by Raquel Belle
***
When I wake up in the morning we’re tangled up like usual. Jack’s hand on my boob, my hand holding his, our legs mixed up. It’s hard to tell where I begin and he ends…just the way I like it.
He doesn’t feel me stir, he must be really tired. I should let him sleep.
I slowly move his limbs off me and get out of bed. I check the time and it’s already 9am. Normally we’re up by seven. I decide to take a quick shower and call down for breakfast.
Twenty minutes later, after ordering room service, I dump myself on the couch and turn on the television. I surf my way to the news and the first thing that pops up is security footage of Alexander Carruthers.
There are stills of him entering the lobby at Konquest, then video of him grabbing the egg and jumping through the glass at the auction. He’s a machine. I thought I would never get to see what happened in there but this is great! It’s quite a turn on. I’m with the toughest badass on the planet.
Everything in the video happens so fast, they have no time to react at all. Once he’s through the window the guards are still wondering what happened.
Just then, Jack walks into the room.
“You made the morning news,” I say.
“We knew that was going to happen, do they have anything on us?”
I turn the volume up.
A voice talks over the images on the screen, “…what authorities are saying is the most high-profile and daring crime this city has seen in decades. With no leads to speak of, Melvin Whittaker is offering $50,000 for any information, whatsoever, that will lead to the arrest of this man,” they put up their best still shot of Jack’s alter-ego, “Alexander Carruthers. So far, the organizers are at a loss to explain how a man with no credentials and a fake name managed to circumvent their stringent security measures and gain access to the exclusive event…much less pull off what many are calling…the heist of the century. More on this story as it develops.” I mute the television.
“Looks like we’re all good,” Jack says.
“Only $50,000?”
“It’s enough to make someone low on the ground sell you out, but not enough to make them realize that they might have a direct line to something worth millions.”
“Alicia isn’t going to rat me out for fifty-grand, I’d bet my life on it.”
“You have,” Jack shoots his brow. “Heist of the century might be overdoing it though, don’t you think?”
“Well, it was pretty damn impressive if you ask me. I just watched the security footage, you were amazing!”
“Nah, they’re just saying that for the ratings. There’ll be another heist of the century next week,” he smiles.
There’s a knock on the door, “I’ll get it,” I say. It’s room service. I wheel the cart in and park it at the table. “Breakfast is served, dear,” I smile at Jack.
“Nice, what did you get?”
“Your usual—everything.”
He laughs and pulls the cover off his plate—eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, mushrooms and beans.
I’m having some pancakes with blueberries and cream. There’s a pot of coffee too. We sit down and dig in.
We’re about halfway through our food, enjoying our success, when there’s another knock on the door. Jack goes to answer it and lets Anton in. “We were just having breakfast,” Jack points to the table.
“May I sit?” Anton asks.
“Sure,” I say, “you want some coffee, some of my pancakes?” I smile at him.
“Fried egg?” Jack laughs.
“Thank you, no,” Anton takes a seat. He looks concerned…like he hasn’t slept. There are dark rings around his eyes. “Look, guys, we’ve got a problem. A big problem.”
“We just watched on the news, it was a clean job, what are you talking about?” Jack says.
“That’s not what I mean, a different problem.”
“Well, spit it out.”
He takes a breath and huffs, then speaks slowly in that thick accent, “It looks, to me, like we have unwittingly stumbled into a money laundering operation.”
Jack gets a look on his face that’s deadly serious. “Explain,” he gestures to Anton.
Anton reaches into the little bag that he’s been carrying, he pulls out the egg and gently sets it on the table, then points to it and says, “That,” he nods with a frown, “is a fake.”
Jack stands up angrily, the chair makes a screech, “What the fuck do you mean it’s a fake?”
Anton stands, “Morton, we ran every test on that thing that you can run, the authenticator even carbon dated it, that egg’s not even worth a couple of hundred bucks. It was all scam.”
I’m just sitting there in shock.
This is fucked!
“Keep talking,” Jack says.
“The first clue was that the egg didn’t open, I noticed that when you gave it to me last night. They were meant to be Easter gifts with toys inside them, but this one was nothing like that.”
“The important part, please,” Jack says, fuming.
Anton takes another deep breath and goes on, “I believe that the bratva connection, the seller, was using Melvin to falsely appraise and authenticate fake works of art. I think the seller was also doing business with the Sheik. He’s cleaning his money from arms deals, drugs and human trafficking through Abadi. All three of them are in on it together. I believe the egg was just a ruse they came up with on a whim to antagonize my employer. The egg would have gone to the Sheik’s private collection. There, no one would ever have been able to see it and confirm whether it was the real thing. So, my employer would then live the rest of his days thinking that the Sheik had gotten the better of him. Bottom line is that the operation is like this—bratva receives clean money they can legally declare, Melvin takes his cut for his services and auction commissions, the Sheik receives stolen or illegal goods.
