Saint Heist

by W H Lock

  "Technically LA County ends about forty-five feet in front of the gate, so it's in San Bernardino County. The only way to get to the estate is through LA County, so he rarely hears from the County he actually lives in. And their ghouls, not zombies."

  "That's worse. Ghouls are worse. I hate ghouls."

  "Ghouls and birds? What did birds ever do to you?"

  "Birds are tiny little dinosaurs that just look cute to lull you into a false sense of security then Bam!" Quinn made one hand claw-like and raked the air in front of him.

  In spite of herself, Gwen snorted at Quinn's antics. She coughed to give herself a moment to stop laughing and said, "So what's it going to take to get you in and out of there?"

  "You're kidding me, right? He's got self-aware cannibalistic undead guards patrolling the grounds, which means they can't be fooled by illusions. He's got human guards, which means you can't distract them with a random pile of steak and or a corpse. And that's just the shit we can see. We can't look long enough to see what else he's got wrapping that place up. I shudder at what might be inside the house itself."

  Gwen crossed her arms in front of her and said, "So the guy who ripped off the Great Dragon of Cleveland for how much? $4 million, wasn't it? That guy can't crack this nut?"

  "I didn't say it couldn't be done. I mean, to get in through those walls will take demo that you could hear for miles. So that's out. The Ghouls will see through illusions. The humans won't fall for random piles of raw meat suddenly showing up. That's not even dealing with the wards that guy has layered all over the place. What are those, anyway? I'm no expert on wards, but that's some arcane shit he's got going on there. Fort Knox is a cake walk compared to that place!"

  "So you're saying you can't do it? I thought you were the greatest thief in the world."

  "Oh, I didn't say that. It can be done. I'm just going to need a few things."

  "Like what?"

  "Money. A lot of money."

  "Money? Why would you need money?"

  "This may come as a surprise, but criminals don't work for free. I'll need a bankroll for this."

  "Okay. What else?"

  "A team."

  "A team?"

  "A team," Quinn said with a grin.

  Chapter Five

  Atlantic City, New Jersey

  Tropicana Casino & Hotel

  Quinn liked Atlantic City for that nostalgic feeling of the boardwalk. The Boardwalk was a stretch of real estate in New Jersey that had inspired a classic board game about money and countless songs about falling in love. When he came here, Quinn often wondered what it would have been like to walk the boards lined with confection shops, dressmakers, hotels and souvenir stands. The place had gone to crap when they legalized gambling, but then it did make things easier for guys like Quinn.

  The Boardwalk Casinos were dangerous. Atlantic City was under the protection of Felodrath Longtail, the Dragon of New York. To try to make any move here without giving her a cut or getting her permission ahead of time meant a short life.

  But the normal person wouldn't catch wind of any of that. The casinos did everything they could to make sure that Ma and Pa Kettle felt comfortable and safe on their trip to southern New Jersey. Places like the Tropicana in Atlantic City worked hard to make you forget the modern world existed outside the doors. The New Jersey Tropicana was built to look like the boardwalk from its heyday in the late 19th Century. There small stores with straw thatched roofs under a ceiling painted like the sky, herringbone wooden slats for the floor, flickering gas lamps, and a fountain in an open space made to look like the town square in a small town in Cuba from the 1930’s.

  Quinn and Gwen wandered through the casino. They were dressed like tourists. Which meant that Gwen wore a sundress cut from the same pattern as Quinn's overly large shirt. As they meandered through the casino, Quinn saw something that caught his eye.

  "Hey!" Gwen said as Quinn suddenly veered off to stop at a small hat shop.

  Quinn took a straw fedora off the rack and put it on his head while grinning at Gwen. "What do you think," he asked.

  "I think you shouldn't wear hats," Gwen said.

  The cashier inside the store poorly suppressed a snort of laughter.

  Quinn didn't seem to care as he looked at himself in the mirror. A Spanish guitar strummed to life over the nearby speakers. Quinn perked up and smiled. He straightened up, and struck a pose of a Flamenco dancer with one hand above his head, and the other waist high with the palm turned up. He stomped with one foot, three times. The clicking sound of his shoes echoed out of the store, despite the fact that he was wearing canvas tennis shoes.

