by Bronwen John
“I have a photograph of a young lady that you might’ve seen around the place?”
Eleanor propped the crate on her hip and snapped her fingers as he withdrew a sheet of paper. A printed photo from a Facebook page. “Haven’t graduated to a smartphone yet?”
The man growled.
“What?”
“You don’t like working Saturdays, do you?”
“Do you?” she said sarcastically. She looked down at the photograph and raised her eyebrows at the sight of Ash’s smiling face looking back at her. “Should I know her?”
“Her father committed suicide a few weeks ago. We’re concerned for her safety.”
“If you’re the Old Bill, I’m Tinkerbell.” She handed it back to him. “What do you want her for?”
“None of your business; we’re just concerned,” said Hughes. He pulled out a card. “Know where she is?”
“Nah, not seen her face around here before.” Eleanor took his card and in the process nearly dropped the crate, Hughes catching it before it fell. “Shit. Sorry, and thanks. Here, lemme look again.”
Hughes granted her another look.
She shook her head. “Nah, but tell you what, guv – I’ll be sure to call ya if ya want.”
“Ta.”
Eleanor waited for him to jump into his car and drive off before chuckling to herself. So arrogant and self-assured had he been, that he’d not felt her deft hands pick his pocket for his small leather wallet. She pulled out the photograph of Ash and raised her eyebrows. Seemed Hughes had been busy at the worst of times. She’d been assured by that little twit Colorado that he had deleted Ash’s social media history when she’d gone to see how he was progressing with the long-con man Mattie LeRoy.
The way his training was going, Eleanor was right to not trust him as far as she could throw him. The little sod didn’t like learning from people not much older than him, and had seemed jealous of where Ash had ended up. She’d have to check in with Esther about that… they definitely didn’t need holes like that in the operation. LeRoy had already opined that perhaps the better option was a less respectable con artist such as Hellion, who only served their own purposes and to hell with anyone else.
“Good job,” called Nancy from the office window where she was leaning out. “Very classy.”
“Can’t beat the classics; it’s a good old distract-and-grab.” Eleanor smiled wistfully. “I was shown that down Bleeding Heart Yard… that’s where I met Esther first.”
“Talk of the Devil and she shall appear – Esther is on the blower,” Nancy called out the window.
Eleanor nodded and ran up.
Nancy was leaning on the office door jamb, frowning. “I think she’s gone mad.”
“The Spanish Prisoner?”
Ash listened to the discussion as she watched Eleanor chew over Esther’s decision. Esther looked at ease with herself now, a maestro waiting in the wings for her orchestra to catch up with her latest alteration to a well-known composition. It was just a shame that the con was a very well-known one.
“Everybody from here to eternity knows the Spanish Prisoner,” Nancy said, frowning.
“Can you arrange it or can’t you?” Esther snapped.
“Of course I can,” Nancy said indignantly. “Just feel it’s not worth it, is all.”
Ash spoke her next thoughts aloud. “He likes the classics. He knows we know that… he won’t be looking for it. Make it so obvious that he wouldn’t look for it.”
“The art of hiding in plain sight; what we are best at,” Esther said, leaning forward. “Now, can we do it?”
“Course we can, just involves rejigging the original plan,” Eleanor agreed, flicking a blonde lock of hair from her eyes. “Just seems nuts to me. But then again, nuts have always worked.” She paused. “I bumped into a Mr Leonard Hughes here today, in fact.”
“On the prowl? Copper?” Esther asked, as Ash came forward to look at the screen. She glanced at the younger girl. “Or an old enemy?”
“Enemy,” promised Ash, scowling. “I thought Colorado deleted all my history?”
“Wyatt did,” finished Esther. “He must’ve left the final bits of that up to that little twit. Say, where is he? I haven’t heard any reports.”
“Gone out short-conning. Can’t see what Luke saw in him.” Eleanor coughed into her hand. “But we got a problem. Neither Holmes nor Innocent is going to let you go easy.”
