Saint Heist

by W H Lock

  Saint Heist

  Urban Fantasy Heist

  W. H. Lock

  Copyright © 2018 by W. H. Lock

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For my Family

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  The Dragon Sting

  The Fiddler’s Dagger

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  USP Blackrock ADMAX

  Florence, Colorado

  Quinn liked Colorado. The mountain mists in the morning were glorious to behold in the Spring. The light from the morning sun turned the dark mists to light purples and grays just before before evaporating them. In the evenings, as the Sun dropped behind the Rocky Mountains, the mists would return but more pastel violet in their colors. Quinn had appreciated the view from his west-facing cell in the year that he had spent at Blackrock Prison.

  Blackrock wasn't the only prison in the United States for the magically enhanced, gifted, and altered citizens but it was the one with the highest level of security. Naturally, as a sorcerer, Quinn had been placed with the Witches, Warlocks, and Magicians. Like most sorcerers, Quinn did not have a magical pedigree to fall back on, but despite this, he'd made a lot of friends on the inside.

  Quinn shuffled into the parole hearing room, his shackled feet scuffing along the floor in a shush-shush-shush sound. He wore the bright orange two piece of a federal prisoner. Despite the top and pants one-size-fits-all, Quinn's had been tailored to his specifications. He had spent some amount of time and influence to be one of the best-dressed inmates in all of Blackrock. He grinned when he saw who was waiting for him on the panel. It was two men and a woman.

  The first man was Dr. Renard James, a renowned criminal psychologist. Dr. Renard had spent his entire career studying the minds of criminals, both magical and mundane, in an attempt to understand the underlying psychological reasonings for defying social norms and expectations. He had written several books, all of which Quinn had read in close detail. Dr. James was a magician in his own right, having trained as a young man at one of the East/West blend colleges in California.

  The second man was Frank Marshal. Frank was a lawyer that worked for the Department of Justice Parole Commission. He represented the Department of Justice in all parole hearings at Blackrock. He wasn't trained in magic, but he'd gained an extensive education about the mystical arts during his time at Blackrock. He was a frequent guest on some of the more obscure cable channels that specialized in legal matters. Quinn had tracked down every recorded appearance of Marshal and watched them as often as he could.

  The third person, the only woman, was not who Quinn was expecting. His research had told him it would be Samantha Parsons, a nun, and social worker. Samantha was a woman in her fifties and fond of wearing her wimple to these hearings.

  However, that's not who was here. The woman sitting in the nun’s place was a blonde woman probably somewhere in her early Thirties. She wore her hair back in a sensible ponytail. She was in all black, with wide lenses black frame glasses. She had only one case file in front of her. Quinn was pretty sure it was his. To Quinn, she seemed like the sort of woman that dressed severely when she worked to hide any sense of beauty.

  "Mr. Quinn," The doctor said. "Are you," he paused and looked over his glasses. "Are you aware of the purpose of this hearing?"

  "Please," Quinn said. "It's just Quinn. No mister, or anything else. Just Quinn."

  The doctor humphed and tapped his silver pen on the folder in front of him. After another long pause on his part, the doctor said, "The purpose of today's hearing is to test your fitness to be released from prison and allowed back into society. To wit; are you likely to engage in further criminal activity or have you come to sincerely regret your actions?"

  "Well, sir," Quinn said, leaning forward. "I--"

  The doctor held his hand up to stop Quinn from speaking further. "Now, if I may, I need to interrupt you to speak to our esteemed guest." The doctor turned to the younger woman at the table. "Ms. Gwendolyn, thank you for joining us this afternoon. I understand that Sister Samantha is quite under the weather and you volunteered to act in her stead today. Hopefully, she is already well on her way to recovery. And thank you for consenting to spend your day with us."

  The blonde woman smiled and said nothing.

  "Now, Mr. Quinn," the doctor waited to see if Quinn would correct him again. When he didn't, the doctor continued, "As I was saying before, we have gathered here today under the auspices of the State and Federal governments to assess your fitness to be returned to the good graces of our free society. How do you feel about this matter? Are you fit to walk amongst decent citizens or should you remain here?"

  Quinn nodded and said, "That's a good question." He considered it for a moment and did one of the things that he was best at; Quinn told a bald-faced lie while using the absolute truth. "If I can drive to the heart of your question, I think what you want to know is am I going to go back to the life I had been living before my arrest?"

  The Doctor nodded.

  Quinn said, “I can honestly say to you, that I won't be going back to that life. I can assure you that if I were to be released on parole here today, my life going forward would be completely different."

  Frank Marshal, the lawyer, leaned forward and said, "You do not have an extensive criminal record, yet I see that you have been arrested numerous times only to be acquitted. Why do you think that is?"

  Quinn turned to look Frank square in the eye and said, "I attribute it to being an impressionable young man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, as you said, I was acquitted."

  Frank Marshal nodded and made a few notes in the case file in front of him.