  "No," Gwen said, her voice rising with a touch of panic. "No, don't do this. I take it back. You look amazing with that hat on. Did I say amazing? I meant fantastic! Now let's put it back and- no, you know what? I'll buy it for you."

  But it was too late. Quinn snapped his fingers in a complex pattern in time with the music while holding his body perfectly still. Then the feet moved. First slowly but with increasing speed to match the pace of the song and the driving rhythm of the snapping, Quinn danced out of the store. Then with a dash, Quinn slid out on his knees into the area around the fountain. Just as he came to a stop, he jumped to his feet, his snapping never losing time with the guitar coming through the speakers. With an effortless bound, Quinn jumped to stand on the fountain's edge.

  A crowd gathered around Quinn in a large circle. Quinn danced the Flamenco in time with the guitar and his own snapping, the staccato tapping of his feet on the fountain tiles driven by the rhythm of the song. He spun himself around the circle, his feet moved furiously as he kept his upper body rock steady. As he danced, it seemed more and more to everyone there that they had somehow been transported to a different time and place. They could feel the summer heat of Havana in 1930's Cuba, smell the dust on the wind, and hear the leaves of the palm trees move in the wind.

  The furious tempo of the song drove Quinn to faster and faster twirls, and his feet became a blur. His face was drenched in sweat, but it never lost the fierce power of a Flamenco dancer. And just as the song ended, Quinn jumped, throwing himself into the air and pulling the hat from his head. At the height of his jump, he threw it back at the store where he had first tried it on. The crowd watched as the white straw fedora lopsidedly spun through the air. It gently turned on its side and curved right into the waiting hands of the cashier.

  And then the spell was broken. They were back at the Tropicana in New Jersey. The crowd erupted in applause. Basking in the acclaim and out of breath, Quinn bowed with a flourish. Just as he stood up to take a second bow, Gwen pushed her way through the crowd and grabbed him by the hand. She pulled him through the now laughing crowd.

  "Hey!" Quinn said as she pulled him along. He waved to the now dispersing crowd.

  "I can't believe you did that! Why would you do that! Now everyone around here will remember us! This is not acceptable! I thought I was working with a professional."

  Quinn dug his heels in, coming to a stop as Gwen kept walking. She turned around when their hands separated.

  "Look, no one is going to remember a thing."

  "Really? They're not going to remember a man wildly dancing and then suddenly being transported to Cuba?!? They're not going to remember that?"

  "No, they'll remember that. I hope they remember that. That was hard! Did you see how many turns I worked into that twirl around the crowd?" Quinn looked back at the hat shop with a tinge of regret. He said, "Although, I missed with the hat. That was awful. Ray was right about fedoras."

  "You missed with the hat? Ray? Who's Ray...wait...," a light dawned in Gwen's green eyes. "You meant to throw the hat back on the hat rack, didn't you?"

  Quinn flushed with embarrassment.

  Gwen laughed and then tried to snap back to angry professional. She didn't quite make it. "Look," she said stepping close until their foreheads were almost touching. "We can't afford to be seen or noticed. What we're doing here is ve
ry against departmental policies."

  "No one will remember us, not really. What they'll remember is a husband that did a crazy thing to try and impress his wife," Quinn said as he took her hand in his. He reached up and brushed some of her golden hair behind her ear. "They'll tell their friends about it and years from now they'll say to each other 'Oh, honey, remember when we went to the Tropicana and we saw that guy dancing? We should go learn how to do that!', that's what they'll say. They'll tell their friends that it was just like being in Puerto Rico or Cuba or wherever that place is supposed to be from. And their friends will come here hoping to have the same kind of fun. Is that so bad?"

  Something in Gwen let go, just a little, and she sighed a small amount. After a moment she said, "I guess not. But, in the future, if you could restrain yourself from any further extemporaneous displays of dancing skill, I would appreciate it."

  Quinn smiled at her with his 10,000-megawatt smile and said, "Of course!"

