by Bronwen John
She fell in line with them, laughing and texting, while watching as Hughes threw himself down the stairs. He shoved by her, and she just shot him a disgusted look. Nothing too conspicuous. Once he had descended the escalators, she tucked her phone into her pocket and began to walk quickly down the street.
Her luck had saved her, as had her short-con lessons. Now it was time to get her long-con game in order.
“Is Ash in yet?”
“Nah, think she went for a walk… so we said St Martin’s, right?” Eleanor said, ever the consummate professional.
Esther nodded curtly.
“She’ll be fine.”
Esther gave a terse nod as she looked around the warehouse, continuing to survey the situation with barely raised concern. It was perfect. Perfect for the job; she’d have to thank Nunn later. The work was still being completed, but it looked good. Junk hidden as solid gold, she considered. She knew how meticulous the plan was, and how it hinged on so many factors: on the hidden Spanish Prisoner, on the wire… on lives. She winced at that.
“Nancy’s dad is good for this stuff?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah, double- and triple-checked. Terry said we can have it. He’ll only charge a bit extra for the sapphires… seems there’s a booming trade in them,” Eleanor said, walking over to show Esther the stall. “There’s an extra stall for some snuff films.”
“I hope you’re not invested in that stuff?” Esther snapped, eyes boring holes into Eleanor, although the latter just raised her eyebrows. “Or…”
“Or it could be dodgy DVDs I got from Jock Simmons down Portobello Road.” Eleanor grinned. “A girl sitting in a room for all of an hour, crying and pleading… last bit, she stands up and walks out.”
“Who’s the gal?” Esther snorted, imagining those perverts gazing at the screen. It quickly turned to concern. “Her face can be seen?”
“Felicity Lester-Millpond; she’s this con artist from Brixton. Absolute artist with plastics,” Eleanor said, gesturing at her own face. She paused and looked at Esther. “Could even hide that scar of yours, if you so chose?”
“Now, why would I do that?” Esther asked, examining the thin scar that ran around her wrist and ran up her arm to her elbow. “It’s the only thing anyone can identify me by.” She rubbed it fondly, then looked out.
“You know your problem, Es?” enquired the blonde, tucking a pink streak of hair behind her ear. “My grandmother would say that you have one hundred problems, but none at all.”
Esther snorted rudely through her nose, trying to ignore the prickling of her thumbs. Good old Shakespeare; always a quote for every occasion, she thought. However, her inner Shakespearean quotation didn’t hide the unease in her bones as she sensed that something was indeed very wrong.
Something was up… and she had a funny feeling it had to do with Ash.
“Also got some of the crew from Detroit in,” Eleanor said, as Esther nodded. “Holmes strikes me as someone who’ll like an international flavour… by the way, why is Ness charging me more?”
“Royal gems are worth more, perhaps?” Esther suggested, running her finger under her chin. “Caelan, any ideas why?”
Caelan walked around from behind her, ruffling his newly light brown hair and taking out his contact lenses to reveal the same shade of green as her own. “It’s nice to be my own hair colour again, Esther. Next time we do a con, you can dye your hair.” He looked over her head at the new men. “Nah, it’s because some know their stuff about current cons in the States.”
“I’m too dark to go blonde. I’d need to be bleached. Nice to see you light brown again. Sun-bleached brown,” Esther joked. “Could you get them cheaper and quicker?”
“I’m the best fixer this side of the Atlantic beyond Terry. Course I can,” he said, striding off, muttering about “ungrateful sisters” and “best fixers”.
At that moment, Ash turned the corner. Esther nodded in relief before turning her head back to Eleanor, assessing whether she read the same thing. An imperceptible squint of the eyes told Esther that Eleanor had indeed noted it.
Something was wrong.
“You all right?” Eleanor asked, raising her eyebrows as the young girl joined them. “Look like you ran a marathon.”
“I had to run. Thought I’d miss the Tube. This looks good.” Ash looked around, fascinated.
Doesn’t want to speak about it – probably ran into that goon who was left behind, Esther thought.
“I like the good old-fashioned big store,” agreed Eleanor. “We’re going to need somewhere to bring them to from here; I figure I can be a pig in the car… you know, being taken from an honest job and all that stuff.”
Ash listened to the two negotiate terms, jumping when Caelan handed her a cup of tea. She thanked him and looked around. A real smugglers’ den of treasures and knick-knacks. Fool’s gold. Then she spotted a figure crossing the large industrial estate car park, and watched them as they disappeared.
Esther breathed in the London air and promptly coughed. “I hate the Big Smoke. Funny, though, I think you always see celebrities in Kings Cross.”
“Does that include me?” said an American accent to her left.
Ash spun to see a curly-haired man with wide green eyes looking at her. She gasped and pointed.
“We’ve met, Miss Azeri… or should I say Ash?”
Esther merely blushed and pushed her chin out. “Morning, Anton.” She looked across to Ash. “Ash, I’d like you to meet Anton Volkov, grad student and international jewel thief.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You are late.”
