by Aubrey Dark
“Sierra? Are you there?”
“She has a teething pacifier,” I said, pulling the blonde wig on over my knotted bun and adjusting it in the mirror. Despite my frustration at losing my gun strap, I couldn’t help but grin at my reflection. I made a kickass blonde. “There should be one in the—uh, the side of the bag.”
Where had the gun strap gone? Puffing a breath of frustration, I gathered all my tools into the lock pick kit and shimmied up the hem of my dress to my waist.
“Oh, you mean the pacifier she threw into my aquarium? Yeah, my guppies are really enjoying that. I’m scooping it out now. Do you have any others?”
“No. Look, Teresa, I’m sorry, but I’m already late for the party.”
Well, at least I had the lock kit strap. My kit was the most important thing. The velcro strap cinched around my thigh, the lock pick kit snug on my inner thigh.
“Ay, Kirsten, put that down!” The speaker phone crackled and I heard my daughter’s voice loud and clear, babbling nonsense that sounded like Mamadoobugeeeeeahbababa!
“Hey, Kit, baby!” I said. “Put down the phone, will you, honey?”
“Bah!”
“Kirsten Louise Barlow! Put down Teresa’s phone right now!” I paused. “Okay? Sweetie?”
“Bug bah! Bah da doo eeeee—”
Her words turned into a faraway shriek.
“Sierra?” My best friend sounded less bubbly than ever.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, rummaging through my underwear drawer and hoping that this wasn’t the last time I could convince Teresa to babysit for me.
From the back of the drawer, I pulled out a black lace string bikini. My ex Justin had gotten it for me as a “birthday present”, and I had only worn it once or twice for him. It wasn’t a strap, but it would have to do.
I wrapped one side of the bikini around the gun handle, then twisted it twice and wrapped it around the barrel. When I hiked the bikini up as I high as I could on one leg, the gun dangled between my thighs, twisting precariously under my crotch. I double checked to make sure the safety was on, even though the gun was unloaded. There. The make-do strap wasn’t perfect, but it would work for the night.
I hoped.
I’d never used my gun, but I’d heard too many stories from my dad about robberies gone wrong without them. If anyone caught you, they’d be much more likely to let you go if they were scared for their life. And, he said, always pointing his finger at me to emphasize the point, you might still get away with the loot if you had a gun to persuade them.
That was the important thing, wasn’t it? Not just getting out, but getting out with more than you came in with. If I’d learned anything from my dad, it was that.
“Alright, I’ll boil the pacifier and see if I can keep her from feeding the fish with it again.”
“Probably you should have a lid on that aquarium,” I said helpfully.
“Oh, I’ll put a lid on something,” Teresa grumbled.
“Thank you so much for coming through tonight,” I said, swiveling my hips to see if the gun would fall out of my makeshift strap. It was a little wobbly, but that was okay. “I’m seriously grateful.”
“Only for you,” Teresa said.
I knew she meant it. Teresa was an assistant for one of the top Montessori preschools in Manhattan. It paid well, but the number of asshole rich parents she had to deal with was breathtaking. The last time I’d gone there to visit her, I’d had to keep myself from strangling one of the parents who insisted their four-year-old needed to “work holistically through his biting phase.”
Even though she was my best friend, Teresa didn’t know what I did for a living. Nobody did. That was something else I’d learned from my dad. Keep your mouth shut. If pressed about my job, I always said that I worked at a high-end club in downtown Manhattan: the Red Baton.
Which wasn’t exactly untrue. It was just that I mostly worked the patrons of the Red Baton—lifting from their wallets and purses. The bouncers at the club turned over so often than nobody ever recognized me, and with my various disguises, it wasn’t hard to stay underground. Every once in a while, I’d get some rich sleazeball hitting on me, and I’d let him take me home for a little extra fun.
Not just any rich sleazeball, though. I always picked the ones wearing a wedding ring.