“Oh, I always have a plan; just waiting on a response,” Esther noted confidently. “Look, get the little short-con artist to my dear grandmother, and can you get the ball rolling for everything? I’ve basically got my end done up as tight as I can.”
“Thought you said it had gone to pot?” mocked Eleanor, who received a glare from her friend. “The worst-case contingency plan?”
“But of course. I’ll see you in London day after tomorrow.”
Ash turned at that, raising her eyebrows.
“All will be explained soon enough.”
“Why do I feel like that’s a lie wrapped up as a gift?” Ash mocked.
“Probably because you know damn well it is.” Esther shook her head, then took a moment to glance at her watch. “Can only say I’m grateful that Brett wasn’t recognised by Mr Innocent.”
“Not recognised?”
“Every single madness has at least three methods,” Esther said. “Now, if I’m not careful I’m going to be late for afternoon tea.” She stood and stretched to her full height. “And you are not invited – go find yourself something to do.”
Ash snorted. “Practice?”
“Find something. Have fun. Count this as your leisure time.”
“Leisure time on a pleasure boat, indeed,” snorted Ash.
“Spend it wisely. I’m going to enjoy myself.” Esther patted her stomach. “And eat until I’m full as an egg, as you British say.”
“And you, French?” teased Ash.
Esther smirked. “Ventre affamé n’a point d’oreilles. Words are wasted on a starving man.” She tilted her head in a silent farewell before exiting.
Ash watched from across the crowded restaurant as Esther crossed the floor. She was dressed in a low-backed dress and wearing what looked to be a genuine smile as she was greeted by the grad student. The two shared a kiss on the cheek before they sat down, Esther thanking the server for pushing in her seat, and then slipping into the conversation with great ease. She looked a consummate professional flirt. She raised her eyebrows when Brett Higgins joined them; he didn’t look unwelcome, however.
“All very polite and professional,” Ash said aloud. She shook her head and went back to her meal.
She enjoyed her own company, realising that Esther had recognised her need for solitude long before she herself had. The young woman who rarely ate, and when she did seemed to breathe her food in, had seen that Ash needed some rest. Whether she had taken her own advice was a different matter. Ash wondered idly if Esther was running a con on either young man, and kind of hoped not. They seemed thoroughly decent; Brett had even held the lift door for her when she’d been running up from the pool this morning. She watched Esther finish her dessert before walking over to Ash’s table and crouching by her protégée.
“I have a business meeting,” she whispered. “And I need to cancel my entry in this damned tournament.”
“I know you wanted to win. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, don’t apologise. Never, ever cry over spilled milk. It could be worse. It could’ve been good champagne,” Esther said, with a dark chuckle to herself. “As my beloved grandmother would say. Look, go back to the room; Brett’s going to show me some stuff when my meeting is done with.”
“Sure you’ll be fine alone?”
“Brett? He’s a doll, don’t worry.” Esther patted her arm. “Make sure you put on a decent film, something like a cow
boy or a… I don’t know…”
“I’ll put The Magnificent Seven on; I know how you like a good cowboy.” Ash grinned, having once caught Esther sitting up in the middle of the night watching Rio Bravo. There had been a childlike innocence on her face. “Or perhaps a good horror?”
“Hammer Horrors,” Esther advised, before turning to Brett, who had just joined her. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Prue and I have a few drinks and tales to share.”
Ash tilted her head thoughtfully as she watched the two make their exit across the room. She felt like she had been conned somehow, but couldn’t put her finger on how. After all, they were laughing together and looking comfortable; it looked and felt nice. Sometimes cons got under your skin and you began seeing shadows where there was no light to cast any. Ash shook this thought off and finished her dessert. She thanked her waiter before heading off down the corridors, smiling at the young officers as they talked to other guests. She’d forgotten how invigorating the formal evening had been, and right now she was off the clock and could enjoy her own—
Ash gasped as she suddenly felt hands grasping under her arms. She was gently lifted a few inches off the ground.
