"Y-Yes, sir." It wasn't boring and rote to me; it was shit-your-trousers frightening. Of course, if he'd found me, he could find them. They weren't even hidden. And I was sure he wouldn't bother with anything but the best hitman/kidnapper/torture squad if he had to.
"Excellent. You seem perfectly open to reason. I'm glad we chose this route," he remarked, which was, of course, another scare tactic — and worked just as well as the first one had. "Shall we?" He motioned for me to join him on the path past the kennel.
I nodded jerkily and removed my hand from Susie, who licked me once with a long soft tongue and then watched us go with her big, soft eyes. I walked next to her owner — and, possibly, mine.
"So, what do you need me to do?" I asked when I couldn't stand the silence a moment longer.
He seemed to have won something with that, judging by his slightly smug look that wasn't quite a smile. I guessed he'd wanted me to ask.
"Help me acquire a piece for my collection. It is, unfortunately, not for sale, or I would obtain it through legal means. A museum piece. You simply need to provide access. My people will get you in and out. It shouldn't take long, for one of your skill."
"No offense, but how do you know my skill level? Maybe museum security is beyond me."
He gave me a condescending look. "The reports said opening locks was so easy for you, you didn't even realize you were doing it. I think we can safely assume it won't be a problem for you."
So, he had access to the earliest reports. Definitely a leak at the ESRB, then.
Stealing something from a museum sounded a lot less terrible than some of the things I'd been imagining him asking — like helping mass murderers escape, or trying to hack into government databases (even considering that I probably couldn't do that anyway, which didn't scare me any less), or helping to steal all the gold in the treasury. Museum shit was...well, not quite as pressing an outrage. Sure, it wasn't good to help steal it, but to save my life and protect my family? You bet your ass I'd help with that. It wasn't even a moral dilemma at this point for me.
"And, um," I ventured. "What about afterwards? Do I have any guarantee I'm going to live through this job? I'll do it if that's what keeps me alive, but if I'm going to die either way..." I let my voice trail off and shrugged. What's the point, basically, of helping you, you old bastard, if you're just going to kill me? Don't think I missed the fact that he'd let me see his face.
He laughed — actually laughed — like my train of thought was funny, damn him. "Of course you'll survive. And you'll be in my good books. You're hardly naïve enough to take my word for that, but let's look at things logically. You, young man, have a rare talent. I'm hardly likely to murder you after getting what I want, am I? Aside from anything else, you could be useful in the future."
"So, you're just going to keep me here?" My voice might have risen to a squeak.
"Not necessarily," he said soothingly. "After you complete this job, we shall see what we shall see. I'm certainly open to letting you earn more freedom, and it should be noted that I pay those in my employ well. Obviously, the circumstances of our meeting are not, shall we say, ideal, but in general, I would much prefer to use the carrot than the stick to conduct my business arrangements." He looked at me weighingly. "Especially, I should say, with a young man such as yourself. You seem amenable to the finer things in life, and far too...breakable for baser methods of persuasion."
I shuddered. I'd rather avoid being tortured, yes, thanks. I dared to say more. "So, what you mean is, I work for you from now on. One way or another."
"I wouldn't use those words, exactly."
I looked at him. I felt like I was going to lose the (excellent) breakfast I'd eaten just a short time ago.
He shrugged lightly. "I can hardly let you go back to them, can I? Apart from anything else, it would be a waste."
I wondered why he hadn't asked for a demonstration of my talent. Did he believe his source that much, that there wasn't even any need? Or maybe he thought he'd look weak if he showed interest.
"They no doubt told you they'd give you an exciting career, but how many exciting careers are there for a talent such as yours? You must admit, it will be far more lucrative as well as interesting working for me. And I take care of my own. You will have plenty of leisure. I'm sure we can even find a way to get you back in contact with your family at some point. After all, they would want the best for you, I'm sure."
I knew I should just shut up, but I had so many questions! "That sounds great," I admitted. "But what about when you ask me to do something really...awful? I mean, I don't care if a museum loses something. Maybe I should, but I really don't. But what if — if you ask me to do something really awful that I just can't do? Are you going to threaten my family every time something like that happens? It's fine to say you prefer the carrot to the stick, but you're using both pretty heavily right now, sir."
He smiled again, damn him. "Moral concerns. How intriguing. But I'm sure we can cross that bridge when we come to it. What makes you think I'm going to ask you to do morally reprehensible things? Surely, there is plenty of less than legitimate lock opening that would not, say, murder orphans and widows."
He was being sarcastic, but I tried to see through it to what he meant underneath. I frowned at him a little, not really understanding.
He just looked at me expectantly, still wearing that slightly amused expression.
"I don't get it," I admitted.
"Really. It's not that difficult. You are a useful tool to me, but you are a tool. I would rather have a long-term working relationship that works to both our advantages than immediately try to push you past whatever artificial boundaries you've constructed in your head for yourself. I am a businessman. I'm not evil. I bend the rules, but I am not whatever you're thinking I am."
I bet you are, I thought. If you kidnap people to make them work for you, I bet you're into sex trafficking and getting people hooked on drugs and all kinds of shit. But I didn't say anything.
