by Bronwen John
“Fascinating things, jewels,” Esther said politely.
“Very. Did you know that the ruby, when worn, is considered by Hindus to protect you from the Devil?” Holmes said thoughtfully. “It’s a shame about the flaw in the ruby that’s the centrepiece here.”
“It is; if it was an emerald, it would’ve been considered even more beautiful. We French, as you know, call them ‘jardin’, which means ‘garden’, because they resemble light coming through the greenery. I must admit, I have an open admiration for an honest gardener, like I have an admiration for an honest cop,” Esther said, with a fond smile directed at Innocent, who folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows. “They dig around in the dirt and get very little for their reward.”
“A lot of dirty history behind the Star of Burma?”
“A harbinger of death to whoever holds it; I’ve heard the stories,” Esther said, turning her attention to the ruby.
“The unfortunate Russian royal family have held it; it was also held by… was it your grandfather?”
Esther offered a tight nod.
“One of the greatest cons against—”
“Hellion?” Ash interrupted in surprise. Both turned, and she blushed. Even she had heard of this con.
Hellion was a con woman notorious for her smooth style and for leaving chaos in her wake. She’d supposedly conned eight businessmen in three months, resulting in the collapse of Les Cheveliers, a French bank. It had been one of the best cons of the late ’80s; a con artist known only by the unattractive moniker Potvin had managed to convince Hellion to purchase a ruby for a con of her own. The ruby had been a fake, and she had put a curse on the man, promising swift retribution.
Esther offered a small smile. “Her con name is Hellion. My paternal grandmother, as it happens. The last time I saw her was last year, when I walked away with the majority of her poker earnings… most upset, she was, too.” She clicked her tongue in abject dissatisfaction. “I walked away with £400,000 in hard-earned cash and she still accused me of cheating – as if I would cheat in Monte Carlo; it’s practically the Notre Dame of the gambling world.”
Ash looked across at Esther, who raised her eyebrows at the sudden admiration she knew was coating her expression. “You’re part of that.”
“My brother and I are the last in the line of both sides of the family, may I add; an exceedingly long line of reprobates, crooks and generally disreputable people,” Esther said, smirking. “And no, he falsely claimed it was the ruby in question that had been stolen. He sold it to many famous people and got jailed, because of that and because of his varying other enterprises. My mother barely escaped the man. She became an Interpol agent because of it.” Her eyes hardened. “He didn’t deserve to bear the name Crook.”
“That I can agree on,” Innocent said softly.
“Doesn’t soothe the pain, though, that the man took your wife in the same moment he took my mother,” Esther said softly. “You see, Ash, my grandfather, Paul Crook, was obsessed with killing my mother, and unfortunately in his triumph on achieving this, he also killed the wife of Mr Innocent, a bystander at the scene. He and Holmes share the same reprehensible nature – honour amongst gunrunners and all that. Hence, his wish to kill me… my father’s favourite.”
“I’d settle for knowing what he looks like,” Innocent said with a smirk.
“As if I’d tell you.”
He looked at her. “Two generations of family wiped out in two days, one by Potvin and Potvin by Chris Adams—”
“Potvin slipped off the side of a building making his escape. That’s hardly Chris's fault.”
“—it makes me wonder why you’ve brought in a kid to a con,” Innocent said, ignoring Esther’s indignant interruption.
“Who says I’m running a con?” Esther asked.
“You. I know you.” He sighed. “My accursed Southern gentleman charm and manner compels me to tell you that, if you do not find a better way to spend your time, you will face a storm unlike any other.”
Esther leaned forward, looking hard into the businessman’s eyes. She didn’t flinch. “I don’t fear storms, Mr Innocent. I have no problem with you, but I assure you with my best intention that I am not pulling a con on you. In fact, my aim in this tournament is just to win.” Her eyes flicked to Ash. “She’s a friend, like I said. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. She has no cards to play.”
