by Al K. Line
There was no sexual confusion, no concern that she was trying it on, or any stirrings from my untouched and unloved manhood, but it was damn nice. I reached across with my free arm, the other pinned by Vicky, and pulled her closer. She murmured and whimpered a little, but snuggled in close and I wrapped my arm around her.
If there is one thing in this world that makes everything worth fighting for, that makes the world a better place and should be sought and enjoyed whenever possible, it's cuddles. As I thought these thoughts, I smiled at the contradictions and the confusion that made me who I was. A murdering, criminal, magic wielding thief who looked rather wild with his somewhat scruffy clothes, his stubble, his obsession with his hat, and the fact he was only at peace when curled up next to a middle aged mother of two who thought wearing her hair down was the height of glamor. That I was happy here lying in bed with her while her husband was away and that it looked so very wrong yet was, in truth, so very right.
We were doing nothing bad, and she obviously craved this comfort as much as me. She wanted to be held, to be cuddled and to feel safe lying in the arms of a man. I wanted to feel strong and to be the protector, but more than that, and I had to stop myself, I wanted to curl up in a ball and bury my head in her chest and feel the warmth of a kind woman and cry until I was empty.
Cry out the hurt of a lifetime, the frustrations and the shame, the insecurities and the worry over raising a child and the stress that weighed me down until I felt I was incapable of shouldering the responsibility.
But that's not what men do, is it? Not when a woman needs them to be strong and give them comfort and make them feel safe. So I wrapped Vicky tight in my arm and I stroked her hair when she whimpered and I gave her everything I could so she'd sleep sweetly and know she was protected and that someone loved her.
She gave me more than I gave her. I knew she'd crept into the bed to offer me what I was now returning, and I loved her for her thoughtfulness, for her generous nature and her kindness. How long would this last? When would this all go away and I would be lying in my bed angry and upset as Vicky had finally been killed and it was all my fault?
But we are our own person, and we have to be responsible for our own actions, and she'd made her choice. She needed this life I could offer. But I'd do my best to keep her alive, to ensure she saw her girls grow up to be something she could be proud of. Probably rulers of the galaxy or something.
"You're awake," I said as she opened her eyes and returned my smile.
"Oh, I feel so good. Best sleep ever." Vicky's eyes wandered down to where our arms were across each other and she went to move.
"It's okay, I like it." I gave her a little squeeze.
"Don't go getting any funny ideas, mister," she warned with another smile.
"Nor you."
We lay there for a while longer. There was madness waiting for us so we enjoyed each other's company while we could.
The Inner Nerd
Vicky was the most complex person I'd ever met. She wasn't the type you'd expect to be up there with the best hackers, and I'm sure there were plenty that were a helluva lot better than her, but she was good. That's what she told me on a regular basis at least. I was about as tech savvy as a frog with a lobotomy so I took it on trust.
As had happened numerous times before, although this time she wasn't just helping me out, she was a true part of the drama, I sipped her delightful coffee and peered over her shoulder, confused as her fingers flew across the keyboard and the screen scrolled with strange, otherworldly code that made deciphering and mastering a spell seem like child's play.
We were hunting for something she said was simple to get, hardly even needing her virtual skills. I knew she was just being modest, and getting the blueprints for the security systems and the off-the-record work the current owner of the Ræth Næg had done wouldn't be easy at all. The security stuff wasn't too hard, she got that in fifteen minutes, so we were set with locations, the siting of cameras, the level of the security. It was pretty intense, but the one thing we lacked were the actual codes.
I knew from long experience that we wouldn't find such things, and it sure as hell didn't matter. All that mattered was knowing what to look out for and where. Magic would take care of the relatively easy act of disabling what needed to be disabled at the right time and place.
What I had doubts about was finding the crucial information of where to go inside the owner's home to get the goodies. Serious collectors were wealthy by default, and although most wizards had a magical item or two in their homes, protected by personal wards, the ones who took the collecting side of things seriously were almost as paranoid as they should be.
They knew they were playing a dangerous game merely having items with strong magic, so not only did they have to think carefully about protecting them from thieves, but protecting their homes and themselves from the often deadly emanations or random near-nuclear explosions the more powerful artifacts were likely to cause at any given moment.
Magic is unstable and stuffing it into a belt, or leaving the inherent, mysterious magic that forms as the item is made without hardcore protection is like playing Russian roulette with five bullets. If you know what you have, then fine, you can leave it on the mantle or you can keep it in your bunker, but if you have something you aren't sure about, have no clue as to its true potential, well, you'd be an utter twat to just leave it in your underwear drawer and risk it warping your reality every time you reached for a pair of socks.
Wards are all fine and dandy, but there's nothing like several trucks' worth of reinforced concrete lining a room to help keep your goodies protected.
Vicky followed electronic routes and fiber optics along the digital highways until she had a mainline into the property. It wasn't an overly ostentatious place by some rich folks' standards, but it put the average citizen's hard-earned shelter to shame. Why do people have more bedrooms than they can ever hope to fill? It's just showing off. With a little patience, and a lot of skill, she insinuated her digital presence into the house's network, also the computers running off the IP address. It was then a simple matter to pull up anything on the home network.
