A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  Marcey set her coffee down. Her fingers trembled. Had she been discovered? How would she play this?

  “Americano small?”

  Kim took the to-go cup from the barista and flashed him one of those disingenuous smiles—the look all girls perfect sometime in their mid-teens. She turned toward Marcey, a slow smile easing onto her lips. Marcey fumbled with her coffee, sloshing it all over the saucer and bar.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Marcey Daniels,” Kim said. She sidled over to where Marcey sat, her coffee steaming. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Marcey answered, gathering up her papers as quickly as could seem casual. “I thought your goal was to get as far away from that store as you could possibly arrange.”

  Kim’s lips pursed into a thin line. “That was a long time ago. A lot’s changed since then.”

  Marcey hurried to put her papers away in her bag and then straightened. “I’ll say. Where did you end up going to school? I know you had an offer from MIT.”

  Sitting down opposite Marcey, Kim fiddled with her coffee cup. “Didn’t go,” she answered. “Wasn’t worth it. I had a better-paying gig.”

  “What? Really?” Marcey grinned. “That’s awesome. Who you working for now, then? I’m still stuck at my mom’s. Went to Binghamton, studied statistics.” This conversation, stilted thought it was, was a familiar thing for Marcey. She’d lost touch with most of her classmates after high school. These occasional run-ins were filled with nearly a decade of catching up and remembering why she’d resolved, at eighteen, to never speak to any of these people again.

  Oddly, she’d never thought about Kim that way. Kim was different, a friend but not a friend. Now she just looked exhausted. Her phone buzzed. She ignored the call, fixing Marcey with her hollow stare. “That sounds boring as fuck.”

  “Eh, it’s not so bad. I get to enjoy the nepotism of it all, I guess. I was thinking about quitting. New gig’s come up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Marcey nodded. “Working with some new folks on a project that could net a good bit of cash. I just have to pick the right people.”

  “Sounds like you’re in my line of work,” Kim commented, just a little tentatively. “Gigs are great, until you end up stuck at your parents’ because of the lingering problems of a government-mandated dry spell.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Well, I don’t really mind it. My mom was sick until recently. She died about a year and a half ago.”

  “Christ, I’m sorry,” Marcey said. She knew when Kim had been in prison. That was right around the middle of her sentence. “Were you, um…able to be there?”

  “No,” Kim said sharply. “Some bitch lawyer made sure I couldn’t. It’s water under the bridge now, I suppose. Helping out my dad keeps the cops off my back and makes me look good, I suppose. But, oh my God, I am so sick of bookstores and their dumb bookstore bullshit.” Kim sipped her coffee. She gestured to her phone. “This guy? He’s doing some sort of aid work with a bunch of Japanese ex-pats in northern Nigeria and wants Japanese language books shipped directly to Lagos, despite the fact that he can’t afford the shipping and the NGO won’t pony up for the cash to ship that and their other supplies in.” Her phone buzzed again. “Now he won’t stop calling me.”

  “That’s…damn, Kim, that’s horrible.”

  “Yeah, talk about needing a change of scenery. Too bad I’m stuck here.”

  Marcey dug in her pocket and produced a crumpled receipt. This was a casual in, a way to tell Kim to start digging. “I heard you had a run-in with Linda Johnson.” She dropped her voice low. “My mom saw it in the paper a few years back. I kept meaning to come down here and offer to buy you a drink so we can commiserate about that awful woman.” She wrote her number down on the paper and passed it over to Kim. “I can come by, maybe some other time?”

  “Is this you trying to pick me up?” Kim winked.

  “No.” Marcey shook her head. “This is just me trying to be friendly.”

  Kim pocketed the number. “I just may take you up on that offer.” She checked the time on her phone. “But I need to go back. The papers will be arriving soon and I have to get them out.” Kim got to her feet. “It was nice seeing you, Marcey.”

  “You too,” Marcey answered. She held out her hand, and Kim took it. “Be seeing you.”