The two shared a tense look before Holmes coughed subtly, Innocent breaking his gaze from the young woman, who immediately stood in front of Ash.
“Kid’s not worth protecting,” Holmes said dismissively. “Would be easier for you to give up the game than—”
“I’m not on any game, unless you are talking about that Highlander film, which I might watch tonight!” snapped Esther. “I’m here enjoying myself and, last time I checked, withdrawing from the formal contest. It’d seem someone has poured poison instead of honey into the judge’s ears.” She tossed her head back defiantly. “I’m no card shark, Mr Holmes.”
“Most swan-like neck, Miss Crook.” In one swift move, Holmes had caught the nape of her neck in his palm and forced it back, looking like he was appraising her as one would a horse.
Ash made to step forward, only for Vin to grab her hand to stop her. She threw him an angry look, but then saw that his other hand was resting by a large bowie knife tucked into the waistband of his jeans that she hadn’t even noticed.
“I am inclined to remember some of my associates being most enamoured with your looks back then. And I know several young men who would pay good money for you here and now… let alone the fact that you broke a few orders when you got away last time.”
“And I seem to remember that I was saved by Chris Adams,” Esther murmured. Ash watched Holmes’s fingers retract swiftly, Esther flashing him a true smirk when she rubbed the back of her neck. “Still getting pain in your jaw?”
“Shut your mouth.”
“The girl is under his protection too, so if you want a piece of me, try it.”
Holmes glared hard at Ash, and Ash felt Vin’s hand on the small of her back, quick and reassuring. His own gaze was on the man, and Ash could swear she heard him growling.
“Down, Vin,” Innocent ordered, in the same moment as Esther shot Vin a piercing, warning look. “We’re just having a pleasant conversation.”
“Nothing pleasant about it,” the bounty hunter said tensely as he held Ash. “You’ve done what you wanted: warned her off as a Southern gentleman.”
Esther smirked. “The other one is no gentleman.” She turned her attention to the ruby once more. “Biggest of its kind, you know? It’s colour is known as a pigeon blood red, Vin?”
“I’ve seen pigeons and they aien’t red,” Vin drawled.
“Very funny,” Esther said as she bent down to examine the ruby again. “I’ll take your warning under advisement, as I realise after this point I will be fair game.”
“I’m glad.” Innocent smirked before jerking his head again. “Gentlemen – which includes you, Mr Holmes – let’s go!”
The men, with the exception of Vin, strode off and Ash shot a final glare towards Holmes, who walked away into the distance, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at them.
“What was that all about?” Ash asked, frowning as she looked at Esther, who stood and watched their retreat darkly.
“Marking of territory,” Esther said quietly. “If he gives you a way out, you take it. No bull. Just take it.”
“Aren’t you playing?”
“Not any longer; the poker face is down. The very first thing that Holmes will do is spread a whisper that I am here. It’s not worth the effort of denying that.” She shook her head. “And don’t change the subject. If the man offers you an out, you take it.”
“You’re still frightened?”
Esther nodded. “Not of him. Ho
lmes is one loose cannon that Innocent’s barely reining in. He killed your foster father; more than likely sold your foster sister into sex slavery. Yes, the son of a bitch is well suited to being my grandfather’s heir.”
“He’s a gunrunner.”
“Yeah. So?” Esther shot her a dirty look.
“So? Shouldn’t you be taking him for everything he’s got?”
Esther let out a sharp bark of laughter that near choked her, so Vin answered for her.
“Even Est has people she won’t mess with, and he is one. As mentioned, he’s hung up over his late wife.”
“And factor in that I want Holmes, and it kind of messes with the best-laid plans.” Esther leaned her head on the glass. “As they say, they fall apart.”
Ash stared at Esther hearing the desolate tone of voice and seeing the misery on her face. Even though the con hadn’t even begun properly, she knew that her chance at Holmes had slid through her fingers like sand.
