by Bronwen John
“Mother never could work out how we cheated at Twister.” Esther chuckled. “Did he swallow the tale?”
“Looks like it,” Ash said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Holmes has never seen my brother,” Esther said, smirking. “And I guessed that Vin would be aboard once I told my father of my idea to con him.”
“Does she know about Chris being Dad’s boss?”
“Vin mentioned it,” Ash said, deciding to keep Innocent out of the equation for now. “Although, I startled him when I mentioned Christopher Adams was involved.”
“For good reason; let’s just say cat and mouse is an understatement for those two,” Caelan said, pulling latex off his nose to reveal one very similar to Esther’s. “He’s going to kill you. I’ve had ten texts a day with at least three graphic descriptions of how it’s going to go down and how you will go down with him.”
“I’m protected by the law that he so carefully follows.” Esther grinned to herself. “The joys of being an ATF agent.”
“And the reason you got Christopher Adams involved?” Ash asked.
“Easy; the Nun couldn’t arrange our documents in time, and let’s just say I’m not above manipulation to get my own way. Wyatt did the best false documents possible, though he’s no Terry Nunn.” Esther smirked. “Now his use is over with, I can go on with my original plan.”
“We got a way out?”
“We’re Crooks,” Esther said, looking offended.
“We always have a way out,” clarified Caelan, with a wicked smile.
At three o’clock sharp, Ash was looking into the soulless eyes of Harry Holmes. Suspected brothel king, gunrunner, all-round bad guy. Innocent was sitting next to him, although his eyes were closed in silent contemplation, it would seem.
“What’d you tell Crook I said?” Holmes asked finally.
“Nothing of importance; creative swear words,” she said, shrugging ambivalently. “Just enough so she believed me.”
“Smart move.” He looked out again at the sea. “What do you want, Azeri?”
“I want Crook. Not dead, mind you; just somebody to out-con her,” she said, deciding more than a slice of innocence was needed. “Just want her to be taught a lesson, you know?”
Holmes nodded. “Okay, so you got my attention. Why me? Why not him?” He gestured at Innocent, who opened one eye, gave a huff of slight laughter, then closed his eye again.
“Well, if I’m honest, I didn’t know about Innocent or he would’ve been my first port of call,” Ash said, and Ezra flashed a gold-toothed grin before continuing his silent, closed-eyed meditation on God knows what evil. “But I need somebody who looks legit enough, and someone she hates enough to go chasing.”
Holmes nodded. “So, a slice of revenge on two fronts?”
Ash gave an exaggeratedly tired nod. “Yeah. Listen.” She fished in her pocket for the card that Caelan – had pressed into her fingers so gently earlier. “This is going to go down in this warehouse, that’s all I know; so far at least. Look, I can meet you once she explains the full scheme, then I can let you know… that’s what you’re after.”
“And you?”
“A sense of pride that I got the untouchable Esther Crook,” stated Ash. She breathed out. “And, of course, the invaluable gift of the London Metropolitan Police deciding not to breathe down my neck!”
That got both Holmes’s and Innocent’s attention.
She suddenly felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. It was just a photo of Esther raising her glass at the poolside. “I’ve been missed.” Ash jumped to her feet. “Look, meet me at the Liberty Clock. I can show you what I mean then. If you can make it about three-ish?”
“Fine. I figure if you’re lying, I can kill you.” Holmes paused and looked at her. “If I’m not there at quarter to three dead on, you’re on your own, kid.”
Ash nodded, before tearing off in the direction that Esther had meekly suggested, let alone a more demanding one asking for her to bring coffee.
Caelan and Esther were sitting portside, in very easy conversation, when Ash found them. All in fluent French, their mother tongue. Ash paused a moment, seeing the calmness between them. Things were beginning to make the tiniest bit of sense.
“Hey, come join the fun,” Caelan said, waving her over. Ash sat on the edge of the seat, handing him his coffee. “How’d it go?”
“I think I got the hook in; just warned me he was gonna kill me.”