He sighed. "This is not the conversation I expected us to be having," he admitted. "Very well. I promise you I won't ask you to do anything you find morally objectionable, at least not without having a good long discussion with you first, to hear about why you object, exactly. Fair enough?"
"Yes," I mumbled, because I suddenly realized I might be pushing him too far with my questions and concerns. I ducked my head. "This isn't how I thought my life would go," I said, kicking at the ground a little, disgruntled. I didn't want to be his new "tool." Or employee, or any of it.
"Yes, but you thought you'd be working at a bookstore for the rest of your life," he said, not unkindly. "This might be an unexpected turn, but not necessarily a turn for the worse."
I shrugged, because he might be right, however little I wanted to admit it, but so much depended on him to prove that. I was still (rightfully) frightened of him, but maybe he'd keep his word and treat me more like an employee than a captive he could torture into doing his bidding. It was gross to work for someone like this, but I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter if I wanted to stay alive, and keep my family alive, and keep us all from being "persuaded" by "other methods."
He was still a horrible man. I didn't have to be a psychic to know that, and I felt gross for going along with it, but making a deal with the devil was my ticket to survival right now. And who knows, if I survived long enough, maybe there'd be a way out. Besides, if he really was only going to ask me to do things that didn't totally violate my conscience, maybe I could stand it — for a little while.
Sure, stealing from a museum wasn't ethical, but I could think of much worse he might have asked instead. And if he was willing to indulge me a bit, and considered me valuable, I had at least that much wiggle room for surviving and not helping him commit mass murder or something.
I'm not saying I was convinced that this would be a better life than working in a bookstore — I definitely wasn't — but depending on how he treated me, the things he asked from me
, and whether there was a chance of escape — well, he might not be far wrong, either.
I thought of Neal with a little pang. Neal wouldn't give in so easily. But I wasn't Neal, and I had to do what I could to survive. Maybe he'd still rescue me. Maybe the ESRB would find out where I'd been taken and intervene before I had to bargain my life and skills away to this man walking so serenely next to me. But they seemed very far away, and that possibility had to rank on the low side, whatever ratings scale you used.
#
The museum was dark inside — and I mean completely dark. They'd cut the power, somehow or other, although there was still the telltale glow of cameras here and there, working off independent power sources.
I was here with three masked stealth artists, two women and one man. I wasn't provided with a mask, and don't think that escaped my notice. The cameras had a record of me now; I was the one who would be easily identified and sent to jail, if caught.
They had me open the front door to the museum to keep things speedy, I suppose. I really wished I'd had more training with Dr. Julia. I still couldn't tell when I was using my unlocking power and when things were just conveniently open. The door opened as if it had been left unlocked, no state of the art security locks or anything like that in place at all.
I was all turned around, never having been to this museum (although I probably would have been turned around even if I had been). I'd gotten to look at maps, of course, and they'd talked me through the whole thing, but in the moment, I felt less than useless.
They got me in and to the right room in record time after that. I had to open another door, and then one more, and we were finally standing in front of a glass display case, classy-looking and most definitely locked.
This room held Egyptian artifacts. I was not altogether surprised when the display case proved to house a single tiny mummy. It was either a child or a cat; I couldn't tell in the dark. Either way: creepy. I didn't manage to suppress my shudder. So, he collected dead stuff. Great. I mean, I don't know what I had been expecting.
I was the only one of us breathing hard. Even with my exercise recently, I wasn't as in shape as they were. Besides, I was nervous as hell. "This is it?" I whispered.
One of the women nodded. We had only the light of their powerful flashlights, but I was sure that was enough for me to show up on the expensive security cameras. I wished I could smash them all. How would my family live with the shame of this? I hoped they knew, or could guess, that I was doing this at least partly for them.
She nudged me to get on with it. I took a deep breath and opened the display case. She pushed past me and gently drew out the small mummy, cradling it in her gloved hands with tender care.
The man motioned for us to go. They started off, and I followed along, trying not to stumble. I felt lightheaded and terrified. This was it, I realized. If Hoss meant to keep his word or not. They could shoot me in the back of the head now, and there was nothing I could do about it. He had what he wanted — if the mummy was all he wanted.
The man beckoned me to hurry up, and when I tripped over my own feet, he came back for me, gripped my upper arm and hauled me along with a strength that made me wince.
We went out a back entrance marked Fire Exit. I opened that door, too, and we were gone as the alarm began to ring behind us.
We hopped into a van waiting for us, and the mummy was placed reverently in a box with something soft in it. The van pulled sedately away. I kept trying to watch their faces, what I could see past the masks, waiting nervously for one of them to pull a gun and blam. But nobody did. They barely paid attention to me.
I was one of them now, I realized. Legally culpable for the theft of a mummy. I'd just had my very own night at a museum, I thought, suppressing a crazed laugh. Not how I'd imagined it would go, when I was a kid and half in love with those movies. There hadn't even been any naughty monkeys.
And now I'm a criminal. I stared dully at the box with the mummy in it. Was it worth it? I had to hope so. I had to believe it, if only to get through this.