Sometimes they would lie and tell me that they were separated from their wives. Sometimes they acted like it wasn’t a big deal that they were cheating. There would be pictures of their kids on the mantel, wedding photos hanging in the hallways of their luxurious apartments. It didn’t matter what story they told me. I’d tell them to relax, enjoy themselves.
Then, I’d pour them a glass of wine with a little extra kick to it in the form of a Rohypnol.
After they had passed out on the couch, I’d help myself to the house. I cracked their safes, their desk drawers, their closets. I took watches, electronics, cash.
Two things: one, I didn’t mess with their drugs. And two, I never touched the wife’s jewelry box.
It was too easy, really. The men never, ever went to the police. What could they say? “I brought home a little side action, but she roofied me and stole my wallet?” Nah. I would never get caught.
Always go for the sure bet. The safe steal. The easy pickings. That’s why I did it, I always told myself. Just following my dad’s rules.
But secretly, every time I tiptoed out of a guy’s apartment, I would think of Justin and hope that somehow, somewhere, some other girl was doing the exact same thing to his cheating ass.
“…and then I’ll give Kit a homemade lip piercing and put her up for adoption.”
I snapped back to this world. My fingers were absently stroking the ends of my blond wig.
“What? Huh?”
“Oh, you decided to start listening. Great. I said I’ll put Kit to bed in an hour or so. Sound good?”
“Good. Great. Sorry, I’m out of it.”
“No kidding. Have fun at that party. Decompress a little, okay? Forget about work.”
“Will do,” I said, patting the inside of my thigh where the gun dangled. This could be a big mark for me, if I’d guessed correctly. A high-end cocktail party with a lot of rich guests. One of them had to be an easy target. “I’ll be home before midnight. Give Kit a kiss for me before you put her up for adoption.”
“Love you, silly.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up and took a deep breath, staring at my blonde bombshell self in the tight black dress. Like Catwoman. I pushed my boobs up in my padded bra for maximum cleavage, batted my long fake lashes. Thievery was the art of distraction, and I was a master at it.
Okay. Time to get this party going.
Chapter 3
“William! You came!”
“Of course I came, Mom.” I ducked my head as my mother planted a kiss on one of my cheeks, then the other. Above us, the crystal chandeliers in my brother’s house glittered with light, shimmering off of the marble floor and walls. His was the only house in the mountains to boast Italian marble instead of knotted pine. I thought it was gaudy, but if that was how Sanders chose to spend his allowance, so be it. I grimaced, though, at the thought of how he would squander his shares of the company. I had to stop him, somehow.
Groups of people wandered through the foyer where we stood. Half of them were men dressed in expensive business suits, and the rest were half-dressed women looking to impress those same men. I didn’t see Sanders or Dex among them.
“You look stunning, Mrs. Fawkes,” Shawna said, giving my mother a quick hug.
I hadn’t noticed, but now I looked down at my mother’s long-sleeved gold gown, the fabric loose around her wrists and ankles. She’d dyed a streak of her pure white pixie cut in the same gold color. A chunky gold necklace hung around her neck. As she stood next to Shawna, they looked like perfect opposites cast in the same metal. My mother, pale and slim, white-haired and all flowing motion. And Shawna, dark-skinned and voluptuous, sleek and controlled. Both gil
ded from manicure to heel.
Once again, I marveled that my mother had raised me and my brothers. None of us seemed to take after her, unless you counted Sanders spreading his love around like a hippie at Woodstock. She had loved us, though, and that was enough. More than enough.
“I told you, call me Bobbi,” my mother told Shawna in a mockingly stern voice. “And I expect complete obedience from you on that account.”
“You and William are more alike than I thought,” Shawna said, giving me a wink.
My mother put her hands on her hips and turned to me in a scolding pose.
“If he is bossing you around—”
“He is my boss,” Shawna said, a smile playing on her plum lips. “And don’t worry, Bobbi. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, you do quite enough of a job taking care of him.”
“Could we stop talking about me as though I’m not here?” I asked dryly.