I get up and go to them, “Then we go after the Sheik? We go after Melvin?” I say.
“To what end, Deanna?” Anton says. “There’s nothing to be gained. The only thing you’d be doing is exposing yourselves. You can’t blackmail him for auctioning a fake, he’ll just say that you swapped it after you stole the original.”
“Are you playing me, Anton?” Jack points at him angrily. “Did you swap it out? Are you trying to fuck me on this?”
“Jack, you know I would never do that,” he puts his hands up. “We’re all taking a hit on this job. You don’t even know how much it’s cost me already. We’re all walking away from this poorer.”
Jack clenches his fists and moves like he’s trying to hold back from erupting, like he’s trying to fight down a gathering rage.
Then he shouts, “SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!” He turns and flips the table all the way over with one hand, it probably goes seven feet high. I scream and leap out of the way. Everything crashes down and breaks.
Then he grabs a chair and smashes it on the floor, once, twice, three times…and keeps going until it’s kindling. “FUCK!”
I have never seen anyone lose their temper like this. I do understand why though.
All of this was for nothing.
He’s taking heavy breaths like he still wants to kill something.
We stand there silently for a moment and digest the situation.
“Have you got that out of your system, Morton?” Anton looks at him like he’s behaving childishly.
“Easy for you to say, Anton. Easy for you to say. This job was supposed fix everything and let me move the fuck on with my life. I’ve got nothing but lint in my pockets, I’ve got no mission, I’ve got no fucking memory, and I especially don’t have the fucking money that I promised those grieving widows. I’m back to square fucking one. Not a goddamn thing has changed since I woke up in that hospital. So, you, you tell me if I’m overreacting!”
“Jack,” I put my hand out and take a step toward him, but I stop when he turns to me with a hurt look. I can’t tell him it’s going to be okay. It’s not. What do I say?
“Maybe he did,” Anton says, “and that is a conversation I intend to have with him.” He pauses and looks around. “I’m sorry, Jack. This is not the news I wanted to give you today.”
Anton takes out a roll of bills and sets it on the counter behind him. “That’s five-grand, it’ll keep you going till something comes up. Any purchases that were made are covered, the room is paid through till tomorrow. I’ll find something else for you. I owe you for this, it was a fuckup, so I’m going to try my very best to make it right.”
“Everyone’s always trying to make things right, and all we do is fuck it up even more,” Jack says, as if he’s somewhere else.
Anton puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder, but he doesn’t turn around, “Till we meet again, old friend, soon, I’ll fix this.”
Anton looks at me and nods before he leaves.
Now what the fuck do we do?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jack
I hear the door close, look for a chair that’s still standing and sit down with my head in my hands. Everything was going perfect…and now…
Now it’s not.
I take a deep breath and release it. I do it again and feel some of the anger bleed away. I look for Deanna and see her staring at me with wide eyes and her lips trembling. I stand and try to give her a smile, “Sorry about breakfast,” I gesture to the table, then put my hand out to her. She comes to me and I give her a hug. “I’m sorry,” I kiss her head, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” she says, “I understand, I do.”
I kiss the top of her head once more and let her go. I pick up the table and set it down properly, then Deanna helps me gather up the broken plates, the cutlery, food, the broken chair and everything else…we load it on the tablecloth then I knot it up. The Fabergé egg is still intact, Deanna wipes it puts it down next to the television.
There’s some post-it notes on the bureau, so I write the message small accident on one of them, peel it off and stick it on the tied-up tablecloth, then leave it outside for housekeeping. I hope this shit wasn’t expensive.
When I come back inside, Deanna is sitting on the arm of a couch and gives me a playful—what now?—frown.
“We’re leaving in the morning,” I say, “if you want to visit with your friend, I guess now’s the time. I’m going to take a walk, I need to think.”
She nods, “Where are we going tomorrow?”
“Back to Vegas, drop of the Escalade.”
“Are you leaving me?” she asks in a soft voice.
I don’t know what to say, it’s like I’m looking at her for the longest time, then I feel myself half shrug and shake my head.
I don’t know.
“I need to think Deanna. You and me…that was supposed to be after all of this shit was over. It’s not.”
“We can do it together?” she says in that same voice.
I take a deep breath and release it. “You want to hitch from place to place like a bum not knowing what’s coming next? Not knowing when our next meal is coming, not knowing where we might end up, what trouble we’ll get in to?”
She just looks at me.
“I don’t want that for you. You have a good family, why would you want that? We’ve got a few grand between us, the clothes on our backs and nothing else. I’m not going to make you live like that. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing for Christ’s sake. I won’t put you through that.”
“You know, Jack, between the two of us, we might not have a whole lot, but we have each other. You have me.”
I see her eyes get misty. If she cries in front of me I’ll agree to anything she says, so I decide to leave. I feel myself getting overwhelmed…by emotion. I don’t like it. It’s weak. Yet…she’s saying these words…it’s what I’ve wanted from her and now that she’s doing it I’m pushing her away.