“Mr Innocent needs a word with you, miss.”
She felt a butt of something press into her back.
“No funny business, now.”
Ash scowled as her arm was grasped more firmly and she was manhandled down the corridors to a new state room. She paid attention to the two guards now. Both were broad and taller than her, although the one was an older man with grey hair and the other a younger black man. The black man knocked the door and waited.
“Who is it?” called a smooth Southern accent from within.
The black man gave an exasperated sigh. “You know damned well, Ezra. Brought the kid, just like you asked.”
“Give me a moment.” There were a few moments of perfect silence before the door opened and Ezra Innocent stood there, distractedly fixing his mother-of-pearl cufflinks while his cravat was loose. “Ah, you’ve brought my guest. You may leave us.”
The bigger man kept his hold on her. “What if she runs?”
“Why, Jesse, the young lady has too much manners to run.” Innocent looked at Ash, who gave a small nod before he returned to fiddling with his cufflinks. “See, Jesse, Nate? She knows that, no matter my manners, a man who frightens the great Esther Crook is worthy of being frightened of. And she damned well knows that I will break her back as good as look at her if she doesn’t get inside this cabin.”
Ash took the hint and stepped into the state room, glancing around. It seemed even more spectacular than her room, as she noted its grandness and, on a dresser, a photograph of a young woman and a young man horseback riding. She could see the man was a younger Ezra Innocent, not much younger, Ash guessed but happier at least with a smile that lit up his face. However the woman’s face was more blurred and hidden.
“My late wife.” Ezra’s voice came from behind her. It was friendly enough, but she felt like it was laced with arsenic. “Sorry for the rude intrusion into your evening plans that you may have had.”
“I would’ve thought you would be playing poker, Mr Innocent,” Ash said politely, before noticing the two silhouettes – one female; one male – on the balcony. She turned to face him, to see him tidying his cravat in the mirror, although his green eyes studied her astutely. “I hope my kidnapping hasn’t intruded on your evening.”
He glanced at her, a thin semblance of a charming grin on his face, before standing up straight-backed and nodding. “No, no. You’re not intruding.” Ezra brushed himself down, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his lapel. “In fact, I have a business proposition for you.” He pulled a pocket watch out of his breast pocket. “And before the evening poker matches, of course.”
“Business proposition?”
“I, unlike my colleague Mr Holmes, am not blinded by ambition, greed or, frankly, baser needs.” He offered a small smirk. “I know that if I am to get Esther Crook where I want her, then I must allow her to con Mr Holmes. I think the man deserves it. Dee Lawrence is safe, by the by.”
Ash threw her head up in surprise.
“I sent her in the direction of Christopher Adams. You may or may not know that the gentleman is a member of the ATF. Her father’s boss and a thorn in my side. I think the gentleman has put him on the case to protect her. Thinks that Vin is untrustworthy. Don’t blame him. But nonetheless, your friend is safe.”
“Thank you, sir… but I know there’s a ‘but’ involved?”
Ezra chuckled. “Wise words. Yes, yes, there is a clause involved in my kindness.” He walked with a panther-like gait towards her. “You know, as my dear – how shall I say this? Acquaintance, Esther would put it – that there is nothing better than money in your back pocket; than a signature on a dotted line.” Innocent reached into the top breast pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a sheet of paper. “I want you to sign this. I realise that, as a sixteen-year-old – yes, Miss Cox, I do my own research, which Mr Holmes has so far skipped over in his overzealous attempts to get Crook – you are not of age, but I have been assured by my lawyers that this is totally binding. This form will save you; Esther bargained with her own life for you.” He gave a dark chuckle. “That dancing around in the exhibition was to make sure of your safety. However, I want her, and you’re my in.”
“You can’t be serious?! Esther’s my friend. And I was always told never to sign on the dotted line for anything.”
