by Bronwen John
“You won’t!” scoffed Eleanor. “That painting was spirited away the moment it got away from those offices.”
“Could steal it back?” Caelan said, looking at his sister.
“I have no need; not at this juncture, at any rate,” Esther replied. “It’s a victory to find a likeness.”
“I’m still sorry.”
Esther sighed. “Look, my part here is over. It’s best that he thinks I’m only back in London when the con is coming to a close. I’ll even put money on him rushing to the Met to get them ready.”
“He’ll still want to test the ruby, though.”
“But of course. It’d be an insult if he didn’t.” Esther snorted through her nose. “As good as my brother is, I think he’d take it as a personal affront.”
“I would,” Caelan said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Means he’s slipping up.”
“Nah, all it means is that Innocent is cautious. He knows we’re not chasing him down. His partner is collateral,” Esther said, walking to the window. She looked out. “Every one of us needs rest. Now.”
“You really think any of us is going to sleep?” Ash asked incredulously. “It’s only five o’clock.”
“No. I just hope you will.” Esther looked at her. “Being on the lam is no fun. You take sleep where it’s required and move on from there.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to need a word with our Russian exile, and then I’ll follow you.”
Esther watched all of them reluctantly leave before she pulled a card out of her house of cards that she had been playing with when they got in. Old friends, as they were. Club. Heart. Joker. Spade. Diamond. They fluttered to the floor and Esther looked out across the city.
“God help the saints, and may the Devil keep us wrongdoers in his sights,” she whispered to herself. “And if this ends, let it end in a blaze of glory.” She looked upward towards the glistening heavens in contemplation. “After all, you made me in your image, you old sinner.”
In the distance, thunder crackled and a lightning bolt lit up the London skies.
DCI Rebecca Banks sat gazing over the London streets from her office. Even now, people were going about their business; the black cabs served as the life blood to the London traffic. In front of her lay the heavy file containing the details of the theft of the Burmese ruby. Interpol had been wandering the corridors since it was stolen, and it would be considered a feather in the hat for anyone involved in the capture of the criminals who had committed the act, and in the safe return of the priceless jewel. Whoever it was had a fantastic criminal mind.
“Boss?”
Banks looked up into the eyes of her young sergeant.
“There’s a man here to see you. Holmes.”
She raised her eyebrows in exasperation. “Okay, send him in.”
She openly despised the man. He had beaten the rap so many times on small technicalities. The Crook case; every agency had thought they’d had him. When the long-time Interpol agent had been murdered, all agencies had considered Holmes a wanted man. It had been a tragedy, but no evidence had been officially tied to him, and the whisper of a forced confession had done the case in despite the best efforts of all involved.
Banks closed her eyes as she remembered the two Crook kids who had been standing safely out of Holmes’s view, although their sobs had carried around the courtroom. Then the defence had stood up with a single technicality. It had demolished the case.
“Ah, DCI Banks.” Holmes came into the room and threw down his jacket in a blasé manner, with the triumphant smirk of a cat who’d both caught the canary and drunk the milk. “I hope you are well.”
“You’re lucky that I had no plans, Holmes. What do you want?” the DCI forced out.
“Ah-ah, manners, please.” He sat down opposite her, still wearing that stupid grin. “I believe you, DCI Banks, have been looking for resources on a mutual acquaintance?”
“Never thought I’d see the day Harry Holmes would cry cop.” Banks smirked.
“Not crying cop, just have a mutual interest,” he said indignantly. “I suppose you know about Esther Crook?”
The detective chief inspector winced internally. She’d heard whispers on the wind about the Crook daughter. That she had, despite studying to become a lawyer, turned into a criminal and had masterminded several cons that led no route back to her. Banks hoped not… whispers were usually just whispers.
“I’ve heard rumours. And those are inadmissible. She has never been arrested in Europe or Asia, let alone on either side of the Atlantic.”
“She is considered one of the finest con artists of her generation… among the criminally minded,” Holmes interrupted. “I chanced upon her on my book tour. It would seem that she had something to do with the theft of that ruby. The Star of Burma?”
Banks narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, and she is on London turf… and set to make a fortune on people’s backs.”
Banks sighed. “Fine. Give me the low-down.”
“I’m warning you, being a con artist isn’t like it is in the movies,” Esther had said to Ash, with a measured patience that Ash sensed was being sorely tested. “There’s a lot of boring waiting around… and you have to have the patience of a saint with the long con.”
As she huddled underneath a bridge, trying in vain to dodge the sudden torrential downpour that London was famous for, Ash was willing to admit, if only to herself, that Esther had been right and it was less fun than Ash had thought it would be.
She had meant to fall asleep. Honestly, she had. But peace was hard to come by when she thought of what was on the line for her and everyone else. Their lives balanced on a tightrope. Eventually she had fallen into a light, fitful sleep, filled with dreams of being chased by Holmes and Hughes.