Most of what she found was the usual wizard porn, things that have no place being discussed where citizens may read about them as they wouldn't understand, and just the usual crap that fills up a person's virtual life.
None of that interested us, what did was a series of saved emails deleted from the web but stored in an encrypted file on the hard drive.
"Bingo," said Vicky as she tapped the keyboard with a flourish and leaned back, turning to smile at me. We studied the blueprints for the alterations to the property, discovering that what we thought was just another room was a veritable fortress within a fortress.
"Shouldn't be too difficult now we know where I'm going," I said.
"Where we're going, you mean."
"Whoa! It doesn't work like that, you know it doesn't. Sidekicks don't do the breaking and entering bit, they do stuff like this and then they leave the main man to work his magic. And before you try it, do not pout, do not cry, do not moan. I am steadfast and resolute. You do not come in with me."
"So what do I do? What's my role now?"
I smiled, some would say a wicked, devilish, yet obviously handsome smile, and said, "Oh, you're gonna hate it."
Like Normal People
"This better not be all you think I'm good for," said Vicky as she stirred the sauce. It bubbled and spat fiery red liquid over her and she grabbed a cloth then frantically wiped herself down.
"Just keep stirring," I said, winking at George. I think Vicky had expected us to be instantly on the case, but she knew family was as important to me as to her, and unless I was tied up and being tortured—which had happened several times—then I always, without fail, made it home to have dinner with George.
I stared longingly at the sliding glass doors and George must have seen me. "You've had it," she warned, wagging her finger at me.
&n
bsp; "I know, but it's been a stressful day." My one smoke of the day, that George knew about, had been inhaled with relish the minute we arrived back at the house, and now I was pining for another. Okay, I wanted to smoke until my lungs bled but would have settled for just another roll-up made by my daughter.
"Excuses, excuses."
For a while there was a companionable silence as we watched the Buster Keaton short that was all I was allowed before dinner, no TV or digital devices permitted once we sat down. Weirdly, it was a rule George was happy to agree to, saying it drove her mad when her mates all sat around glued to their handheld whatevers rather than talking to each other like humans used to do in the dim and distant past.
When the program finished, I moved over to Vicky and only recoiled in horror a little at the mess she'd made of my kitchen. Didn't shout much at all. All she had to do was stir, how was it possible to ruin an entire kitchen doing that? Guess some people just have a knack. I shooed her away and cooked pasta while George and Vicky chatted about their day. Once ready, I took everything over to the table and we tucked in to spaghetti bolognese, Hat style. Meaning, it was awesome. The secret is to drain the pasta well and put it back on the heat with a drizzle of olive oil and some freshly ground pepper.
Having missed the gossip about George's day, I asked, "How was it with Sasha? Do anything awesome?"
"Oh, you know, the usual," she said, eyes focused on her food. "Pass the Parmesan."
I handed it over and asked, "What's the usual? Where'd you go?"
"Just places," she said, studiously sprinkling the strong cheese over her dinner until it looked like it'd been abandoned in a snowstorm.
"Oh, sounds like fun." I left it at that, not wanting to be one of those parents. She was entitled to her secrets, and I trusted her and Sasha. No I didn't, and even as I knew I should keep my mouth shut I asked, "You gonna tell me? I worry."
Vicky kicked me under the table and shook her head, and I mumbled, "Sorry, I'm trying my best."
"It's okay. Honest, it was just a fun day out, nothing to worry about. And I'm sorry about today, about what you had to do."
"Don't be, he got off lightly. Hey," I said, suddenly inspired and hoping it would lighten the mood, "did Vicky tell you she's got her first official job tonight? We're gonna get the belt."
"Yeah, that is so cool. Can I come?" George glanced up, all eager, even though she knew the answer.
"No way! We've been through this. You can go on jobs when I'm—"
"Dead and buried for the last time, but even then you'll watch from beyond the grave," George finished for me.
"You better believe it."
The chatter continued, Vicky getting increasingly excited, and I'm sure she would have left the kitchen in disarray if I hadn't insisted I clean up properly before we did anything. If it was left anything but pristine I'd never be able to focus on what was to come, so she stomped around impatiently while I took my time, using it as a meditation, letting the order of the cutlery drawers and the stacks of plates soothe my jumbled mind.
Soon enough it was time to leave, yet I was loath to do so. It had been a nice meal, felt like we were a family, intimate and relaxed for the most part, and I could have happily stayed there for the rest of the evening.
But such is the life of a criminal wizard, and besides, Vicky would have gone and tried to do the job solo if I'd stayed put, and that would not have been a good idea.
So off we went, leaving George to get an early night while the insomniacs went to steal shit and earn themselves a million dollars split rather too generously in the sidekick's favor.
Loading Up
Out in the courtyard, I further frustrated Vicky by insisting we walk Marjorie around for half an hour. She was getting on and didn't need the exercise she once did, but it was important she got what she could handle, stubborn old gal that she was.