“Of course. I’ll go away so I can talk about you without you overhearing,” Shawna teased. She glided away into the crowd, effortlessly mingling with the guests.
“She’s a treasure,” my mother said, looking after her. “If only she liked men, I would be throwing you down the altar, and good riddance.”
“You knew she was a lesbian?”
“Oh, Will,” she said, patting my arm. “I hope she didn’t break your heart too badly with that news.”
“No, she—”
A senior partner came up, interrupting our conversation. He shook my hand vigorously.
“Congratulations on the new Fortune cover,” he said, holding a rolled magazine aloft. “I was—”
“Thank you, Fred,” my mother said, plucking the magazine from his hand. “You know William doesn’t like to deal with media attention. Would you get me another pink champagne, please?”
The man bowed obsequiously, spluttering his apology as he moved away. I looked down, but my mother refused to make eye contact.
“What’s this with Fortune?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Will,” she said, her lips pinching together. “You don’t need to worry about it—”
“Show me.”
Pink-cheeked, she held out the magazine with her eyes downturned.
It was a photograph of Sanders and Dexter standing back to back in identical suits, with hundred dollar bills raining down all around them. The headline read ‘Fawkes Twins Do It Again.’
I gritted my teeth. I loved my brothers, truly I did. But sometimes they were so ridiculous I wanted to throw my hands up and give up the business completely. This stunt wasn’t quite as ridiculous as Sanders’ plot to start a new ‘classy’ pornography empire to rival Hugh Hefner’s, but it came close.
“Another stunning quarter from the geniuses behind Fawkes Financial,” I read. “Well, this sounds like great publicity, Mom.”
“William, you don’t have to stifle your anger. It’s bad for your mental energies to suppress your feelings.”
“What’s there to be angry about?” I asked, but couldn’t help the frown running across my brow. I remembered the day they’d asked me to pose for the magazine photo shoot. I’d been swamped with work, and told them to do it themselves if they hadn’t had anything better to do.
“If you tell the editor, I’m sure he’ll run a retraction.”
“That would be a good publicity stunt, for sure. Do you think we could get another Fortune cover? ‘Fawkes Triplets, This Time With 33% More Fawkes.’”
“It was an oversight.”
“It wasn’t. I’ve turned down Feldman a dozen times now. He was bound to move on to Sanders and Dex at some point or another. Now at least he can stop bugging me.”
“You’re really not mad?”
My mother’s eyes were wide, pleading. I couldn’t tell her the truth. She didn’t need to hear it.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Whatever’s good for the company. And hey, at least it’ll keep Sanders off the streets.”
“I know that Dexter just wanted to help out. I think he doesn’t think he’s very helpful to the company,” my mother said. “With his problem, you know. It’s good that he feels like he’s contributing.”
Even if he isn’t. I was sick of talking about Dexter’s problem. I’d offered to pay for therapy, for PTSD counseling, for anything I could think of. But he’d pulled away from me, and from all of the family. I had tried to help, and failed. It was one of the few failures that I had never quite been able to get over.
“Do you think you could talk him out of this thing with Sanders?” I asked casually. My fists were tensed behind me as I asked the question. “They want to sell off our Dubai branches to some local outfit—”
“Don’t talk business to me, William. You know I’m no good at all that minutia.”
“Maybe you could distract them with something else, then? I really don’t think that they’ve thought this idea through.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That’s the one idea they’ve had for the business so far, isn’t it?”
“Sure, right,” I said, my teeth grinding. “Trouble is, Mom, it’s not a great idea.”
“Then I’m certain you can talk them away from it,” my mother said firmly. “Sanders worships you, you know. He’ll do whatever you say.”
I clamped my lips shut. It had been Sanders who’d come to me with the idea at first, all bubbling over with excitement. Dexter had contacts with the local financiers in Dubai, and they thought they could make some money by selling off our assets in the region. Which would be fine, except it was simply short-term profit at the expense of the long-term. But Sanders hadn’t listened to me one bit. When I’d pushed back, he’d thrown up his hands and said that he and Dexter had already worked everything out.