  They stopped at the large lounge area in the Tropicana next to the blackjack tables. Quinn got them seats at a small table, away from the front of the room.

  "Wait here," Quinn said. "I'll find Oscar, and meet him over there." Quinn pointed to another set of booths. "Don't look at us or pay attention to us, but make sure you can be seen by him. He'll want to get a good look at you before he agrees to anything."

  "Where do you think he's at? And how are you sure he's here?"

  "Oh, he hates the Tropicana. All this nonsense about the atmosphere. It really pisses him off," Quinn said.

  "Then why would he be here?"

  "I think because he really likes taking this casino's money. But I could be wrong. I'll check a few spots and then go from there. Shouldn't be long."

  Quinn left Gwen in the lounge and headed straight for the poker tables. He had checked in with the network of people like himself, a loose affiliation of con artists. They had all said the same thing; Oscar was in New Jersey at the Tropicana. If Oscar was in the Tropicana, and everyone said he was here, then he'd be playing poker. Quinn made his way to the poker tables. The poker tables were kept deep inside the casino. Not because the casino was trying to hide the game from the public. The casinos kept the poker tables deep inside to keep the players from noticing the passage of time.

  It was there, buried deep in the heart of the casino that Quinn found Oscar. Oscar leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his brown hair. He smiled at the other men hunched over the table. As always, Oscar worked to blend in with whatever crowd he was with. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled tightly down around his eyes. A slightly tattered fraternity t-shirt, khaki shorts, and flipflops. Unlike everyone else at the table, he had a significant pile of chips in front of him.

  Quinn casually strolled by the table, making sure to be in Oscar's eye line. Just as Quinn walked directly across from Oscar, Quinn looked past him and tapped his nose. Oscar didn't give any sign that he'd seen Quinn or recognized the gesture. Quinn kept walking and made his way back to the lounge where he'd left Gwen. Quinn ignored her and took a seat at the bar. He didn't have to wait long.

  Oscar came in slowly as if he had just discovered there was a bar here, but he wasn't sure what sort of bar it was or whether or not they would ask to see his ID. When nothing popped out at him, he pulled off the sunglasses and the hat. He ran a hand through his curly brown hair and said, "Quinn, you son of a bitch, how the Hell have you been?"

  "Oscar!" Quinn shouted back across the bar.

  The two men hugged and slapped each other's backs enthusiastically.

  Quinn nodded back at the bar and said, "Let me buy you a drink, man!"

  "Prison really suited you, Quinn. Did you lose weight?" Oscar asked as they sat down.

  Quinn nodded, "Not really. I like to think I leaned up rather than lost weight. Blackrock has a great workout room, and I got a key early on, so I had plenty of private access."

  "Well," Oscar held up his glass of whiskey, "you look great. But, let's be honest here, okay? You deserved to go."

  Quinn turned to his friend and looked hurt.

  "If you'd had me along, it never would have gone down like that, and you know it." Oscar raised his glass up to mark his point and took another drink. Quinn didn't say anything in response.

  "So who's the skirt doing a terrible job of ignoring us and what's the job?"

  "You in?"

  "What's the take?"

  "A longbeard has a thing. We need to get the thing."

  Oscar didn't seem all that impressed. "What's the play?"

  "Well, about that," Quinn said.

  Chapter Six

  Los Angeles, California

  The Foothills

  Oscar held the binoculars up to his eyes and said, "Now, wait...are those zombies?!? Hey, is that a Red Tailed Hawk? Look at it fly!" He followed the flight of a native bird for a few moments. After a moment he stopped following the bird, lowered the binoculars and said, "That's insidious."

  "Right? How's it working at this range? What's it like when you get close? Do you forget why you were there? How does he get packages delivered?" Quinn asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and kicked a rock off the side of the road. It tumbled down the steep canyon wall into the bush.

  The two men were close in age and size. Quinn was the shorter of the two and thinner. He took off the sport coat and draped it over his shoulder. His pale skin seemed to resist any attempts to tan, and his black hair had jumped ship on being styled some time ago.