The sound of her braying and the hooves on the cobbles somehow made everything feel all right in the world. This was a timeless act, performed the same way for as long as there had been donkeys, and I liked this simplicity. So much in the world moved fast that it was always nice to take a step back and feel yourself at one with your surroundings and your home.
But the old girl—Marjorie, not Vicky—tired quickly, so I gave her a few apples and she happily went back into the barn. With Vicky trailing me like a puppy dog, I took her into a corner of the barn where I kept my gear, all of it innocuous enough if anyone ever snooped.
To keep life simple, and for my own sanity as I hated to have to hide things as then I'd feel guilty and worry someone would find them, most of the equipment I used for jobs were things I could just keep in the barn and find a reason for having should anyone ask. Not that they ever had, as I didn't welcome many visitors, plus I did have a lock on the door to the old tack room.
"Simple is always best," I told her. "The more gear you need, the higher the risk of something going wrong. It's best to go on jobs with as little as possible, and to be prepared to leave it behind, so never take anything expensive."
Vicky eyed the various bits and pieces greedily, attention drawn to the grappling hooks and the crossbows, basically anything dangerous. She reached for a pair of spiked gloves Wolverine would appreciate but I said, "Nope, won't be needing those," and she moved her hand away, not without first prodding the steel and drawing blood.
"What do we need then? How do you get in, even with the security disabled?"
"All in good time, my mischievous munchkin. Grab what I tell you and load up the car. Let's make this quick. We still have to take it all through the portal and then we have a long drive ahead of us." I threw a lightweight coil of rope at Vicky and grabbed a bag full of things I hoped I wouldn't need, and we got busy.
In no time at all we had everything back in the city and were heading off to go rob someone of something very valuable, and the buzz began to build.
I knew Vicky was feeling it, the excitement, the anticipation, and the closer we got to our destination the more alive the atmosphere in the car became.
"You can feel it, can't you?" I asked, glancing at her then turning my attention back to the road. I hated driving at night, especially on busy roads, but this was when my kind of work was best performed, and so I dealt with the glare of headlights and lowered my hat so I didn't have to squint so much.
"It's like waiting for Father Christmas as a kid. Everything is tingling and my heart's racing." Vicky's eyes sparkled and her breathing was loud; I knew exactly how she felt.
"Not scared? Concerned at all?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"Nope. I can handle it."
"That's what worries me. Plus, you don't even know what it is."
"And that's why it's exciting. Besides, I know as much as you. I know who has it, where we're going, and all that."
"Yes, but that's not the worrying bit. The worst part isn't the going, it's the leaving. The getting away with it. Do as I say, don't act rashly, and don't think you're invincible. It's very easy to die, Vicky. Trust me, I've been there a few times."
"Well I haven't, so what does that say?" countered Vicky with a pout.
"It says that this life is dangerous and you haven't been caught. Yet."
We drove the rest of the way in silence, which I have to admit, began to freak me out. When Vicky was quiet it meant only one thing. Trouble.
Nice Shoes
It was two in the morning by the time we reached our destination, the nervous energy in the car so palpable I worried it would pounce and bite me. Vicky was edgy and kept touching stuff at random, I was alert and thrumming with magic that coursed through my system in anticipation of things to come.
You'd have thought that two night owls would be like the walking, or sitting, dead by now. Insufficient sleep and too much excitement already for one day should have made us semi-comatose, but it was the opposite.
Sure, we'd pay for it later, the comedown would hit hard as it always did and I knew I'd be left feeling like I was co
ming apart at the seams. But for now? I was on top of the world.
"We're here," I said as I switched off the engine and the way ahead was plunged into darkness.
"Cool, let's go," said Vicky hopefully.
"That's not how it works. Look, this kind of thing is dangerous, and I work best alone. Besides, I need you to stay here and..." Poor Vicky, she was so disappointed, so I changed tack. "Okay, how about this? We get to the house together, but then you stay outside while I go in. You keep an eye out in case anyone comes, and when I give the word we scarper with the goodies and go get paid."
"Really? It's a deal."
Vicky sprang from the car and waited impatiently at the rear. She sure was keen. I didn't know what she was expecting, what she thought would happen, but I felt like I was letting her down if we didn't get a little danger or at least the possibility of it. If I let her get close to the house her adrenaline levels would rise and it should satisfy her craving for the rush of doing something naughty.
What she didn't understand was that it was seldom the taking of the items that was the dangerous bit. It was dealing with the brokers, the clients, the seedy individuals who could help or hinder the operation, that was the real danger. Gathering information on where to find the articles requested, calling in favors from unsavory types or offering favors in return for the information, that was often the part that got you into trouble.
Then getting paid, clients always somehow trying to cheat you out of what was promised. Or Nigel my old broker acting like a dick as usual and me stuck with a hot magical artifact until he thought it safe for us to meet and exchange stolen goods for cash or cool stuff.
After this job it was definitely time to have yet another proper conversation with Vicky about how it all worked, but she'd seen that side of it and wasn't fazed, so maybe it was just me being a scaredy-cat and she really was immune to the fear she absolutely should have felt.