Right now, it was fine. I was the acting CEO of Fawkes Financials, and I could put a stop to their plans with a single order. But when we all turned thirty and our ownership shares got distributed…
“Everything will turn out alright,” my mother said, patting my arm. “They always do. You worry too much, William.”
Why do you think things always turn out alright? I wanted to ask. Why?
If I wasn’t worrying about everything, things would go to hell. But I wasn’t about to rant aloud to my mother. I would find some way to stop Sanders and Dexter. If I couldn’t convince them to abandon their stupid plan to sell… well, I’d just have to marry someone. With half the shares, I’d be able to keep Fawkes Financials safe from any of my brothers’ schemes.
“Will!” Two voices boomed out from behind me in unison.
“I’ll let you chat with your friends,” my mother whispered, turning on her heel and sashaying away.
“Friends? What friends?” As I turned around, I saw Jake and Lucas making their way through the crowd toward me and nearly groaned. Close friends of the family, the two wealthy men were heavy investors with us and good friends… of Sanders. I pasted on a smile.
“You son of a bitch, you actually showed up!” Lucas said, clapping his hand on my back so hard I winced. “It’s been too long!”
“Hello, Lucas. Jake. Good to see you both.”
“We were taking bets on whether or not you would complete the triplets for the evening,” Jake said, a broad grin sweeping his face.
“Thanks a lot, Will,” Lucas groused. “I just lost a thousand dollars.”
“Sorry for making an appearance,” I said, nodding solemnly to Lucas. “If it had been up to me, you would have been a winner.”
“I’m glad I didn’t win this one,” Lucas said, winking. “The party was about to get boring before you showed up.”
Right. I doubted that I would liven up a party of IRS accountants. Lucas’ easy flattery rolled off my shoulders.
“Anyway, you’ll make it back before night’s end,” Jake said to Lucas. “So far, Sanders has already kissed three blondes. I put the over/under at four.”
“One more, and you’re deep in the hole,” Lucas said with a grin.
“I tho
ught he preferred brunettes,” Jake said helplessly.
“No, that’s you,” Lucas said. “And no matter how much you lose, you still win by having more of them to take home for yourself. What about you, Will?”
“Me?”
“Have you found someone to take home?”
“I’ve only just arrived,” I said, a new idea beginning to click together in my mind. “But I wouldn’t mind being introduced to a beautiful woman or two. Ah, provided they’re single.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lucas said. “Jake here isn’t in the mood for hunting. He’s obsessed with this new girl he’s found.”
“Obsessed?” I couldn’t imagine any of my brothers’ friends settling down with a single woman.
“I may be a little bit obsessed,” Jake said, smiling. “So much the better for you. You can have all of my brunettes tonight.”
Despite myself, I couldn’t help but be buoyed by their good spirits. Lucas forced a tumbler of whiskey into my hand as they led me into the heart of the party. A five-piece orchestra played a strange song— what I realized was a classical arrangement of the latest hip hop radio hit, Make Me Bad.
“Great party, mates,” a man said, stumbling towards us with a woman on each arm. “Let me guess, now.”
He pointed at me and squinted deeply, the two women on either side of him giggling with anticipation.
“Dexter,” he said, after a moment’s thought.
“Wrong,” Lucas said. “Pony up.”
“Shit,” the man said in a slurred British accent. “I owe you six.”
“That was eight,” Lucas corrected, a sly smile on his face. “Double or nothing if you want to guess again.”
“Easy money,” the man said. “Sanders.”
“Wrong!” Jake hooted. The man’s face crumpled into confusion.
“Wait,” he said. “You’re cheating me here.”
“Piers,” Lucas said, “This is the elusive third Fawkes triplet, William.”
“William!” the man named Piers said. He lifted his arm from one of the girls and shook my hand heartily. “This isn’t fair at all. I was told you were a recluse. A hermit.”