  By comparison, Oscar was tan and well-muscled. Oscar had gotten rid of the eternal Frat boy image and wore a white button shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a red tie tucked into a tightly buttoned herringbone vest. It had the effect of making Oscar even wider and more muscled than he really was. His hair was neatly cut now and held immovably in place with product.

  "Who's the skirt and why does she want us to steal it?"

  "Does it matter? She's offering us a lot of money plus whatever we can squeeze from him," Quinn nodded down in the valley to the house below them.

  "Hm," Oscar said. "That's a pretty compelling reason. Yeah. I really do like money."

  Oscar raised the binoculars again to look at the house.

  "What do you think?"

  "I think that those cedar trees are going to play havoc with our allergies if we stay out here much longer!" Oscar lowered the binoculars said, "This is impossible."

  "Well, that's kind of like my thing, isn't it?"

  The two men turned and walked back to the car they'd left parked on the other side of the street. It was a fast little red car with a drop top. They leaned against the car and crossed their arms in an unconscious unison.

  Oscar shook his head and looked off down the road. He finally said, "If we're going to do this, we'll need a greaser. A cracker for all those damn wards. We'll need someone to keep eyes on the place and the mark, but at a distance, so we'll need eyes. Transportation, of course."

  "Sure," Quinn said. "What about Kid Nice for the greaser? He could charm a smile out of a goblin."

  Oscar shook his head, "He's out. Died a few months ago."

  "Damn. I liked him. That's too bad. How did it happen?"

  "Heart attack, I heard. He always had problems with his blood pressure."

  The two men nodded.

  "What about Del? We could get the old squad back together?" Quinn said, trying to keep a note of hope out of his voice. Del and Quinn had a very long and very intense history together.

  Oscar looked down at his feet and shook his head. "She's out. I tried to look her up not long ago, and couldn't catch wind of her anywhere. Word was she's not in the game anymore and that she'd gone back to Japan to be with her mother's people."

  "Damn. I guess when you're half Kitsune you can do stuff like that." After some silence, Quinn said, "What about Freddy McLaren?"

  Oscar cocked his head to one side and thought hard for a moment. Then he said, "He's a vampire right? Curly hair guy?"

  Quinn
nodded. "Last I heard, he was in Portland. How's that for a greaser?"

  "I could do with a vampire to be the grease man. Well, as long as he eats outside the job. Can't have him snacking on us while this is going down."

  Quinn nodded. "You have anyone in mind good enough for those wards?"

  "What about Donnel?"

  "He went straight. He took a job in Taiwan teaching wards at some school. I think he got married too," Quinn said, shifting around. He tossed the jacket into the car.

  "Oh, good for him," Oscar said. "Sounds boring and terrible all at once. What about Femmy the Ghost?"

  Oscar kicked at a rock on the ground. It bounced across the faded country road. He shook his head and said, "He's not coming back to the States. He said that he's just going to work the resorts and casinos in Montenegro. The locals stay bribed apparently."

  "Well, damn." Oscar walked around to the other side of the car. He turned around and said, "That's high roller tourism country too. Nice deep pockets."

  Quinn nodded, "I've always liked Montenegro. You ever make it out to see the Tara River Canyon?"

  Oscar shook his head.

  "It's the world's second deepest canyon. The rafting is amazing," Quinn said as he looked out over the California foothills. He looked back at Oscar, "So, Freddy then?"

  After a moment more of thought, Oscar nodded and said, "Vampires always kind of creep me out but yeah."

  Quinn jumped in the red two-seater and fired the car up. "I feel you on the creepy factor, but at least they're not the Fae. They'll lie to you with nothing but the truth. Nothing is safe with those bastards, not even your shadow."

  Oscar fired a few imaginary finger-gun rounds at Quinn in agreement.

  "Let's go get ourselves a vampire grease-man, Oscar!" Quinn said.

  Chapter Seven

  Portland, Oregon

  Fox River High School

  One of the things that Quinn liked about Portland was how green everything was. It some ways it reminded him of where he'd spent his childhood, but in a good way. Even in the summer, everything looked like it had just rained and the plants were happy to be alive.