“Do you know how your grandmother is? Demanding I leave evidence to prove it’s not an insurance job?!” the man said, raising his hands in exaggerated exasperation. “She had me there over five hours.”
“Hellion is anything but kind-hearted,” teased Esther, putting a pencil behind her ear. “And synagogue before you started?”
“Had to see Rabbi Wolff before we began the con,” he said, reaching into his pocket, withdrawing the blood red stone and holding it up to the sunlight. “This will be my crowning achievement. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise the slip with the name?”
Ash flushed as she thought back.
“Ah, you thought we were intimate and there had been an accidental revealing of my name? No need to worry. Although my Esther is hot-blooded when it comes to a con, she is as cold as an ice cube.” He smirked at Esther, who just rolled her eyes. “No threat of a beating? You know, it would make a wonderful wedding ring.”
“There are enough reprobates around here to beat the hell into you. Put it away; get me a Monet for our wedding day,” Esther scolded teasingly.
He smirked and tossed the jewel to her.
“Now, if you’re not going to be of any use to me, then go find something useful to do.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, kissing her cheek again before heading toward the stairs. “This is the same place as we used for the safety deposit job back in November, right?” His Russian accent had slipped faster than a piano down a flight of stairs into a Midwestern American.
Eleanor nodded.
“Good; I’ll look over the books.”
“Anton is our banker when he’s not a thief; make sure this goes someplace safe,” Esther said, handing the gem to Eleanor. “Oh, and before you slope off to bed, Anton!”
Anton leaned on the railings, looking over.
“There’s some food in the fridge. It seems Ash has been missing her fry-ups.”
Ash stopped dead, waiting to see the knowing look, but Esther only stooped over some paperwork with Eleanor.
“Bought some from Smithfield Market for you on my early morning run. The amount Benny James charged for it, he should be the crook, not me.”
“I’ll make enough for the crew,” Anton said, jogging up the stairs.
There was plenty of talk from then on, Ash watching the stage performers get into their roles. There were loud discussions, and she jumped when she heard a whistle.
“Ash, get your butt up here and get a seat,” Anton called. “I’ll set a bed up for you too… got a big day ahead.”
Ash jogged lightly up the stairs and smiled as she stepped into the office, looking at the kitchenette. “Doesn’t look like much of an office.”
“Oh, this door will be closed, don’t you worry. Esther’s got an easy ride from now on; she just has to be whispered about, not seen,” Anton said lightly as he put some bacon under the grill. “Only the eggs to go and you got a breakfast.”
“Are you heist-drunk?” Ash asked. She’d heard of such things among thieves.
The man gave a laugh.
“I’m being serious.”
“I have no doubt you are. And, in answer to your question, I am not. I am merely exhausted from hauling stuff through the world,” he sighed dramatically. “Interpol is always breathing down my neck. Seems they think I am the holder of some Van Gogh stolen in the ’40s.”
Ash snorted.
“Damn family.”
“You?”
“Most thieves go down the family line; that was the first job I scoped for my Uncle Fyodor in Russia.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “That was after my parents emigrated from Russia, shall we say?” He grinned to himself.
“Esther kept you to herself,” Ash said, sitting down opposite him as he began to pull out plates. “Was it your family on board?”
“You need have no concern,” the Russian said. “I do not leave a trail of breadcrumbs. I am genuinely finishing my doctorate in geology.”
“Still say that it’s sneaky of Esther not to tell me about you.”
“Esther will consider your grumpiness a tragedy, I am sure. I knew Luke.” He looked hard at her. “He helped Esther learn the short cons… and he also taught me that love isn’t a con. It’s how I met Est.” He glanced at the window and shook his head. “You’ll have no idea how well liked that Englishman was. Oh, I have no doubt you loved him as a dad,” he added. “No, to lose him was a tragedy.”
“You ever lost anyone?” she asked quietly.
He nodded again, and it wasn’t beyond her notice that he reached to a chain hanging around his neck, brought it up to his lips and kissed the Star of David pendant.
“How’d you get on?”
“I survived it. You learn to.” He looked at her. “Why do I feel as though I should be passing on con advice to you?”
“Perhaps because you’re training me?”
“Me? Oh no, I’m a thief and the banker; I deal with the necessary side of things. Plus, I am leaving. I have a job that Esther wants us to go over tonight. It’ll start just as you begin your side of things with Eleanor.” He saw her confused look. “Me and Est have a good relationship on both sides of it.”
Ash sighed. She felt safe with Anton, just as she had done when he’d been playing a graduate student on board the ship. He had had the easiest job in con terms. “I can’t imagine moving on,” she said softly. “Luke was such a big part of my life.”
“There are three ways people go with tragedy. At least in my experience,” Anton said, breaking an egg into the hot frying pan “Over easy or sunny side up?”
“The difference being?”
“Keep forgetting none of you are cultured – means that it gets fried on both sides, but it’s not cooked for very long on the second side, so the yolk doesn’t cook through and stays runny. That’s over easy.” He saw the look. “Yeah, that’s better for you?”