“Tonight is an evening off from the gambling dens,” Vin said, rubbing his chin. “Now, are you sure you’re not plotting any con?”
Ash bit her lip, waiting on Esther to explain her con to her father’s friend, but was instead surprised by the sharp cough that Esther gave.
“I told you the other day, Vin, as I will tell you now: I have no interest in Holmes. I’m scoping for someone else entirely.”
Ash looked at Esther, who straightened her back and kept looking at Vin without a hint of concern on her face.
Vin waved his hand exasperatedly in the air. “If you were, you wouldn’t tell me, right?”
Esther nodded, giving a small smirk.
“After—”
“You – I emphasise the ‘you’ here – not telling me that Innocent was aboard, hence why you were here?” Esther patted his shoulder. “Vin, I love you to pieces but I know when to cut my losses.” She gestured to Ash. “Come on. Let’s go to our room and figure out how we get out of this one.”
Ash nodded, although she smirked when Vin went to go with them.
“You stay away from me right now.” Esther planted an affectionate kiss on his cheek, and Ash chuckled at his faint blush. “Be seeing you.”
The two women headed off, silent and brooding. All that careful planning was slipping through Esther’s fingers like sand through a sieve. They wandered back to their room and, as Ash shut the door, she sank down onto the floor, back braced against the closed door.
Esther sat down and pulled out the omnipresent deck of cards. She raised her hand to flick them and shook her head, walking to tip water out of the vase overboard. “Just as well they hadn’t gotten round to putting the flowers in here.”
Ash hung a sign from the doorknob. “Do not disturb… I just hope everyone takes the hint.”
Esther grunted her agreement and began flicking the cards into the empty vase.
Ash sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking off her glasses to clean them. “What do we do now?”
“This is a setback in my original plans. I’m sorry, Ash.” Esther sighed heavily. “It just means I’m going to need to become a tailor.”
Ash scrutinised the lenses of her glasses as she cleaned them, throwing a curious look at Esther. “What do you mean, tailor?”
“I need to make adjustments to my plans,” explained Esther, sighing as a card missed the lip of the vase. “Shows I’m stressed when I start missing the targets.”
Ash nodded, sitting cross-legged again. She chanced another glance at the mail. “You’ve had messages from both that grad student and Brett Higgins?”
“I promised dinner to one and coffee to another,” Esther agreed, sighing again.
“Do you fancy either?”
Esther shook her head and chuckled at, Ash had no doubt, the innocence that lay behind the question.
“Do you fancy Vin?”
The card that she had been flicking sailed over the target as Esther snapped an indignant, “No!” This was followed by another soft chuckle. “No, no. Vin has been a pain in my ass since I first met him.” Esther stood and stretched her back. “Finer cold reader I’m yet to read.”
Ash snorted. “Never would say that.”
“Watch out for that ‘Aw, shucks, I’m just a simple Texan’ routine.” Esther bent down to pick up the card, admiring it briefly before flipping it around to reveal an Ace of Spades. “Good card to lose, because all he is doing is a routine song-and-dance.” She glanced at her watch. “Ash, go enjoy the benefits of this boat. I’ve got some rearranging to do.”
“Don’t you want me—”
“Go on. Enjoy yourself. I’m poor company right now.” Esther sighed and practically threw herself into the seat she’d occupied before. “Regardless of time, I feel I must ring my father. Hearing him tired and pissed off might just cheer me up.”
Ash paused and touched her friend’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No… I’ll give you a call if I get an idea.” Esther sighed.
“Well, it’s not that we can escape. We’re prisoners with our guards being Mafioso types,” joked Ash.
Esther sat up at that.
“Est?”
“You’re a genius. You’re a bloody genius!” Esther sprang to her feet. “We’re back in business.” She gestured to the safe. “Get the iPad.”
Ash burst into a grin and ran to the safe, punching in numbers swiftly. She retrieved the iPad and handed it to Esther eagerly. “What’re you up to?”