After one too many gasps awake, she had found herself wandering down the side of the Thames. As suddenly as the rain cloud burst, it stopped, and Ash let out a soft sigh of relief. She walked to the wall that overlooked the river, and blew out some air. She stared out over the water, looking into the distance. The movement of the water always reminded her of ‘the dip’, a fluid motion of fingers and bodies as she sidestepped her mark and made off with their readies.
The dip was almost poetic when you really looked at it. What better way to get even with the flagrant cheats and reprobates of this world than to dip your finger in their pockets? Ash wiggled her fingers experimentally and smiled to herself, only stopping when she heard a gentle cough behind her. She spun around and let out a surprised huff when she saw who it was.
Esther was standing in the darkness of one of the broken street lights. Ash had been too lost in her thoughts to notice her follower until she had stepped out of the shadows and joined her in watching the fighting light and shadow at the crest of the river.
“Can’t you sleep?” Esther asked politely.
“No. How long you been following me?”
“The art of the con man is to be everywhere and nowhere. I saw you leave; wondered where you were off to. I was looking for some more blankets.” She ruffled her own dark hair, then pulled out a baker boy cap from her pocket, putting it on her head. “I was supposed to be meeting Mattie LeRoy. Colorado is fine, by the by, although I’d rather you didn’t tell him that you’re still with us.”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause. In Ash’s mind, Esther was probably considering what to say next. She wasn’t chatty at the best of times, except regarding the execution of a plan. Ash, however, was trying to think of a way to explain everything. Things that she couldn’t explain. She also guessed that Esther didn’t want to imply any jealousy from Colorado.
“Dee’s settled in,” Esther continued quietly. “Chris Adams has taken possession of her in Denver. She’s a bit worse for wear but there’s no lasting physical damage. Mentally… well… tha
t’ll take a while. It seems she is quite contented for the moment. And more importantly, she is safe.”
“Thanks for getting Christopher Adams involved, Est. I don’t like to think what it cost.”
Ash was grateful for the intervention of the ATF leader. In truth, she had almost forgotten both him and Dee. Her big sister, once so confident, was so vulnerable right now. And equally she had not been forgotten, just pushed to the back of the mind with the con.
“You don’t need to thank me, Ash,” Esther said, looking out onto the river. “I needed him for one purpose, but he served two. You’re worried about the con.” It was a question wrapped as a statement.
“Think it’ll go to plan?” Ash asked.
“That a question or a concern?” Esther shot back.
“I don’t know. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” Esther said thoughtfully. “That’s what my dad would say.” She glanced at the taller young woman. “What about you?”
“I’m okay… just, I can’t get rid of a million thoughts and I don’t know what it’s making me feel like.”
Esther nodded. “I get that feeling… can’t close down. It’s just static. It’s too hard to focus and much too hard to sleep. Just like a kind of ambient background noise that gets in the way of everything. Static is what I call it.”
“What do you do about it?” Ash asked.
“Normally plan cons. Play cards or watch a movie.” Esther chuckled. “Used to walk… just like you.”
“Just like me?” Ash asked curiously.
“Yeah, until I almost got pneumonia… and Norway still has wolves, kid,” Esther said with a soft laugh. “Every person in this world experiences it, from stockbrokers to con artists. But it becomes so excruciatingly pronounced in those of us that are deep thinkers and worriers.” She breathed out hard. “Do you like the cold?”
“Yeah, that’s about right.” Esther didn’t speak, so Ash offered her own opinion of the matter. “It’s a good distraction.”
“Yeah. It’s easier to think when your hands and fingers are numb,” Esther agreed, blowing on her own fingers as an example. She suddenly looked at Ash seriously. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
“Course I do,” Ash said indignantly. She knew this was true. She knew that much of Esther wasn’t a con. She just couldn’t figure out all the separate pieces. Yet. “Thanks again, Est.” Not just for Dee, but for everything. You said you needed a rainmaker but you didn’t really… you took me on without a concern. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. But all this went unsaid. “I appreciate it all.”
“I know.” Esther jerked her head. “Now, come on. I happen to know a nice late-night walk. If you don’t mind my company, that is?”
“I can think of no better.” Ash walked with a spring in her step behind the woman she now considered a friend. “Where are we going?”
“The Easy,” Esther said, sharing a sly smile. “I need a good whisky which burns my soul… and I’ll just get you a mocktail.”
The expletive that Ash used to describe her was lost in the wind, but not to the second figure who stepped out of the shadows just beyond where the two young women had been standing.
“Hello, Hughes,” the figure said. “Yeah… I got them, and I know where they’re heading.”
Company was no good when a con artist began to feel that strange melancholy, Esther thought as she sipped at her champagne, pretending it was hot chocolate and that she was sitting in her Lyon home watching an old movie instead of listening to Ash prattle on.
“Ash, I need a bit of quiet,” she said finally.
Ash suddenly fell silent and looked at her with concern. Damn, the kid was beginning to read her poker face.
“Go dance. Speak with friends. You won’t be here long after this is over.”
“Only if you’re sure?” Ash asked nervously.
Esther nodded.
“You need to switch off more.”
Esther chuckled, watching the teenager swagger off. She knew she had a junior partner, as it were, if she asked.