“I need to think, Deanna. The rest of the money Anton gave me the other day is on the nightstand, I’ll take this five. Between the two of us that should be five each.”
I grab the roll of cash and leave the room. I don’t look back.
The car keys are there too. If she’s smart she won’t be here when I come back.
I push the button for the elevator and wait.
Good job Jack. You find the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with, you pull off the mission, but it’s all bullshit…you’re broke, have amnesia and nothing in front of you… You’ll make a great impression. I’m sure her sister and brother-in-law and Terry are going to give you a big thumbs up. Well done on being a fucking loser. Well done on being a piece of shit who can’t support the people you made promises to.
Fuck!
What do I do now? Get a tallboy and a bunch of scratchers?
Fuck this planet!
The elevator’s not getting here.
FUCK!
I punch the steel doors.
Calm down.
I’m taking the fucking stairs.
Fucking piece of shit egg…I knew that was bullshit. Lost for a hundred years and it’s going to show up when I’m around? Yeah right. It looked like shit too, I knew it.
I get down ten flights of stairs and then realize…I can’t let her get away.
What the hell am I doing?
I leave the stairwell and go back to the elevators. I push the button and thankfully the doors open immediately.
Don’t push her away.
I get back to our room and use my keycard on the door.
“Deanna?”
“Deanna!”
I search everywhere. She’s gone. The keys, the money, her clothes, the laptop…
If there’s one thing she’s good at—it’s running.
Good girl. She made the right choice. I’m no good.
Well, I’ve got five-grand in my pocket. It’s noon here but it’s got to be five ‘o clock somewhere. I could use a drink.
I head back downstairs. I’m going to get trashed…cheaply.
I ask the doorman where to go and he tells me there’s an Irish pub a block over—Dublin’s. Yeah, that’ll do it.
I walk over and when I get there, I decide, fuck it, there’s five-grand in my pocket. I just lost my woman. “Macallan 18,” I say as I sit down, “you can leave the bottle.”
***
I’m working my way through the second bottle, five hours in, debating my life choices, wondering if I should call her, when a group of women walk in cackling like hyenas. God, that’s the last thing anyone wants. I look at them and spot Deanna. Yes! Either my luck’s changing or we really are connected. She’s with four other girls, Alicia is one of them. I sober immediately.
I watch them walk in and she sees me. She comes over with a carefree swagger, looking more than a little drunk.
“Out of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” Deanna pokes me with a finger. “Les hammer du Jacques,” she uses a French accent and laughs. “Find any answers in that thing?” she points to the bottle.
I reach out to hold her but she jerks away.
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re an asshole!”
“I’m not.”
“Liar!”
I grab her, pull her to me and kiss her. I can taste the tequila on her. She pulls away and slaps me, drunkenly and hard. I’m sure everyone turns to look, then she smiles wryly and kisses me...it’s weird, she uses tongue but it’s sort of violent and she bites and pulls at my lip on the way out. It’s rough.
Fuck. I made her do this. She’s drinking because of what happened. It’s a good thing this place is chaotic and noisy enough that we’re making no more of a spectacle than anyone else.
She turns to leave but I pull her back.
“Hey, I’m sorry, let’s go home, I went back upstairs to get you right after but you were already gone. I’m sorry for wha
t I said.”
“I know you meant it and they all think you’re an asshole too,” she points to her friends, who’ve now settled at a table. They all give me a middle finger. I smile and wink.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask her.
“Why is that any of your business?”
“Deanna, don’t be like this.”
“Be like what?”
Damn.
“What do you want me to be like?” she says.
She’s going to be stubborn about it, I deserve it.
“You wanted me to leave so I left,” she says, haughtily.
“That’s not what I wanted.”
“Really? You split up the cash, the keys were there…and I don’t need you to take my sister’s car back. You said you didn’t want me around anymore. You said it. Now you want to take it back?”
“Yes, I want to take it back.”
“Just like that?”
“If you’ll let me.”
“No. You know why?” she says angrily, “Because things got tough and you chose to cut and run, to bail out on me, on us…working through it together didn’t even cross your mind.”
She tries to leave again, and again I pull her back.
“Stop it!”
“Deanna, I said those things because I want to protect you, because I want to keep you safe. I want you to have the life you deserve—”
“Nobody gets what they deserve, Jack. The most precious thing in life isn’t money, it’s time. The biggest decision we have to make is how to spend that time. You chose to spend yours without me. FYI—I made it through the last twenty-seven years without you or your protection, so I’m pretty sure I’ll get through the next twenty-seven just fine. You think I’ve never hitch-hiked before?” She looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you that we might be better as a team?”
I don’t say anything, she’s right, I really fucked up.
“No, it didn’t, and that’s why you’re not getting out of it that easy.”
She tugs out of my grasp so I say, “Can I come sit with you and your friends at least? I’ll buy a round.”