A Heist Story

by Ellen Simpson

  A terrible thought drifted across Wei’s mind and the cigarette hung limply from her lips. Kat wouldn’t have been so stupid as to fake the painting, would she? She wouldn’t try to fake the damn book.

  Would she?

  “What? Like she’s going after Johnson?” William shook his head. “There’s no way. She’s just a kid. Nah, bet you a million bucks she’s just in over her head with Kat Barber and doesn’t know how to get away. Maybe this was her trying to get caught so we’d separate them.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. She needed to speak to Kat. “That seems a bit weak, though, don’t you think?”

  Shrugging, William moved back toward the door. “It’s cold as fuck out here. I’m going inside.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The door opened, casting the back steps in the warm glow of yellow light before slamming shut to leave Wei alone in the darkness. She stared up at the stars, watching the clouds shift across the face of the moon. It was five in the morning. She was exhausted.

  From her pocket, her phone rang once, then twice. Wei tugged it free, looking at the blocked number on the screen and resigning herself before she answered the call. “What?”

  “You have my mastermind.” Kat’s voice was full of triumph, cocky and smug. It was all the confirmation Wei needed. “I’d like her back.”

  “You did it again, Kathryn,” Wei hissed. Glancing to the door, she switched to French, knowing Kat would have no trouble following. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this to me.” Even as a child, Wei had never been any good at hiding her hurt. Not now, when Kat had shattered the fragile trust they’d built in each other. Not when she was going for all of their destruction through her own hubris. “I want to know why you did it.”

  “Because I love you,” Kat answered in sullen French. “Because there’s only one way to make sure that this ends in our favor, and that is to control any possible outcome. You’re doing the same, aren’t you, with your little liaisons with Shelly when you think no one’s looking? She’s not stupid, and neither am I.”

  “I won’t be played,” Wei retorted. “If you love me, prove it. Tell me what the fuck this is.”

  Kat chuckled. “It’s a heist, darling. These things go in stages.”

  “You haven’t stolen anything.”

  “Haven’t I, darling?” Kat’s tone was deliberately mild. “Perhaps this isn’t about the act of stealing itself, but what comes after. You want what I promised to your bosses back in Lyon. I want my freedom. I’m getting both.”

  “I want to protect you,” Wei said testily. “Even if it’s from yourself.”

  “I’m not a child,” Kat said, equally annoyed.

  Wei pinched the bridge of her nose, cigarette smoking between two fingers. She couldn’t do this. This was insane. Kat wanted her to play some sort of twisted game that represented something far more complicated than anything Wei could ever possibly want.

  “And neither are you my protector, Wei. We’re here for each other because that is what people who love each other do.”

  “You keep telling me you love me, but I’ve yet to see you do anything that convinces me that this isn’t all just a show for your criminal friends.” Wei put the cigarette to her lips and sucked in smoke. “I want to believe you, I truly do.”

  “Then meet me,” Kat said. “At the airport, tomorrow morning.”

  “What about your mastermind?” Wei asked sarcastically. “Shouldn’t you be concerned that she’s arrested, locked away when you need her most?”

  “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll be letting her go. Nothing was stolen, after all.”

  Wei ground her teeth. “What time?”

  “Eleven o’clock at LaGuardia, darling. On Wednesday.”

  The drive back to the city on Tuesday morning took hours longer than it had to. There was an accident in Boston, and another outside of New London, Connecticut. Traffic was backed up for miles. Wei let William sing tunelessly along to the radio and ignored her itch to call Kat. Reaching out was surrender.

  So Wei maintained her silence.

  She let William drop her off at her hotel and collapsed into sleep. She dreamed of nothing, the twisted, empty blank dreams of an exhausted mind. They’d spent hours on Monday combing through the woods around the property, looking for signs of any intrusion. There were none. The melting snow and mud made it impossible to tell if anyone had disturbed the ground around the house, and the painting was still there. Wei had seen it with her own eyes, supervised the transfer to the courier that was taking it to the auction house in the city, vetted him against every agency she could think of.

  It was odd; there was nothing to indicate that Marcey Daniels was in those woods for any reason other than her flimsy hiking excuse.