  The woman that Quinn did not know tapped fingers silently on the table. She looked through the file and asked, "What were you arrested for, Quinn?"

  Quinn smiled at her and said, "I was arrested for several things, ma'am."

  "Yes," she said, leaning forward to read through the file. "I can see that. But you're in a federal prison and the last I checked most of these were state level statutes. Why is that?"

  "As I recall, from the trial, it had to do with crossing state lines? I'm not exactly clear. Those legal things are beyond me." Quinn laughed and shook his head as if to say that he was just a simple country boy who got lost in all that high-minded business.

  The lawyer Frank Marshal leaned forward and said, "Yes, as it involved several jurisdictions and state borders it was decided to pursue a conviction in the federal courts. There was also the consideration of containment. Quinn is a young man but one armed with cer
tain abilities and knowledge that the city of Cleveland or the State of Ohio is unable to deal with."

  Gwenn nodded and said, "Thank you, Frank. However, I would like a clearer answer on what it is you're going to do with your life once you're released."

  There was a long silence.

  "Well," Gwen said. "What do you plan on doing?"

  Quinn shifted in his seat for a moment and considered his answer. He looked between the three members of the parole committee. He appeared to weight several things in his mind deliberately and finally spoke in careful tones. He said, "Let's be honest about who I am and the life that I've led. I have a certain set of skills. Ones that can be used to the detriment of society or to its benefit. I have an opportunity here to take responsibility for who I was," Quinn's eyes flicked to Frank Marshall, "and to be the best man that I can be in the future." He looked briefly at the doctor.

  Both men nodded along with Quinn.

  Doctor James cleared his throat and said, "Mister Quinn," he held up his hand when Quinn started to interrupt him and repeat that he only had the one name. "Please, I have a few things that I'd like to say. First, son, you should get yourself a respectable last name. While it might be fun to run around with your pals out there on the streets using only one name, good people in this world have three names. If you find yourself unable to select a few, I suggest that you head to your nearest church and find yourself a good woman. I'm sure she'll let you borrow her last name until such time as you can decide on one for yourself. Secondly, I have to say that I find myself appreciative of the attitude that you have shown towards your past, and more importantly, to the disposition of your future. If other young men, whether gifted in the magical arts such as yourself or in some other supernatural capacity such as a werebreed or a vampire took such a concerted effort to examine their lives and take charge of them, I have no doubt these prisons and hearings would be unnecessary. I believe I have enough information in order to make a decision. Frank? Ms. Gwendolyn?"

  Frank Marshal waved his hand as if he were brushing away any further questions he might have.

  Doctor James turned back to the blond woman, "Ms. Gwendolyn. Do you have any further questions you'd like to ask Mister Quinn?"

  "Yes," she said. "What do you plan on doing once you're released from Blackrock?"

  Quinn ducked his head as if he were a bashful little boy and said, "You know, as cliché as it sounds, I'd just like a simple steak. Maybe some fried onion strings on top."

  "Do you plan on stealing anything once you get out, Quinn?" Her voice was soft, but the intent behind it was as sharp as any prison shiv.

  "Ma'am," Quinn said with absolute honesty, "I don't plan on stealing anything. Ever."

  Chapter Two

  Bellagio Casino & Hotel

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Ray Howard had been a tailor for the whole of his adult life. He had learned the trade from his father. The Howards had been tailors for generations. Ray had come out to Las Vegas in the Eighties as a young man with the idea that he would make suits for gamblers. Things had gone well for Ray. He'd made a lot of odd things in his time.

  He'd made a suit for a gambler that the lapels of the jacket and the seam of the pants were lined with LED's that strobed in sequence. He'd turned down a request to make a pair of pants that could be pulled open quickly to reveal a man's crotch. He'd even made a suit to look like an ugly Christmas sweater. But he'd never seen this.

  He'd been summoned to the Bellagio Hotel, the Presidential Suite. That wasn't unusual. He had a standing contract with the hotel to be available for their high-end clientele. He'd made journeys like this several times a year. It wasn't the youth of the man who'd asked to be fitted for a suit, his tousled black hair, or his startlingly blue eyes. It also wasn't unusual that the client had requested that Ray bring several wide and short-brimmed hats to go with the suit.

  What was unusual was watching the young man who'd insisted that Ray call him Quinn perform a series of dance moves and then test that aerodynamic qualities of each hat. Quinn would perform the same series of movies with each hat, including the move where he leaned forward out ahead of his own feet at what looked like an impossible angle. He would finish by pulling the hat off and throwing it land on a coat rack peg. So far he'd failed miserably. Every single hat the young man had thrown had missed by wide margins.