A shark-like smile and a flash of the golden tooth made her unease grow. “Yes, but I know about your friend. I’d rather guess which proverb holds more water at this time.”
“And why should I?”
“My dear, the object of any con artist is to be a painter and to fill the world with colour and bright lights for their con. And whilst the rest of the world is submerged in admiring the art, the con artist is holding an umbrella, feet not even wet, avoiding the Technicolor deluge they have created. Unfortunately, you find me beneath this umbrella with a healthy dose of paint stripper.” He stretched his fingers. “Choice is yours.”
“What’s this do?” Ash asked, holding the paper.
“This, Ash, turns you state witness… or, rather, informant to the mob.”
“I told you there’s no con.”
There was a rapid knock at the door, and Ezra jerked his head up as the second of his goons ran in. He looked flustered, and was followed shortly after by Vin.
“What’s going on?”
“The Burmese ruby has been stolen.”
Playing the Con
Eleven
Basically, it was simple. It was as simple as pie, if you asked Esther Crook at the very least. It was as simple as acquiescing to the search of her room due to the theft of the ruby, and as simple as bowing her head in recognition of some guilt when it wasn’t found in her cabin.
It all just came down to timing.
And her mark, Harry Holmes, was as punctual as a Swiss clock. The perfect target for Esther Crook, in all honesty. She had timed his routine to precise motions. While Holmes thought he was watching her, she’d enjoyed hiding in plain view.
Every day he took his morning constitutional around the deck. He tended to note if anyone different was on deck, so that had quickly been ruled out. He would then sit by the pool and watch her when she took her swimming lesson, occasionally joined by Innocent.
Since her calm dismissal of Vin, she had no doubt the man would be watching her from afar, so had kept to a normal routine, all the while calmly directing.
The ring would be pickpocketed by none other than Ash while Esther was practising her swimming. Ash had no doubt, based on her study of the man, that he’d notice when he was reading – he always made a habit of letting it glint in the sun.
The girl was observant, Esther thought as she smirked into her hot chocolate and
looked out onto the waters. Gloriously international, where laws were so feeble, and yet minds were sharp. He’d undoubtedly accuse her and demand that her rooms be searched; Esther would play the role of the accused, delivering enough insults to infuriate and push the man over the edge into blind rage. Then Ash would approach him with the ring and pretend to double-cross her. It was a finely tuned piece of music in which the purpose was to reveal that Ash was in some sort of servitude to Esther, and to get the man to trust her.
Once that was accomplished, she could hang the man from the ceiling.
Ash’s own performance would come later on in the day when the theft of Harry Holmes’s wedding ring was revealed and she’d been revealed as an innocent party. Then she could deliver it to the rooms. It would be short, but the way she handled it would be key.
Ash had asked a few questions which Esther had answered before Ash had left again to enter the mind of her character, much like a method actor. Esther had been amused at that, and remained so. It was the art of the con that she’d had drilled into her own head, and she knew that a part of it was acting. When Ash had come back, Esther had tested her. Asked her about her school, her childhood, her favourite film, where she dined on board – and how poor was her poker, and how good was her blackjack? Did she listen to the news or was she strictly interested in the download chart?
Ash had been accurate and nonchalant in spinning her web of deceit – if thrown, she’d managed to improvise, and if she’d shown hesitation it had been the natural kind. Now Esther could understand why Gaines had been so admiring of her. She was good. Very much like Esther herself, if she thought back to her younger days.
She stood to rid herself of a few newly acquired kinks in her back and leaned on the railing of the balcony, staring harshly into the water. Before every con she worked out the physical angles required, but at this stage she equally convinced herself that the world would come to an end. As a poker player, she played each hand as it came and kept some close to her chest, so tight, in fact, that she threatened to paper cut herself to death with them. She knew that she had accounted for everything, even Innocent, in every sense of the word. But there were angles. So many different angles that she factored in, and yet couldn’t.