  On Wednesday, Wei rose early and took the train out to Queens before hopping a cab to the airport. She paid in cash with her own money. The last thing Wei wanted was for Johnson to catch her using investigation funds to pay for a rendezvous with Kat Barber.

  Still, she thought they’d take public transportation back to Midtown and walk from there. She didn’t think it was wise to be alone with Kat just yet, in the back of a cab whose driver and onboard camera could damn them both to years in prison if they weren’t careful. Wei waited just inside the terminal doors, leaning against a pillar by baggage claim, watching the tourists collect their baggage, dark circles under eyes the common denominator in this mass of cultural variation.

  Pulling out her phone, Wei sent Kat a text explaining where she was waiting. She wondered if she should wait outside, if that was more dramatic, more in keeping with Kat’s flair for such things. Wei’s thoughts spun, wondering if getting involved in Kat’s dramatics was worth the heartache or the anxious churning at the pit of her stomach.

  So much depended on the détente she’d formed with Marcey Daniels. So much depended on Kat being able to walk away from the girl and not allow herself to be drawn into this cheating game that Wei hated so much. Maybe all it would take was Wei being able to press Kat, to force her to acknowledge that what she’d done was wrong.

  Never admit you’re wrong, darling.

  Wei clenched her hand into a fist and looked away from the doorway where Kat was set to emerge. Her phone beeped. Kat was on her way, having deplaned successfully. Wei bit her lip, steeling herself for the conversation that was to follow. She could do this. She could get Kat to tell her the truth about Marcey Daniels’s part of this plan.

  Kat emerged from the terminal some ten minutes later with her hair caught up in a messy bun and her anorak slung over one arm. It was warm outside; Wei hadn’t brought a jacket with her. She pushed herself away from the support column to greet Kat, taking in her faded jeans and worn sweater with the little hole at the elbow.

  Wei loved that sweater. Kat had had it for years. It made Kat seem softer somehow, less brittle around the edges. Wei wasn’t sure what to say, seeing Kat in a garment so clearly meant for comfort. Was she frightened too?

  “Hello,” Kat said, guarded. It made Wei nervous because it was that guarded tone that always gave Kat away. No one else knew how to look for it, how to pull it out of the seeming nothing of Kat’s serene expression and slightly smudged makeup. This was just another mask, or rather one in the process of falling into nothingness.

  Knowing why Kat was projecting that guarded nature was enough to make Wei want to turn and walk away. It came from Marcey Daniels, from the girl Kat saw no easy way to control other than to offer up her body. Wei’s fingers twitched.

  “Salut,” Wei answered. She shoved her hands into her pockets to keep herself from reaching out. The gesture was empty when Kat set down her jacket and carry-on and pulled Wei close. She smelled of airplane-stale air and cheap coffee. Her perfume was gone, but she was warm and soft. Her fingers curled at Wei’s jaw, cupped her cheeks, and she met Wei’s gaze evenly.

  “This feels as though there should be tears.”

  Wei rolled her eyes, not quite able to keep the little h
iccup of a desperate, awkward giggle from her voice. “Tears of heartbreak, perhaps.”

  “I said I was sorry.” Kat laughed and shook her head. She kissed Wei continental style, first on one cheek and then the other. She paused, just for a moment, before leaning in. Her lips were warm, sweet, hesitant. Wei hated this play at faux-innocence. This, too, was a manipulation. “And I truly am, Wei.”

  It was all a show. An opening volley at Wei’s defenses. Yet Wei couldn’t help herself. She pulled her hands from her pockets and wrapped them around Kat, holding her tight and kissing her like she was salvation. She loved this woman, loved her with all her might, and Kat…well, Wei never knew how she felt. This was the only time Wei could convey to her all that was being dashed upon the ground when Kat did what she’d convinced herself she had to do in order to control this situation.

  “Promise me something,” Wei whispered, her forehead bumping against Kat’s. “This has to play out to the end, play out to whatever conclusion we’re all building toward…but promise me you won’t… Not again… Not with her.”