I remembered reading that there were lots and lots of stolen Egyptian artifacts on the black market lately, and more disappearing all the time. I'd been shocked anyone could get away with that, to be honest. And now I was part of that illicit trade. What fun.
We holed up in a small apartment after that, and I wasn't allowed to show my face outside for three days. After that, we went on a sedate drive out of town and returned quite at leisure to the ranch.
Hoss congratulated me on a job well done. "This will be the pride of my collection," he assured me, looking quite pleased.
Yeah. Till you find something else you want me to help you steal.
I felt dirty, but I kept my mouth shut. I'd done what I had to. Now I had to live with it.
At least we hadn't hurt anybody, I told myself. And even the mummy hadn't been harmed; the rightful owners might get it back someday. I sure felt icky, stealing a mummy, though. What if it was cursed? Was that a real thing? I wouldn't have said so, but then I wouldn't have said I'd have some kind of special power and spend my time stealing mummies, either.
"I'm going to pay you for this job even though I promised you nothing," he told me. "Just to show you I'll keep my end of the bargain."
I wanted to tell him he shouldn't. That I'd much rather be free, thanks, and if he could see his way to escorting me off the ranch and waving goodbye, I'd take that instead. The words caught in my throat. The last thing I wanted to do was piss him off. Instead, I meekly acquiesced, and that was how I found myself with my first offshore bank account, filled with untraceable bills.
Maybe I was an asshole. Maybe I was evil. The first thing I did was pay off those vulture college-loan sharks. I sent a check for the entire amount, nearly emptying the account. After that, I bought myself a whole stack of books, a cute swimsuit, and a nice pair of sunglasses.
Dammit, apparently crime did pay. I was upset and moody for a few days, but I sure enjoyed those books, lounging by the pool as I read and read and read to my heart's content. And I sure enjoyed the feeling of not having those loans on my back, even if I now was a wanted man instead.
#
As supervillain bosses went, I could have had much worse than Hoss. He never showed the sordid side of his business to me; he kept me in a strictly need-to-know position. I didn't need or want to know most of what he got up to, I was sure. I felt guilty enough about my part in all of it already.
Every once in a while, he had something he wanted me to steal. Generally, artifacts of one sort or another — he seemed to be going through an Egyptian phase, so mostly that sort of thing — and more often from private collectors than museums. (I'm pretty sure, from context and things he dropped, that a lot of the items were already stolen and never got reported as missing at all.) It never took very long, in and out with a group of trained experts. It was easy, with my ability, to get through any security system. I was never sent alone.
Mostly, I didn't have anything I had to do, and amused myself as I saw fit. I swam, worked out a lot, lounged around, walked, enjoyed the splendors of the ranch, and read a mountain of books. I even learned to ride a horse, which I enjoyed a lot more than I had thought I would.
When one of his greyhounds was retired from racing, he let me keep it as a pet. It slept on my bed every night, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't find a great deal of comfort in the gentle dog's presence. He was tall and sleek and beautiful, and very fast, and I named him Smokey, because of his soft gray fur.
I almost never cried myself to sleep, but when I did, my dog was there to be held and to lick my tears away.
I missed my family. I missed not being a criminal. But I managed to keep it together around Hoss and the staff, and I got through my grief.
I mourned for the life I would never have now. The regular, dull, scraping-by, bored but free life I missed more than I could say. If I could have given my ability back in exchange, I would have.
During a dinner party wi
th (I'm sure) other gangsters and such in attendance, Hoss decided to show off, and brought me out to do my party trick. He was somewhat tipsy at the time, since a great deal of Scotch was going around the room, and I'm not going to lie: I was scared. Really scared, with all those dangerous men watching me intently.
But I did it. I opened all the locks he told me to, showing myself off like a trophy till he waved me away and told me I could have a drink if I wanted. I managed — just — not to run from the room. I could almost feel some of them coveting me, like I was another thing to possess, to collect and own. It freaked me out. But normally he didn't do anything like that, and left me alone.
Except when there was a job to do.
The jobs varied, but they were always stealing physical items. Fortunately, he didn't ask me to hack into anything, either because he didn't know that was even possible, or because he knew I couldn't do it. I certainly wasn't about to ask and give him any ideas. If he thought I could be convinced or trained to do such a thing, I'm sure the dollar signs behind his eyes would've overcome any qualms about using the stick, and he'd probably have ended up torturing me, because there was no way I could figure out how to do that. I didn't even know how I was doing the lock thing.
I practiced sometimes, trying to follow what Dr. Julia had been trying to teach me, to focus and pay attention and really sense when I was using my ability.
I didn't get anywhere.
He paid me after each job I did, although not as much as the first time. He gave me a clothing allowance when he decided I was looking too sloppy, and told me to get a better haircut while I was at it.
I was allowed off the ranch now, if accompanied by a bodyguard, and I had an assumed name and identification, all very high quality.
Sometimes I went on shopping sprees, relishing the feeling of freedom that mindless spending gave me, if only for a little while.
Occasionally, I was allowed to call my family. They spoke on the phone very carefully to me, asking if I was safe, not hinting that they knew what I'd done to protect myself and them. They had to know, though. They had to.
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