  Kim turned and left, and Marcey was left staring after her, utterly confused. Was she still in the game? Was she not?

  What had happened to her?

  The next morning Marcey slept in until nine-thirty. She had always been an early riser, and sleeping in was unheard of for her. She woke alone, her mother having left for work several hours before. Marcey’s job was more transient. Marcey stared up at the ceiling, thinking about her job. Fuck that place, she decided. There was no point in staying there.

  There was a text on her phone from a blocked number. Marcey read it, her brow furrowed.

  You weren’t telling me everything. We need to talk. 11:45. HY.

  A small smile tugged at Marcey’s lips. Kim had gotten curious then. Good.

  She got up and dressed, taking care to look professional but not too remarkable. She wore jeans and a button-up, tucked in and accessorized with a belt. The look was preppy, and it was fun to sweep on a trench coat against the cold and rainy early April morning outside. Marcey stood in the mirror, tugging at her hair and debating a fedora, like it was the forties and she was some sort of Bogartian private eye. She settled on a beanie, tugging it on slouchy, its warm, cream wool gentle against her hair.

  Marcey took the local over to the West Village, switching trains twice to get across the river. The creeping, uncomfortable paranoia of being out in the open had her fidgeting, looking over her shoulder. It was a miserable feeling. She didn’t think Johnson would go so far as to have her followed, but Johnson’s people had already implied she had. The last thing Marcey wanted to do was to get arrested again.

  Hon-Ya stood in the middle of a block that bustled even early on a Monday morning. Marcey approached it, munching on a bagel, unable to quell the anxious flutter of her stomach. The store wasn’t open yet, but the door was unlocked. Marcey swallowed, drew in a deep breath, and ambled over to the counter and an extremely bored-looking Kim Montou.

  Kim wore a black apron with the store’s logo done in stylized calligraphy printed in white across the front. She was slouched forward on a stool behind the counter, distractedly moving her finger across the surface of her tablet. Her other hand dug into her cheek, making it look lopsided and misshapen. Her jeans were ripped at the knees and the blue hooded sweatshirt she wore beneath the apron made her look like she did back when they were in high school, some eight years before. She did not look like a threat, or the best in the business when it came to hacking. Marcey wondered if the look was intentional and was about to say hello when Kim looked up. Her pupils were blown. She was high.

  “Hi.” Marcey said. “You wanted to see me?”

  Kim narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

  “I…I couldn’t just blurt out what I wanted to know, now could I?”

  An amused grunt of laughter escaped Kim’s lips. “You weren’t just in the neighborhood yesterday, were you?” Kim leaned forward and hit one of the function keys on her tablet’s detachable keyboard. The screen flickered black, the onscreen cursor flashing green. “You’ve been in the neighborhood for the better part of a week. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were casing the shop to rob it. Or stalking me.”

  “Who says that I’m not?” Marcey leaned forward and gripped the edges of the counter, a wry grin pulling at her lips. “Maybe I wanted to offer you a job.”

  “You sold drugs. You were never a thief,” Kim replied dully. “You don’t happen to have any more of them, do you?”

  “’Fraid I’m out of that business.”

  “Shame.” Kim hummed. “I called around, looked you up. You’ve bee
n seeing some interesting people recently, Marcey. People that would make our mutual friend at the DA’s office very keen to talk to you.”

  “What’d she get you for?”

  “Not selling drugs at a school party, I assure you.” Kim’s smile was twisted. “But then again, I went and did my time for better or for worse. Missed my mom dying. Couldn’t go to the fucking funeral because Johnson was on some power trip about me learning my lesson. It’s a fucked up, bullshitty world, Marcey. We just live in it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kim pressed on. “You, though…you got out of it. And now she’s using you as an example. That PAC of hers isn’t exactly the cleanest thing out there.” She shook her head. “That ruling’s a mess. Fucking with the whole country.”

  “I don’t want to talk politics, Kim,” Marcey said shortly. “That isn’t a safe topic these days.”

  “Far safer than whatever it is you’re mixed up in now. Kat Barber? Really, Marcey?”