“The hook is definitely in, then,” Esther said, putting her hands behind her head, smirking at them both. “If they don’t threaten to kill you, then they’re not sunk.” She sighed, and then winced at the reverberation of distant helicopter rotors. “Christ. She’s early.”
“When does she ever run to time,” Caelan said with a groan.
The approaching helicopter interrupted the game of basketball that Vin was enjoying with one of Innocent’s goons. It interrupted Ezra and Holmes’s poker game with Paulsen. It interrupted every poker game in the place, in fact. Everyone pointed and looked out; nearly everyone saw the name on the side of the craft: Cross Enterprises. Whispers abounded as people walked to windows and railings to watch the helicopter land. It was no doubt the owner of the ship, Isadora Cross-De Braun.
The helicopter landed towards the back of the ship, the motors juddering to a slow and steady halt. People emerged from their rooms and their games to watch as the infamous and beautiful philanthropist and owner of several casinos disembarked.
Isadora Cross-De Braun was a rather imposing woman, and she stepped forward to meet the captain. The man tilted his head apologetically and began a spiel. Unfortunately, for him at least, she had begun her own angry diatribe.
“You have disappointed me. It took me far too long to acquire this piece and it should be on display in my casino, but I chose to hand it off for a charity event.” She sighed and looked out over the crowd, before smiling at the four approaching, helmeted figures. “I’m taking my team back. I will be leaving four behind as well as Mr Christie – my insurance investigator.”
The tall man offered a hand for the captain to shake.
“Don’t worry; Mr Christie has verified each of my team’s identities.”
The captain tipped his hat to each crew member, each one loading a few items on board. “We did our utmost for security.”
“And a poor job it was.” Isadora sniffed. “The money I wasted on this damnable place’s security…” She threw a look around before smirking. “Plus, I hear some of my best rivals have been pushed out due to unfounded rumours about the criminal intentions of one of the finest poker players I have ever met. You can’t con honest people, you know.”
Harry Holmes, who’d been approaching with Ezra, promptly stopped.
“Ah, the rogue himself,” Isadora remarked.
Holmes preened with intention.
“Ezra. How are you?”
Ezra ignored Holmes’s stunned look at him being addressed so casually and yet insultingly. “Fine. What the hell is going on?”
“I’ve come to collect my supposed security team,” Isadora said, scowling at the group who were now seated comfortably in the helicopter. “Leave other associates in their place?”
“Esther Crook – I take her to be one of them, M-Mrs De Braun?” Ezra stated, a strain barely noticeable in his voice.
“No; last I heard, Esther Crook was in Norway. Girl damn near cleaned out my casino last year.” A feral glare came over Isadora’s face. “I’ll be glad to get hold of her again.”
“Ah, well, Mrs De Braun,” began Holmes, earning a dirty look, “I don’t know if you know who I—”
“Yes, you’re that idiot man who tried to buy the damned ruby from my late husband,” she snapped. “Fool! And then my PR man says you’ll be good for trade and your book tour is worse than being a sinner sat in a church.”
Ezra coughed discreetly.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be going.” She threw a look at them all again. “Men!”
With a few more indignant mutters, she gently took the arm of a young man who’d offered it and reboarded her helicopter. Soon she was giving sharp verbal reprimand (if her facial expression was anything to go by) to her pilot. The helicopter took off, people ignoring the announcement from the second in command that the ship was now back in territorial waters and gambling would need to cease for a short time.
“That, my friends, is proof that there is a God,” Ezra’s bodyguard Jesse said.
“Or the Devil himself exists,” muttered Ezra. He turned to Vin, who was wearing an amused smile. “What’s wrong?”
“Just figured out that those people who left, were they undercover?” he asked the captain, who nodded. “Any chance one of them was named Voleur? Just, she promised me a coffee earlier and it’d seem she’s—”
“Yes, sir. She left just now, along with Brett Higgins and Mrs De Braun’s niece. I wouldn’t like to be in the penetration company’s shoes. The test they did didn’t work in the long run.”
“Or, rather, one long con failed.”