In the euphoria that followed a successful implementing of a con, Esther had been more than willing to follow Ash, expecting the silence that she usually immersed herself in. Instead she’d found herself tagging along with Ash, the young woman chattering like a nightingale. The confusion of the static had dissipated into nothing at all for the young Ash.
Esther envied her for it. For her, it was a constant. A reminder of the pain that her decision to lead a less-than-honest con life had bought her. She had wealth tucked into her pockets, but had lost several fortunes running from cons when the whispers became too loud. She could make a living on the poker tables if she so chose. Her recent wins on that front had been proof that she could make a living. She’d considered it optimistically, but had since resigned herself to the fact that she was a con artist through and through. She’d finish her degree – ironically, in law – and then leaf her way through, trying to find loopholes before they turned into nooses.
Mattie LeRoy called her the most honest dishonest person he knew. It was the highest compliment she had received, and she had said so when she’d cancelled her meeting with him in Covent Garden. He’d been in a forgiving mood, willing to allow her an exit whilst she dealt with her own demons.
They’d laughed over always seeming to miss each other, especially in the Big Smoke. He was the only one who knew where exactly she hid out when she was in London. Not even Nancy was privy to that, unless Esther was sleeping on her sofa. The two had cut many deals together and she trusted Mattie with her life. He was the greatest con man she knew, and he returned the compliment, saying it was nice to know a fellow Dutch master who masqueraded as a con woman. She was lucky like that. She had a good deal of cut-throats on the lookout for her. Only a few disreputable souls were not on her side.
Now, sitting in a booth at The Speakeasy, Esther considered things more soberly. Her time in London was coming to a close. She was ready to become little more than a whisper in the wind again. Her work as a prisoner was up. It was a new type of prison, but she found it satisfying. Now she had to slink back into the shadows, while Ash did the legwork for the next few weeks with Eleanor. Or would it be wiser to keep it short? She’d judge that later, she thought.
She had a good crew already. God, she needed a good bath. After a con, as her beloved grandmother would say, she just wanted to soak in a bath. To purify herself of all the evil deeds she had planned and manufactured, as if laundering her very soul.
There is one reassurance without getting wet, Esther thought as she absently pulled out her cards and laid them out, remembering each as easily as an old friend. Club; Caelan. Diamond; herself, but of course. The Joker… who to… ah – Eleanor! For who else would be able to perform the trick of a lifetime? Spade; Anton, the outsider but the banker. Heart… She paused. Was Ash her heart? Her conscience? Esther wasn’t even sure if she had one of those any more. Her whispering angel that should’ve been on her shoulder had long gone quiet.
She took a deep breath and tucked the five cards back safely in her pocket. Now was not the time to wax lyrical. It was time to move. She had stayed too long and she needed to get back before fate began making holes in her carefully constructed plans. Before she grew attached and the barbed-wire fence that encircled her heart was cut loose.
Ash seemed to have taken this as a signal to join her again. She was wearing a silly grin and holding two bottles.
Esther shot the sixteen-year-old a look. “We have got to be going.”
“We need a toast before we leave,” the kid was saying in a deceptively light tone. “To Luke and absent friends?”
“To Luke and absent friends,” Esther said, pointing at the bottle of lemonade on the table. “That and then we leave.” She had drunk herself into a stupor and lost five r
ounds of cards while grieving for her short-con friend. She was now inclined to move forward.
The kid, though, was wearing a sad smile, and Esther realised that she was still suffering from the static and the concerns of it all.
“How was your first inside job, kid?”
“It was great – you could’ve told me about the painting.”
“I did like it… bloody Holmes,” Esther said, smirking. Ash would make a fine trainee, and if she kept up, Esther might let her in on a few other con…
Hell.
Esther’s bright green eyes connected with knowing blue ones. Hughes. Typical. The one night – the very night – she let her guard down just to let the kid be a kid again, she saw Hughes.
She didn’t stand too quickly, trying to appear unaffected and cool before standing Ash up. “Come on, time to go.” She looked at Hughes. “I’ll be right back, Mr Hughes. You have my word.”
Ash threw a panicked look at the gangster’s lackey and began spluttering apologies to Esther as she led her through The Speakeasy’s door-slash-bookcase and outside to the taxi rank. “Est, I’m—”
“Don’t apologise. Just means we got to move quicker; here’s £20.” She put the money firmly in Ash’s hand, letting the young woman feel the slip of card between the note and her hand. “You get out of here. Go on, now. Take care of her, mate.”
Esther slammed the door shut and began to walk back towards the club, hands casually in her pockets. She spun on her heel and threw a blasé look, hiding a relieved sigh behind a sharp cough as she watched the iconic black cab melt into the streets amongst its brothers. Ash was safe.
“Miss Crook?”
Esther turned and smirked at the grim Hughes. “It seems I have an overdue appointment with your boss?” She offered a flash of a grin. “Lead on.”
Ash watched Esther disappear into the streams of people pouring out of the clubs. She was looking amiable enough as she walked towards the men who wanted to kill her.
