During a heist, your priority is time.
Whatever else is happening around you, what you always need to know is how long it is before you get caught.
If you’re in the process of getting caught, then your focus turns to finding the moment you can use to get uncaught.
My breath comes heavy as I press my forehead against the elevator’s cool steel walls, counting each inhale to time our way down. In, out, in, out — my breathing sounds panicked, but is almost as good as a stopwatch when it comes to tracking time.
I am aware of the security guards who stand stiff on either side of me wearing face masks and bulletproof vests.
Harry rubs my back, soothingly. I relax my shoulder muscles.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. These guys know what they’re doing,” Harry says.
The bank manager chimes in eagerly, “It’s completely safe! There’s only one way in, but in an emergency, we have a lot of ways out. If there’s a fire, an equipment malfunction, a chemical attack— we have smart sensors everywhere and they’ll provide us with an exit strategy.”
I turn around, face pained. “I know, thanks, I just—“
Then I turn back to the wall and retch, making Harry back away in alarm.
During a con, your priority is the target. You have to learn to predict their actions— you can buy yourself a lot of time if you know when your rube is getting uneasy, and a lot of space if you know what drives them away.
Harry, for instance, cannot stand the smell, sight or thought of vomit.
I retch again, a harsh, ugly sound.
One of the security guards takes over, pressing her hand between my shoulders.
The elevator dings. We stumble out into the hall.
I turn back and brace one hand against the wall next to the elevator, gagging again. Almost everyone steps back.
I grab the pendant of my necklace and tug it off, letting it drop into the crack between the elevator and wall.
A signal extender. My earpiece comes to life in a rush of static.
We’re lucky. Harry has a fixation on the 80s— chunky jewelry and big hair make hiding equipment a lot easier.
In a con, you have to become whatever your target needs in that moment, be it a sympathetic ear, a kick in the ass, or a good time.
I pretend to catch my breath before turning back to the group with teary eyes. My team chatters in my ear from 300 feet aboveground.
“I’m sorry. I get so claustrophobic,” I say.
Harry gathers me into his arms.
“Shh, baby, I know,” he says. “It’s okay.”
I bury my head in his chest.
“Get going,” Jesse says from the van upstairs, “we’re on a tight schedule…”
Jesse never respects the con part of the equation. I am, first and foremost, everything Harry has ever needed. His dream girl.
The thing is, Harry doesn’t need all that much. Twenty-four, blond, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, fate and nature have both been generous to their favoured son.
His problems are the standard issue rich kid basic value pack. His dad doesn’t love him all that much, but pays a good therapist a lot of money to deal with the neglect.
Harry’s a little insecure, like the rest of us. But he’s handsome and rich, meaning most people assume he’s smart. Lucky for him, he not smart enough to notice that he isn’t.
He’s successful, because he’s rich enough that his failures don’t count, and charming because he’s never had cause for bitterness.
So, what does a guy like that need?
“You okay, baby?” he asks.
I tilt my head back to look at him. “With you here? Always.”
I give him a quick peck on the cheek.
When I pull away, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in for a long, hot kiss.
A clock is ticking in my head and someone else’s tongue is in my mouth. But if I drop the character, we lose what’s left of our time.
I snake my arms around his neck, letting out a low, long hum of pleasure. I feel his stubble scrape against my cheek, run my fingers through his product-laden hair. He kisses me like he means it. I can’t help but melt.
I’m a little method, when it comes to roles like this.
He gives my ass a squeeze. I squeak and giggle, pushing him away playfully.
“Baby, we’re in your bank,” I say, laughing.
“Exactly,” Harry says, smug, “we’re in MY bank.”
The manager is looking at the ceiling, as though it might contain a security threat. One of the security guards is staring at their feet, while the other one looks on, unperturbed.
I find myself incapable of meeting the second one’s eye, blushing as I grab Harry’s hand and tug him down the hall.
“Show me my present,” I say.
“However that looked,” Jesse says into my ear, “it sounded ten times grosser.”
What does a guy like that need? What do any of us need? Safety. Power. To be more than we were. No one expects Harry to support them emotionally. When he calms me down and dries my tears, he feels whole.
Ah, sweet Harry. I’ve grown fond of him, because I had to. Like I said, I’m method.