  Marcey feigned ignorance for all of two seconds before Kim’s don’t-bullshit-me stare got the better of her. Was one of the people she’d called Shelly? Or maybe Kat? Or was Kim, like Kat, surprised that it was Marcey who’d ended up with Charlie’s book? “Sounds like you know her.”

  Kim tapped her fingers on the back of her tablet. “She was in town recently, looking at a painting.”

  “Do you guys, like, all keep tabs on each other?”

  Kim raised an eyebrow. “It’s a hobby.” She paused. “I don’t work with people like Kat.”

  “Like Kat?”

  “Bad track record of getting people she works with arrested. Like she did to Charlie.” She shook her head. “Or for making sure that people do time when they had no reason to.”

  “Ah. Then you know about what happened in Rio.” Marcey fought back a laugh. “I actually got your name from Shelly Orietti. I, um, wasn’t expecting you to dig in so quickly.”

  “Shelly’s involved too? Oh, I’ll bet she and Kat are fighting like, well…cats.” Kim let out a low whistle and looked somewhat horrified at her bad joke. Marcey just wanted to laugh at it.

  “Kim, that was awful.”

  “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

  “It really was,” Marcey agreed. “How do you know Shelly?”

  “Well, I met her…I guess you’d still say her, she was still pretty early in her transition, our junior year. She was working with Charlie on some sort of complicated-ass double cross where she had to be about five different women before the end of it. I was so mad at her, Mar. Almost walked away from the job. I couldn’t believe that she was going to risk exposing us all like that. I couldn’t look past it, until I saw her in action.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “She’s fantastic on the grift. Fucking amazing at it. Charm your socks right off and you’ll thank her for it. Can’t say I was particularly mad when she showed how good she was.” Kim pursed her lips. “But if you’re running into this with her…and Kat—”

  “This is more for me than for Kat Barber. Darius is set to have a parole hearing soon, but his chances of getting out look awful.”

  “So you bring Kat Barber into it?”

  Marcey nodded.

  “Art, right? It’s never anything else with Barber.” She tapped a few keys. “Why are you involved? You never seemed like you had the stuff for job like this.”

  From her bag, Marcey produced the same poster she’d shown Kat. She smoothed it flat on the counter. “Because of this.”

  Kim leaned forward, let out a low whistle. “Isn’t that libel?”

  “No, because it’s an artist’s rendering. It’s only obvious it’s me if you know me.”

  “Shit, Mar, I’m sorry. That’s just Johnson’s style though, isn’t it? She pushes into these little places in people and makes them feel small. You’re lucky she hasn’t come to try and arrest you again.”

  “I know.”

  “So you want to do this? With Kat Barber.”

  “And you,” Marcey said hopefully. “If you’re willing.”

  Kim frowned. “What’s the take?”

  “Eighteen percent, even split for all involved,” Marcey answered.

  “Why not twenty?”

  “There’s a percentage for overhead as well. Kat had to buy some sort of oven…and bookbinding supplies.”

  “Bookbinding?”

  Marcey shrugged. “Search me.”

  “Where’s this gig at? I can’t exactly leave the area. Not with this.” She pulled her foot out from under the counter and showed Marcey the monitoring anklet she wore. “It’ll be a few more weeks until it’s off. When does this need to happen?”

  “Up in the White Mountains, some rich guy’s estate by Mount Washington.” Marcey pulled out her phone. “I think sometime in May. Is that too soon?”

  Kim nodded. “It is, but I think I can try and make it work. I’ve been trying to find some way to get back into the game. Been stuck here working my ass off to keep the shop open since we got up to our eyeballs in debt with Mom’s medical bills. Fat lotta good that life insurance policy did when the medical folks decided to get cute and use some backdoor loophole from Obamacare to deny our claims for all of that worthless treatment.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She rubbed at the back of her head. “Just…Kat Barber, Marcey? Seriously?”