  Kat’s smile was gentle, kind. Her lips were flushed with Wei’s kisses, her lipstick smudged a little at the corner of her mouth. Wei swiped her thumb over the smear, wiping it away. “Of course,” she said. Her eyes shone bright in the spring sunlight. Wei saw no reason to think her dishonest. “I only did it to—”

  “Don’t.” Wei pulled away from Kat. “Don’t try and justify it to me. I understand why, I don’t agree with it, and it hurts, Kat. It hurts so much to know that what we have doesn’t matter enough to you to consider how I might feel when you go and do these things.”

  Standing stock still in the middle of a sunbeam, Kat frowned. “Do you know what she wants, Wei?”

  “What?”

  “The same thing we do. To see that Johnson never gets her hands on that book.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Marcey, Regrouping

  The train arrived at Grand Central a little before ten o’clock in the evening. The cars were packed by the time it rolled into the station. Marcey stood, having given up her seat for a mother and her baby a few stops back, and was now sagging against a posted set of Metro North rules, dirty with graffti, running over the conversations of the past few days.

  It had taken three days for her to get out of New Hampshire. Devon Austin Jackson had encouraged her to pay the trespassing fine and get out of Lincoln and the mountains before anyone asked more questions. He hadn’t said anything about Wei Topeté or the twenty minutes Marcey had spent in her presence on Sunday night. He hadn’t even said how he’d somehow ended up coming to her rescue. He’d just told her what she needed to do to make this whole thing go away and expected Marcey to follow through without question.

  And she had. The trumped-up charges were enough to make Marcey want to get out of there. William LePage had been more than willing to stick more on her, assuring Marcey that she was being watched and that she should tread carefully.

  The next move would require finesse. And a decision Marcey wasn’t sure she could make on her own.

  Wei Topeté’s plan was simple. Marcey just had to agree to it. And she wasn’t sure she could. Not willingly, not without fear of reprisal. Her plans were fleeting, leaves on the wind; thoughts slipping easily from her mind, replaced by Topeté’s sharp, black eyes. They looked straight past her lies and into the motivations that Marcey kept guarded, secret, and locked away.

  During the drive south, and after returning the rental, Marcey had wanted to call Kim and see how the job had gone. But her phone had no SIM in it, and she wasn’t sure that calling was a good idea until she bought a new burner phone. There was nothing for her in this city anymore. Nowhere for her to go.

  I need you to stay away from her. Topeté’s eyes had been pleading. I know what you’re doing.

  You know I can’t do that. We’re doing this—this thing together.

  But you can keep your hands to yourself. If you want my help, you’ll do it.

  As a rule, Marcey hated cheaters. Kat Barber had told her once that she was a pretty face, and that Kat liked kissing her. Marcey, however, did not think that was fair. Not after talking to Topeté, not after the way Topeté had conveyed her hurt with the look in her eyes, and in the way she’d gripped the edge of the table when Marcey told her what her plan was going to be. She was the interloper, the homewrecker. She’d let Kat pull her into that part of the game wanting it to be okay, yet knowing it wasn’t.

  Marcey hadn’t dared speak. Hadn’t dared to say that at the time, she hadn’t known about Topeté. At the time, she’d thought it was just Kat trying to be kind in a way that no one had ever been kind to Marcey before. It was a lie. Marcey simply hadn’t cared. Wei Topeté hadn’t been a real person then. She was just a name. Just a word on her tongue that hadn’t represented the hurt that had sat in front of her while they’d talked.

  “It’s a manipulation,” Topeté had answered. “Nothing more. She wants the book. Same as you or I. But what she wants with it…I couldn’t say.”

  “And what do you want?” Marcey had asked.

  “I want it gone.”

  Marcey had bowed her head. “It can’t just vanish. Not with Johnson after it like she is. Not with your bosses after it.” She’d thought back to what Kat had said. What Shelly had said. “Doesn’t Kat owe it to Interpol, to buy her freedom?”

  Topeté’s smile had been small, tight-lipped and giving nothing away. Marcey hadn’t known what to make of that, if anything at all. “We all have bargains, deals that we’re letting go to seed. You and I, we understand each other in that sense. There are things that must be done in order to get to the point where that decision can be made.”