“I’m calling The Nun.”
Ash paused. She’d heard of the Nun. A fixer who even arranged the fixers’ gear around London – not many people had seen her, though, and where her mysterious nickname came from was beyond anyone. Esther started a video call on her iPad, foot wiggling impatiently.
“Esther, why do they call her the Nun?” Ash asked innocently.
Esther snorted. “Apparently, she conned the Pope.”
“What?”
A woman appeared on the screen. “Universal exports.”
“Nancy, you got to stop using the James Bond stuff. One of these days you’re going to get arrested by the copyright lawyers,” Esther joked, ignoring Ash’s confused look. “Nancy Nunn.”
Ash glared at Esther, who winked.
“Now, from the first con artist to the best living one. What can I do you for?”
“I need a Spanish Prisoner.”
Ten
Eleanor Hyde liked being in Nancy Nunn’s neck of the woods. She was coming to see if there were any ideas here, or, rather, if Esther had given her any instructions. Waiting on Nancy gave her a chance to wander around the place.
The aircraft hangar was attached to a warehouse and had been one of her favourite places to come when she was training to be a con artist. It was usually stocked with items belonging to Nancy’s father’s company, A Wish; a perfectly respectable production company that provided props for television and films. An oversized fixer’s office, with enough respectability that no one could guess the number of cons that had passed through here. A con on top of a con.
She had to admire the contradiction of this particular con. It was simplicity and complexity combined behind the scenes. It was fair to say that Eleanor believed that con artistry was a calling, much like the priesthood, comedy and writing. After all, as far as her parents knew she was studying for an International Relations and Creative Writing degree.
She was just celebrating this con internally when she heard the tread of someone behind her. Eleanor turned around to be met with the sight of a middle-aged man, and her eyes squinted. Leonard Hughes. She knew him. A sniffer dog and the right hand of Harry Holmes. She’d heard a whisper while setting up shop that he was supposed to be haunting London for his boss. What he was searching for was anybody’s guess, although Eleanor had a funny feeling that it was something to do with Ash.
“Hey, you.”
She gestured naively to him.
“Yes, you. Know who’s running this joint?”
Christ, your Welsh accent ruins any chance of you sounding like a ’30s Chicago gangster, Eleanor thought rudely. Instead she picked out a crate of glasses and came out with a cockney accent: “Good question, mate; been here all day on my Jack Jones.”
“Christ, a cockney – well, who runs it?”
“Feller by the name of Nunn; he’s off down the Beeb or summat.” She knew nobody did business with any of Holmes’s men, especially after the death of Gaines. “What can I do ya for? Come for a butcher’s hook around the joint?”
Hughes shot her a superior look. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Eleanor near enough laughed at that, behind the confused if annoyed look she offered to him. Chance would be a fine thing. “Listen here, Taff. I’m working and I’m collecting stuff for that new drama… remake of some BBC drama or something.”
Hughes sniffed. “Pretending it’s a respectable business.”
Eleanor sighed and put both hands on her hips. “Look, mate, I’m busy right now. I’ve got to pull at least nine boxes from the hangar before the boss’s daughter has me checking out all the cars out the back. What do you want?”
Hughes grimaced. “Wondering if the proprietor is available?”
“Mr Nunn? Nah, up in the Smoke today, and then heading to your neck of the woods down the Gower.” Eleanor pretended to consider. “Think he’s back on Tuesday.” She heaved her crate. “Show you out. I’ll take you down to the car.”
Eleanor escorted him down the stairs, eyeing the man with deep suspicion, although this piece of acting barely hid the revulsion behind her eyes. She was relieved when Hughes eventually began to walk behind her.
“Miss, you might still be able to help me.”
Eleanor spun around to glare at him, portraying her annoyed cockney worker with ease, she felt, although it could have had something to do with her absolute hatred of the man.
