to handle the lots, and that’s good. It gives me a nice window. Five whole minutes.
I time them through the third and fourth items and it stays pretty consistent at five minutes—give or a take a few seconds.
The bidding is generally what takes longest because Melvin seems to know exactly what to say to push people over the edge and get them to fight it out. So far, the highest bid has been $25million for a painting. Every subsequent item since the first has commanded more money.
While the lots are being taken away and brought up, the guests congratulate one another, refill their drinks, mingle, brag and showboat…all the behavior you’d expect in high society. There are plenty of waitresses running around between bidding and sometimes even during. It’s a busy place…just the way I want it.
I’ve stood up only once—to congratulate a man behind me on his purchase.
Melvin’s doing a hell of a job. He wants the crowd nice and hammered by the time the egg comes out so he can get all these egos clashing and drive the price sky high.
By the time the sixth lot is introduced, enough booze has been consumed and the crowd is boisterous enough that I can sense the boredom of the guards. They know they’ve got nothing to worry about from a group of elderly drunks. Their stances are a bit more relaxed, they hold their weapons lower, they stop searching the crowd for possible threats…they’ve gone lazy…they just want this to be over.
When the eighth lot comes out you can tell things are building to a fever pitch. It’s revealed to be some kind of ancient map. I pay it no mind, someone is probably going to buy it just to get it off the stage, they all want to see the egg. I set the timer on my watch for five minutes exactly, then ready a text to send to Deanna—five minutes and twenty seconds.
As soon as Melvin bangs his gavel and yells, “Sold!” I start the countdown on my wrist and hit the send button on my phone. I know nobody is going to risk leaving their seats now. The hype is too great.
I stand and calmly make my way to the men’s room amidst the cheers of a $40million sale. I pass by a guard at the corner and give him a nod which he doesn’t return. I enter and check all the stalls, they’re unoccupied. I go to the last one and stand on the seat to get to the vent.
Deanna has done a fantastic job—the screw heads are out just enough, but not so much that they look suspicious. I have just the right amount of purchase on them. I undo the grill and find the pack inside.
Yes! They didn’t search here.
Our luck is holding.
I step off the toilet seat and check my watch—three minutes and thirty seconds to go. I take off my jacket, hang it on the door hook and get the pack on. I check the harness properly, the thigh straps, groin and shoulders. There’s also a small pouch attached for the egg.
I step out of the stall and check my watch again—thirty seconds left. I’m ready. I sling my jacket over my shoulder and my pack so it looks like I’m hot and don’t want to wear it. I check myself in the mirror to see how much it’s covering—it’ll do.
I go to the door and listen till I hear the words, “Cherub with Chariot.” That’s my cue.
I push open the door to thunderous applause. They’re all going crazy. The guard in the corner doesn’t even look at me. I set a good pace and head for the prize.
The key is to look like you belong, don’t hesitate, and above all…don’t fuck up.
The egg is in a glass case just like everything else was. It’s about the size of my palm, royal blue and with gold netting. Melvin is basking in the glory of bringing it to this auction. Even the guard standing next to the egg has a smile on his face while he’s looking at Melvin. I walk straight to him a
nd as soon as I’ve got one foot on the dais, he notices me.
I throw my jacket at him.
He fumbles to knock it away but by then I’m on him. I grab the back of his head with my left hand and smash him solidly in the face with my right elbow. Before he half finishes reeling from the blow I get around him and put him in a rear choke hold with the crook of my left elbow. I pull the side arm holstered on his right thigh and put two rounds in the body armor at his ribs. POP! POP! It knocks the wind out of him and alerts the crowd. Now he’s not going to be a threat. Sorry buddy.
I point the gun at Melvin—his expression is priceless—he puts his hands up, stepping into the line of fire from across the stage. I’ve got Mr. Body Armor protecting me down my line to the left.
I quickly put four shots into the glass case with a circular motion—careful to avoid the egg. POP! POP! POP! POP! The glass shatters and I’m already on another target.
I do a six-shot sweeping upward arc on the glass window, POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!
No hesitation.
I drop the gun, grab the egg and shove it into the pouch.
I drop the guard, turn and take three huge strides before I launch myself at the window.
There’s a loud a CRASH as I burst through with my forearms.
I do a forward roll and get my feet out in front of me. I count one second as I get through the smog layer, I count another second in freefall and pull the chute—the kick jolts me.
It’s all over in flash.
I grab my lines and stabilize. I see the city lights and the street rushing towards me… then I see the blinking hazards on the Porsche.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Deanna
I’d been parked at the curb passing the time on my phone for about two hours before I got the text from Jack. I immediately set a countdown on my clock app for five minutes and twenty seconds, then started the engine.