  Finally, Ray said, "Sir,--"

  Quinn looked up and held up a hand and started to say, "Hey, no, call me--"

  Ray nodded and said, "Quinn, if I may make a suggestion. The traditional fedora isn't really suited for this sort of thing. The larger crown with the large folds at the top, the uneven weight will always pull the hat off course. I think a felt Pork Pie hat would be perfect. The felt will give it a good weight and the symmetrical fold, and short brim won't pull it in a particular direction." Rey dug through the hat trunk very quickly and pulled out a black felt Pork Pie hat. He gave it a quick snap and handed it over to Quinn.

  The young man went through the dance moves again. Ray, having spent decades in Vegas had seen nearly countless professional dancers, was almost impressed by the dancing skills of the young man. What he lacked in polish, he made up for in sheer enthusiasm. When he got to the end, he whipped the hat off and tossed it at the coat rack. The hat spun through the air, turning slightly on its side as it arced towards the coat rack's outstretched knobs.

  And missed.

  The hat fell to the ground and rolled along its edge in a circle before settling down, crown side up.

  "Hey," Quinn said with a grin. "That was a lot closer this time!"

  Ray nodded and quickly marked that on his notebook.

  Quinn laughed and turned back to Ray. "Now, I'll take two of the cashmere made-to measures and the worsted wool you suggested," Quinn said. He stripped off the fitting jacket that Ray had him try on. "Oh, and the extra gusset you suggested for the pants is a great idea. Let's do that."

  Ray nodded and made more notes in his small book.

  "And I was hoping to get something tonight. Do you have anything in a White tux jacket and black pants?"

  Without batting an eye, Ray said, "Were you thinking Casablanca, Temple of Doom, or Goldfinger?"

  "Well, I had been thinking Temple of Doom but I kind of sense you have an opinion?"

  Ray coughed politely and said, "If I may, sir, all three are not tuxedo jackets. They're an ivory dinner jacket. The jacket in Casablanca is double breasted with a 4-on-1 stance of white plastic buttons. The white shawl lapels are self-faced, and the shoulders are padded out with roped sleeve heads with a ventless back."

  Quinn nodded.

  "By comparison, the jacket in Goldfinger has self-facing peaked lapels, with a single button front closure. It also has four mother of pearl buttons on each sleeve with a ventless back."

  After a moment of silence, Quinn asked, "What about the Temple of Doom outfit?"

  "Single-breasted with a single covered button on the front. Wide silk-faced lapels with angels extend out to the shoulder pads and roped sleeve heads. This jacket is also ventless and has four mother of pearl buttons on the sleeves. The actual jacket in the movie has silk fronts for the lapels. This isn't traditional in a dinner jacket, but I believe it was made that way for the camera rather than authenticity. Unlike the previous outfits, this should come with a black low-rise formal vest that itself has wide shawl lapels and no pockets."

  "Wow," Quinn said. "Seems like I asked the right guy. I would have just gone with a white tuxedo jacket and gotten it all wrong! I'm glad you're here to set me straight, Ray. Which one would you recommend?"

  "What activities do you plan for tonight?"

  "Well, nothing too intense. I was going to play some blackjack, have a nice steak dinner, and then get some sleep."

  "In that case, I wouldn't recommend the Casablanca jacket. The shawl lapels would make someone of your stature look even shorter."

  Quinn unconsciously tried to stand a little bit taller.

&n
bsp; "I would go with the jacket from Goldfinger but use the short collar shirt with black studs from Temple of Doom. It's a lighter material and fewer layers so you'll stay cool but not have to worry about getting cold. I assume you'll be needing the pants and shoes?"

  "Yeah, that would be great. I only have the one pair."

  Ray nodded. He didn't care enough to find out why someone of Quinn's apparently means would only have the one pair of black pants with him.

  "How long until you think you'll have something put together for me?"

  Ray said, "I can have one sent to your room in the next hour or so. Will that be soon enough?" Roy kept a stock of these sorts of suits to meet requests of this nature. It never ceased to amaze him how many men wanted to wear a white tuxedo jacket over black pants. Ray felt that if you were going to wear the suit from a movie, you should wear it properly or not at all.

  "That would be fantastic, Ray. I really appreciate this. Can you charge it to my room?"

  "My services are on retainer with the casino and hotel, sir. It's a part of your package service" Ray said without any inflection. The casino paid him a significant amount of money each month to be on call for its special guests.

  "That's fantastic! Whatever it is they're paying, it's not enough," Quinn said with a wide smile.

  Ray signaled to his nephew and oldest grandson to pack up the trunks of fabric and test jackets and pants. As they rolled the trunks down the hall towards the service elevator, Ray decided to include the red carnation for the lapel. Normally he didn't include it for customers, but he'd found something he liked in Quinn. It wasn't often that Ray had found a client having as much fun as Quinn was having. As they were leaving, Ray heard the young man whoop with excitement. Looking back as the door closed, Ray watched as Quinn executed a high kick that fell into splits only to come back up again in one smooth movement. The young man clapped his hands together in an odd fashion, and music began to play from somewhere. The young man sang along with the songs in the same way that he danced; a bit of natural talent that was elevated by sheer enthusiasm.