“You were saying about tragedy?” she asked, as he plated up.
He shot her a confused look.
“Before you were explaining eggs?”
Anton nodded, a look of comprehension coming over his face. “They either commit suicide at a later date, or they are forced to survive. Then there is a lesser-known third option.” He walked to the window that overlooked the warehouse. “Breakfast is on the table!”
There were varied shouts in response, though no-one seemed to move. Anton shook his head, and began making up a bed in the corner of the room.
“That being?” Ash asked, sitting down to her own breakfast and beginning to eat.
“They become addicts.” Anton continued to fluff the pillows.
“Addicted to what? Alcohol? Drugs?” Ash asked, grabbing her cup of tea and drinking it quickly.
“Whatever tickles their fancy,” he said, standing up and stretching his back with a slight wiggle of the bum before walking to the centre of the room and picking up a glass of water from the table. “For example, I know of one girl – very good writer – her father committed suicide when she was sixteen, on the cusp of seventeen. Very nice, dependable girl; could already write, but after that she could only write down what she felt, not say it, for fear that she broke her father.” He leaned on the doorway. “I’ve only ever seen it again once.”
Ash nodded and looked down at the ground floor of the warehouse, watching Esther shouting out orders like a general to her men. But there she was; she could strategise like a general at least. “Don’t tell me – one of the twins?”
“Not the one you’re thinking of, either. See him?” Anton joined her at the window and pointed down to where Caelan was sitting cross-legged with one of the surveillance cameras. “He became addicted to the con life. Kept him alive; it’s how I met him. We were scoping the same museum for a con… keeping the family whisper alive for him.”
“And Esther is being forced to survive?” Ash asked, smiling blithely.
Anton turned haunted, if sparkling, green eyes to her. “What else would you call organising the biggest con this side of the twenty-first century against a man who has a vendetta against your family, but a slow suicide?”
Thirteen
“The kid is concerning herself.” Anton ran his hands through Esther’s hair as he kissed her shoulder. “She’s thinking about revenge, worrying about Luke; about what-ifs.”
“Don’t remind me. I suppose you told her the bull about tragedies… slow suicide?” Esther said.
He nodded and hugged her a little tighter.
“Thanks for reassuring her, Anton.”
“I know you’re useless with it.”
Esther sighed and looked sad for a moment, but only for a moment. She took the opportunity to kick off her shoes and squeeze up to him on the sofa, looking out at the city of London. The rest of the apartment was asleep; at least, the last time she’d checked they had all been sleeping. Healthy breakfasts for the lot of them, and working out the line once more.
“It’s the way of the long con. It’s been a long time coming to Holmes.” Esther took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t want a sixteen-year-old kid to be my rainmaker.”
Anton hugged her close, and she sighed softly. Anton came from a long line of thieves; Esther from a long line of con artists. Concerns came with both their heritage and their chosen job. Anton normally had his concerns about new alarms that he hadn’t had a chance to investigate. Esther would always worry about the day when her mark would be cleverer than her. For now, her most recent concern was the least experienced of their crew.
“I’d like to do some relaxing. Aren’t you ready for something more relaxing? Fewer risks with more thinking and planning?”
Esther knew exactly what he meant, and didn’t skip a beat. She tipped her head back to narrow her eyes at him. “You mean the risks you took with the Fabergé job?”
“That was one fantastic risk.”
Esther rolled her eyes. He’d escaped by the skin of his teeth; how he’d smuggled himself over the border into Norway, she didn’t know and didn’t want to ask. She’d tended him for the best part of a week, nursing his fever. Upon hearing his explanation that he’d
broken into the Kremlin, no less, to try to steal the ‘Clover Leaf’ Fabergé egg, she’d consulted the local hospital and made sure that he was healthy before promptly sending him back to America.
He brushed her hair off her face, kissing her cheek. “I’ve never seen so many police trip over themselves so fast. Now, come. What can we do for fun?”
“Is there anything you find fun that doesn’t involve you almost getting caught?” Esther asked, sitting up. “No, don’t answer that. This is exactly the reason you’re not a con man, but a damned thief.”
He only shrugged, a coy smile on his face, pulling her to her feet and swaying gently. “How about Shanghai? I could rob a safety deposit box. Nobody wants to report what’s in a safety deposit box. That’s international. I happen to know that an emerald from the Hatton Garden job is being kept in one of the Shanghai safety deposit boxes. It’ll make a fine engagement ring. It’ll bring out the green in your eyes.”
Esther tilted her head to look at him. “Well, if we get married we’re going to need some things…”
“What?! Just like that?! All those stupid jokes… I—”
Esther silenced him with a quick kiss. He chuckled against her lips, and she giggled. So different from the serious con artist she presented to the rest of the world.
“For an engagement present?” she said, taking a step back to look at him.
“You’ve already thought about this,” Anton realised, shaking his head. “You… you… con artist.”
“You say the nicest things,” she said, smiling fondly at him before walking to her backpack and pulling out photos. “This is the place I want you to try next. I’ve put notes on the back of the photographs to show what you need.”