  It had been so cryptic. Marcey knew what Topeté was saying, what was written between the lines. Her want to destroy the book, to comply with Gwen and Kim’s wishes, would cost Kat her freedom. It was a Catch-22, and not one that Marcey thought she could successfully navigate without some serious contemplation.

  But…what about Kat’s other plan?

  The train doors opened and the pungent smell of garbage, warm and acrid, hit Marcey’s nose. She inhaled deeply, lingering on the train. She knew she should lose herself in the crowd, disappear before she was ever missed. There were millions of people in this city; it would be easy to fade away into nothing. Find herself a new identity. A new life.

  But there wouldn’t be an end then, and it was the end that Marcey sought.

  A conductor came by and eyed her. “You gotta get off.” His accent was Staten Island thick. Marcey smiled thinly at him. She got off the train and walked up the track.

  The concourse was busy, even at the late hour. Marcey stood for a moment in the middle of the wide, open space. She loved moments like this, when she was stopped and everyone else was a blur of motion around her. These moments were safe, when she could not be moved. An idea, half-formed and still raw, swam in her mind’s eye. Perhaps she could stay with Shelly. Shelly who was removed from this terrible mess. Shelly who could listen to what Marcey learned from Topeté and tell her what to do with the information.

  Marcey glanced at her watch before springing once more into motion. There was a train she could catch that would take her to Penn Station and another from there she could take across the river. But she had to hurry. The express was waiting when she trotted down the stairs, tucking her metro card away in her wallet again. Once on the train, Marcey leaned against the window and dozed, exhaustion threatening to claim her.

  An hour later, Marcey was standing in front of Shelly’s apartment door, hesitating before knocking. She had come in behind another resident, and now he was lingering at the end of the hallway, watching her, his apartment door half-open. Marcey narrowed her eyes. “What?” she demanded. “Got a problem?”

  The guy shrugged and went inside. Marcey knocked on Shelly’s door. She came a few minutes later, still dressed for work. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her nametag was crooked on her chest. “Oh, thank G
od,” Shelly said, and pulled Marcey into the apartment.

  Kim was sitting on the couch, and she looked up sharply upon seeing Marcey. “You’re okay.”

  Marcey nodded. “Blew through some of Kat’s emergency cash, but yeah, here I am.”

  “When I got your texts, I pulled them out as fast as I could. We saw the cops come back to look the place over. Thank God Gwen and Kat were fast.” Kim got to her feet and pulled Marcey into a hug. Shelly clapped Marcey on the shoulder.

  “Which one of you called Devon?” Marcey asked. “He showed up just as Topeté was about to start laying into me.”

  “Topeté was there?” Kim’s eyes went wide. She stepped back. “That’d explain this then.” From her pocket, she produced a folded-up piece of paper. Wordlessly, she passed it to Marcey, who unfolded it.

  Printed on the paper was another of the crude likenesses of Marcey’s face, along with Johnson’s Super PAC’s name. This time the details were more sordid and more closely connected to the job they’d just pulled. “Is she feeding them information?” Marcey asked. Her fingers were shaking. “Johnson, I mean.”

  Shelly and Kim exchanged a long glance before both their gazes fell on Marcey. “What did you talk to Topeté about?” Shelly’s tone was mild. “Beyond the usual threats and subterfuge.”

  Marcey frowned. “I didn’t—Kat, mostly.” She sighed, smoothing the creases from the paper. “She laid out her side of things. I told her what happened with Kat, I said I was sorry. Promised I wouldn’t do it again.” Marcey stared up at Shelly. Kim’s expression was stony. Shelly’s eyes were unreadable. Marcey swallowed. This was the gamble. The lie she had to tell them in order to feel out what Topeté was doing. Shelly could read people; she read Marcey easily enough. Marcey had to tread carefully or this lie, too, would show. “Was I not supposed to do that? She had me alone in a room and she started telling me things…things about Rio, about Charlie’s life going to pieces. About how Kat had sold him out to keep herself safe.”