  Marcey looked down at her fingernails. “I don’t have much more of a choice, do I? I gotta at least pretend that I like her.”

  “You were always the best at pretending, but you need an ally,” Kim agreed. “I’ll do what I can.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Marcey, Forcing the Issue

  The storage-unit door opened with a groan and Kim wheeled her go-kit inside. She glanced around, taking in the place, as Marcey flipped on the light and pulled the door halfway shut behind them. Kim settled, bouncing on the balls of her feet for a moment. Marcey’s hair was caught in the static from the beanie in her hand. She patted it down. “Never imagined Charlie would keep a place like this tucked away.”

  Marcey shrugged. “I never really knew him, so I can’t tell you much about what he did or didn’t do.”

  “And yet he left you with this mess to sort through.” Kim shook her head. “Typical man.”

  “You’re the only one who’s said that.” Marcey blinked in the semi-darkness of the storage facility. “Most everyone else’s been all lucky you inheriting all that or I can’t believe Charlie left you in charge or oh, I just miss him so much.” Exhaling a breath that felt like she’d been holding it for weeks now, Marcey met Kim’s gaze evenly. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “Then why are you doing it? Jobs like this, jobs where people are invested for more than just the endgame, people get hurt when not everyone’s bought in.”

  “Oh, I’ve bought in.” Marcey toed a dust bunny. It puffed up and stuck to her shoelace. “Just not to the bullshit about how he was such a good person. Or that everyone loved him. People wouldn’t be so damn dedicated to ensuring that they possess his legacy if they cared about him. They want it more than they care about him.”

  Kim pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “Did you ever wonder why people want it so bad?”

  Marcey hadn’t, but she would not allow Kim to see her admit it. She turned away.

  “Every single person Charlie Mock ever knew trusted him with their secrets. He never, ever, trusted them with his. Only person who ever got close was Shelly, but that’s different. They loved each other. We came in, we did what he needed, we got paid. It was to prevent things like what happened in Rio.”

  “With Kat?”

  “With everyone. Everything about that job was a mess, from what I heard, and that was just whispers on the inside.”

  Marcey jammed her hands into her pockets. “I feel angry at him.” Kim had known Marcey a long time, but this was a secret she’d kept from Marcey too. This secret life with Charlie Mock. Everyone had a
life with this guy who’d been too chickenshit to try to have a life with her.

  That anger, the old hurt of a child growing up without a father figure, was a hard one for Marcey to stomach, and it was one that she didn’t think she’d get over quickly. Her fingers twitched in her pockets. “He never tried with me.”

  “I won’t make excuses for him,” Kim said. “There aren’t any excuses for that. Especially if he knew who you were.”

  Marcey shrugged. “Clearly he did. And clearly I was the best option for this.”

  “Because of Linda Johnson.”

  Marcey nodded, her jaw tightening. “Somehow he knew about that.”

  “Dude, everyone knows about that.” Kim frowned. “Just because you thought you’d gotten yourself past it doesn’t mean the world forgot. Linda certainly hasn’t. I’m sure she’s still hung up on Rebecca and that pill problem she had.”

  “Like that was my fault.”

  “Well…” Kim sighed. “Look, I’m not here to relieve you of the guilt you feel over Darius. That’s on you. Granted, it’s white people guilt and something you have to work on. You can’t do all of this just because you feel awful about what happened to him. You couldn’t help it. Systemic bullshit and all that. But you gotta know that it doesn’t…really fly when you talk about your hard past ’n shit when Dar is literally sitting in jail for the same shit while you walk free.”

  Rubbing her hand at the back of her neck, Marcey looked around the storage unit. “You think I don’t know that? Fuck, Kim, I would give anything for it to be fair, for it to be equal. That’s what it should have been. Now she’s off trying to fuck him again and I’m in a position to do something about it. Let me have this, Christ.” The small, enclosed space was claustrophobic, cluttered with the relics of a dead man.

  Kim shrugged. “Suit yourself, but remember, this isn’t some sort of burden you have to bear. It isn’t your fault.”