Vin chuckled to himself as Innocent and Holmes both let out a litany of curses, but frowned as Holmes snapped to Paulsen, “Get hold of our little bird and ensure they sing. Tell them I want to know where she walks and where she goes, and ask where that Crook kid would’ve sent the kid that conned my son back to. I haven’t forgotten her.”
Vin winced as the two walked away, and looked at Innocent. The dark-haired man was shaking his head with what could only be described as incredulous amusement.
“It really was a game of charades played with charlatans,” said Innocent with a huff of surprised laughter.
“But I’m still worried about Holmes and Ash, Ezra,” said the bounty hunter. “She is one of those famous full stops that Esther Crook concerns herself with.”
“One could almost feel sorry for her… almost.” Innocent smirked, before tidying his cuffs again. “But then again, I can’t wait to hear the full story from Miss Azeri of how they made their exit.”
“I don’t know how you managed it, but you did,” Ash said, shaking her head as she took off her helmet and looked down at the rapidly disappearing cruise ship. “Shame we didn’t see the tournament through.”
“The chess game that you’ve put yourselves into seems much more interesting; it’s a shame I have to be back in San Marino by tomorrow.” Isadora was powdering her nose with a compact as Esther took off her helmet and looked at her. “I was rather hoping you’d spend tonight in – no, rather, I insist you spend an evening with us.”
Esther groaned. “Do whatever you think is best.” She raised her eyes heavenward, though whether for a solution or absolution, Ash couldn’t make out. “You normally do.”
“Your father really is letting your manners slip, Esther… you’ve not introduced me to your new friend.”
Esther raised her eyebrows.
“What?”
“Manners aren’t your forte… even if you do pretend to be a lady of substance.”
“Esther…”
“Ash, I’d like you to meet Isadora Cross-De Braun.”
“Yes; philanthropist and owner of that yacht,” Ash said, earning a scoff from the twins. “What?!”
“Oh, Esther, you know the best con artists are the ones we never hear tell of. Just whispers.” Isadora laughed, pleasantly, although Ash winced, as did Esther. There was a falseness behind it. She offered her hand to Ash and fixed her with a hard gaze. “I’m also known as Helen Bassett-Gardener, Marian Starkey… or you may know me as Hellion.” She looked pointedly at Esther, who raised her eyebrows. “Now, my dear granddaughter, I’d like to know what exactly is going on.”
Twelve
Number 13 Cuckoo Lane.
It was lucky that Ash did not count herself amongst the unfortunate souls who believe in fate, fortune and all that stuff. But even she felt a trickle of concern.
Thirteen was the traditional number of steps up to the gallows. Twelve up, and then one final step; the long step down. The cuckoo, who stole the nests of other birds and pushed their eggs and chicks out – if that wasn’t a damned omen, she didn’t know what was. She shivered against the cold morning air of her home city and pretended it was the London chill that was disturbing. Despite her earlier buoyancy over her first official con, she had now settled into despair. Holmes hadn’t given a solid answer. She was on the cusp of something big, and it all hinged on the urbane gangster wanting to get his hands dirty… and that was luck.
‘There is no such thing as luck; it’s an arbitrary excuse for a plan not coming together,’ Esther had said with a firm finality that brooked no denial when Nancy, upon seeing her friend, had remarked on her good luck.
Esther had waved off Ash’s concerns last night when they’d arrived in from Monaco, after an all-too-brief stopover for the helicopter to refuel. Hellion had been more than obliging, as Esther had recouped any losses from on board the ship on the poker table, all the while keeping a studious distance from the watchful eyes of her grandmother as she relined her coffers.
Caelan had mostly been on the phone and showing Ash how to rig cameras to their advantage. Once satisfied, the trio had made their way to London where Eleanor had been waiting, impatient but joyful when she saw them.
Caelan had retreated to bed immediately when the group arrived at a Covent Garden apartment that had a housekeeper who had balefully glared at Ash until reassured by both the money Esther had pushed into her hand and Esther’s assurances that she was not an enemy. When she’d eventually retreated to slumbering safety in a large feather bed, Esther had been still awake playing solitaire at the table with a snoozing Eleanor opposite her on the couch. When Ash had awoken, Eleanor had been awake and informed her that Esther had gone for an early morning walk on her lonesome. It would seem the twin preferred her own company while in London, as judged by Caelan’s own dark glare out onto Covent Garden.