We’re funny little creatures. A person can be vicious and gluttonous — can tear apart entire countries with their knife and fork all to find the thinnest of profit margins to suck out like the meat from a malnourished lobster — but if they show us any individual kindness, it is hard to see anything but that wisp of goodness.
I dig out the love they want to feel. I used to take a more varied approach, but now I just provoke the kindness to find the goodness
The staff follows us. Harry slows to allow the unflappable guard to walk in front. Her hips sway as she does, a flamboyance that matches the drama of this place.
It’s designed to look like it was made in medieval France, in spite of its actual origins in modern Colorado.
The arched ceilings are lit jarringly with LED lights, and heavy, circular doors with complex brass mechanisms line the walls.
About half the vaults contain valuables. The other half are boobie trapped— though, now that I’m down here it’s easy to see which thresholds are never crossed.
Old money usually lacks imagination — it’s easy to sell them style in exchange for substance.
I look around with wide-eyes. “It’s like we’re in a movie.”
“We’re the guys they make movies about,” Harry says.
They’re the guys with enough money to cosplay hard enough that it becomes real life.
The vault door is complex. It has a dozen security measures, each one easy to dismantle on its own, but even with the codes and keys it takes too long for a simple break-and-enter, hence the con.
Harry’s idea of an appropriate gift is informed by a lifetime of excess.
For his sweet sixteen, he was gifted a private island. For his eighteenth, he was given a tech company with a billion dollar valuation. He sank both.
He feels me up while door clicks and whirrs. The bolder security guard looks politely to our right— vigilant without being voyeuristic.
The door swings open and finally I get to see the Sirius Diamond.
It sits on a grecian pedestal in the centre of the vault, all 900 carats reflecting the cool overhead lights.
I gasp. “It’s so beautiful.”
Harry’s arm snakes around my waist to pull me closer, leaning in until his hot breath tickles my ear.
“Not half as beautiful as you,” he says.
The manager looks away.
But that security guard still doesn’t. I finally meet her eyes.
I know those eyes.
Harry is talking. He’ll cut the stone up. Make rings. Make a wedding set.
Those eyes crinkle as the guard smiles under her mask.
“They’d look beautiful on our honeymoon in Mexico City.” I say, knowing it’s too late.
Chatter bubbles out of my earpiece
“Did she just say—“
“That’s the code—“
“We’re not getting any—“
“What’s going on?” Jesse asks, “Nothing’s wrong. Stay the course.”
“I’m really excited about Mexico City,” I insist.
The connection crackles.
“She’s spooked,” Jesse says, “Penn, I need you to take—“
And he’s gone.
The security guard winks at me.
The lights go out.
“What the hell?” Harry says, his arms tightening around me.
Then I hear a ccchk.
Harry falls forward onto me. I stumble back.
He hits the ground with a thud.
Cloth whispers across the room. Keys jangle. Another shot. Another body falls to the floor.
The lights turn back on.
The diamond’s case sits in Lilly’s lap. She strips off her mask and drops it.
“Heyyy bestie,” she says, “it’s been too long! How’ve you been? So sorry about your fiancé.”
I glance at Harry. Blood pools under his head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lilly hand the diamond to the second guard.
I fiddle with a bead on my bracelet.
“Not long enough, babygirl,” I say, forcing a smile. “Surprised to see you here. You never cared about bling. You always pulled from that box of costume jewelry.”
Lilly breathes deep, as if she can push the anger back into her lungs.
“You’ve always been such a trendsetter,” she tells me. “For once, I wanted to get there first.”
“And you finally did,” I say with as much condescension as I can shove into my words. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Proud of me? I’m proud of you— still doing crime at your age.”
I sigh. “So. What now? You got your revenge. Let me guess… you’re going to kill me?”
“You know me so well,” Lilly says.
“You’re not that hard to know,”’I respond. “So, how about a fair fight?”
Lilly laughs. “You’ve never fought fair in your life.”
I’m out of targets to con and time to steal.
During a robbery, your priority is your escape route. I need to make one.
I take a deep breath and twist the bead on my bracelet.
I can hear the gas leak out. It’s clear and odourless, but the sensors monitor the vault atmosphere.
Just a few seconds. I only have to last a few seconds.
The lights go out. I hear a gun safety click off.