Memories apparently, unwelcome, made their way into their minds.
There had been no time for breakfast as Caelan and Eleanor told her but she’d managed to dodge away to visit the old haunts from a distance.
She looked longingly at the shop opposite, memories more pleasant resurfacing. The times spent in the old “Tea Leaf” cafe, no she wasn't selling the place to marks. To her it was the good old-fashioned greasy spoon that London was infamous for – had all been good memories. Esther had warned her not to go to any old haunts, no matter the temptation, especially with Holmes’s goons hanging around. She muttered a curse under her breath and returned to casting a longing look at the window, just as one of the girls put up a sign: Fresh Apple Pie.
That stopped her dead. She considered her options. Surely, there was no harm in just going in and grabbing her crew some pie? It might sweeten their dour moods. Ash nodded and crossed the street, opening the door. She was about to call out a greeting when the door to the men’s toilets opened and Holmes’s lackey, Hughes, stepped out.
Once again, Ash froze. So did Hughes. The two stood, eyes locked; hand on fly for Hughes and Ash still halfway through the door. Hughes unconsciously doing his fly up was what spurred Ash into action. Three actions to be precise. In her first movement, she spun on her heel, in the second she had torn open the door and in the third set off running. It was lucky, Ash thought to herself, that she had had that burst of adrenaline and realisation in the moment before the irate Welshman did. She heard yells behind her, but kept running. She turned sharply down another street, dodging into the early morning traffic. Why the hell wasn’t it rush hour? Things were too quiet to be bobbing and weaving through these streets. She glanced behind her, cursing as she saw the Welshman gaining on her. While her adrenaline was reaching its end, his was just beginning, the sh
ock having worn off.
It was difficult to keep track of her direction as she followed all those bends, hearing the pounding of heavy boots in the alley behind. She had to get out of here. She should’ve listened – That’s twice you’ve not listened in London, and it’s going to cost you, she cursed herself.
She skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. Hughes was still a decent distance away, but gaining fast. Ash looked around, before spotting the familiar Tube station sign. She let out a loud huff of relief before running over, dodging through the commuters and blending with the crowd.
The traffic lights that were between her and salvation turned to amber, and she threw a frantic glance as she came to a halt. Hughes would catch her if she waited. With a decisive if fearful nod, Ash began walking towards him, hands raised. Hughes’s piggish face adopted a predator’s snarl of a smile, and he slowed. Ash walked forward about twenty feet before she heard the traffic resume its ponderous journey.
Then she ran.
She darted across the road, throwing a cursory look to both sides, her right leg barely missed by a black cab and scarcely hearing the loud beeps of the traffic, let alone the yells of the drivers. Ash ran down the staircase into the Tube station, blending in with the commuters. Not expected, but a good escape.
Once out of sight among the crowds, she took off her jacket, threw it quickly to the side and began looking through her bag. All con artists had to be magicians, and vanishing into thin air on command and in plain sight was one of the most valuable lessons that Dee had drummed into her when one of their short cons had gone wrong in Trafalgar Square and they’d been running from several agents of the law.
With social media being a necessary element of con life in recent years, identities were hidden behind items of clothing never worn, and Ash had long developed the habit of keeping a spare jacket in her bag along with various little items to ‘destroy’ herself.
Her profile picture on Facebook always featured her with glasses; never her favourite wire-rimmed pair that one day would probably be slung over the nearest bridge into the Thames. She took them off, keeping an eye on the stairs as there was a lull in the human traffic, and switched them for a pair of severe horn-rimmed ones. Hughes had evidently got caught at the lights, as she had been hoping he would. She took out her hooped earrings and replaced them with a pair of studs that Dee had given her for her last birthday, before putting on her pearl necklace. She stuffed her jacket into the bottom of her bag, and then walked upstairs, joining a group of jostling teenagers.
