Part 70 (1/2)

”I don't care what her mother thinks,” he snaps. ”We need this done as soon as possible. I'm under a lot of pressure, here.”

He must be. I have never known my father to be an impatient man, and yet he's constantly moving up the timetable on this. Yesterday it was stay away from her, now he wants me to seduce her, not that it will be such a ch.o.r.e. The thought of getting my hands on her soft skin brings a dull smile to my face, before I force it away and shake my head to clear my thoughts. G.o.d, what am I thinking?

”I'm having second thoughts about this.”

He freezes, and slowly turns to focus on me.

”Second thoughts about what?”

”This job. I'm not sure... I'm not sure I want to hurt these people.”

”Apollo, you've known this girl for two days. I don't think you understand what's at stake here.”

”Of course I do. Look, I know you want to retire, but there will be other jobs-”

”Not if I botch this one!” he roars, balling his hands into fists. Red-faced, he turns away and smooths his hands through his hair, looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to composure. He turns back to me. ”Apollo, this is not a regular job. We do not get to walk away if things look too difficult. I need to pull this off.”

”Why? What aren't you telling me?”

He sits on the bed and shakes his head. ”I don't know how it ever came to this.”

I drop into a side chair, facing him. ”Came to what?” The tremble in my voice is genuine. ”Dad, what's going on?”

”Look, the best thing we can do for us, and for these women, is do this job and move on. I know that may be hard to understand, but sometimes in life we want things we can't have. I'm not stupid, son. I know you've taken a liking to the girl. I'm relieved to see you take an interest in somebody your own age, for once.” He sighs, hard. ”This is my fault. Taking you with me is the biggest mistake I've ever made. You don't deserve this.”

We sit there in silence until he breaks it. ”I need to finish what I'm doing here. I leave early to pick up Carol and head to the airport. I'll leave you a flight itinerary. It's just a vacation. We'll be fine.”

I don't want to ask this. I”m worried about his reaction.

”Do you like her?”

”Who?”

”Carol.”

He freezes.

”It's a job. I've got my head in the game. That's what you need to do. Get your head in the game.”

The tension in the air is like a blanket, heavy and itchy. I rise and slink out of the room, and let the door swing shut behind me. I still feel ill-at-ease in this house, like I don't know my way around. If things go right, I never will. If I do what he's asking me to do, I'll wrap Diana around my little finger, her mother will be destroyed, and I'll never see either of them again. Not that her mother much wanted to see me again, but that's beside the point. I don't know if I can do this to her. Then there's the other thing.

I can read between lines. I can figure out implications. It's right there, he's trying to tell me but he won't say it. This is the last job, if we don't do this there won't be any more. I'm not an idiot. He's been threatened. Somebody is going to take us out if we don't do this. Somebody wants that painting, bad. What I can't figure is why.

Look, we're criminals. We work with other criminals, it's the nature of the beast. Thing is, we're not working with g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers and cartels and hitmen, but we work with people unscrupulous enough to buy stolen goods.

Most of the things we lift go to known fences my father has a working relations.h.i.+p with. It's a whole network of trust. People don't threaten to send us to sleep with the fishes if we fail a job, it's more a matter of reputation. We've never failed one anyway, and I've never seen him so on edge.

Could somebody be holding something over him?

I grab my bokken and head out to the back yard, and start stretching before I move through the forms. Exercise will get my blood moving, clear my head and loosen me up. Stretches first, to protect my joints and ligaments, then the forms. I move slowly through them at first, and no matter how many times I swing through an imaginary opponent, my grim thoughts won't leave me. I pick up speed, and the pieces keep swirling around me, no matter how I try to focus and banish them. I stumble and stop, stick the point of my practice sword in the ground and breathe hard, wipe the sweat out of my eyes.

What the h.e.l.l is going on here?

It goes back to that meeting after the heiress job. We've never met with a buyer that fast, and after stealing something like that I would expect us to go through known channels. Usually things like that are auctioned, even. Usually he'd show me the proceeds of the job, we'd have a joking argument about my cut and I'd get a sizable envelope of cash for playing my part, but it's never come up again.

The meeting was off, too. I know in movies these sorts of things are always high dramatic, but meeting in the middle of the night? That's not how it's done. I've been a tag-a-long on enough of these drops and meetings with fences to tell you that if you didn't know it was illegal you'd think it was a regular business meeting. No trades of goods for suitcases of cash under restaurant tables, no chase scenes, nothing like that. This is a business. A dangerous, morally questionable business.

The choice of target is bothering me too. I take up the sword again and force myself to swing slowly through the motions, focusing on precision and silky smooth movement, but I keep getting distracted. Veronica the heiress isn't going to miss a necklace. Yeah, it was a family heirloom but I sincerely doubt it meant anything to her. Most of the time we steal from people who don't really need what we're taking, the super-rich, or from inst.i.tutions, and art usually isn't on the list. A necklace is a necklace, but this is different.

It feels personal. The painting may not belong to Diana's mother, but losing it is going to hurt her, I think. From what I can see she is very invested in this museum collection. I need more information.

Winded, I sit on the back step and rest my practice sword on my legs, and lean on it. At some point I will begin practicing with live steel, but I don't know that I'm ready for that. Even just working through the forms I could still cut the s.h.i.+t out of myself. That would be a h.e.l.l of a way to go. There aren't any answers in the back yard, and I don't think another excursion will help. I lean back against the step.

I can't get Diana out of my head. Her smile is like a drug, every glimpse a hit and I'm growing addicted. It's been too long since I saw her last, and now I don't know if I can ever see her again. How can I do this to her? She's not some airheaded heiress or rich f.u.c.ker, she's... just a girl. Yet so much more than that. Innocence is a rare thing to experience for somebody like me. Selfless, too, she's selfless. I don't need a dossier to tell me how she feels about that Lucas, and there she was marching into that party to pull her friend out of the fire. I'm sure she'd have gone if I was there or not, no matter the outcome. That's bold.

A light touch. A light touch would work. I just have to get close to her, not befriend her. If we're not too close, she'll get over it, right? She has a long life ahead of her.

What do I have? More of this?

The money and danger and s.e.x is great, but I can't stop myself from thinking about what Dad said about the jewels losing their sparkle. I've never seen him really upset about anything before, and I've certainly never seen him broken up about my mother, but he looked like he was going to break down yesterday. What has he gotten us into?

I bend the practice sword 'blade' in my hands a little, feel the resistance of the wooden strips. We're stronger together, he told me once. A practice sword made of a single piece would eventually crack and snap. The bokken is made of many thin pieces, brittle and weak on their own but stronger when bound together, each pa.s.sing the shock of a blow to the others so none of them carry it alone. That's what we are, he told me, two pieces bound together in strength, better together than apart, but we're only two pieces and if he breaks it'll be just me, and I'm starting to feel how brittle I really am.

Diana. I want her. Not like I've never desired a woman before, but this is different. It feels different. It's like it's more than just her body, and she has a h.e.l.l of a body. When I look at her I see something I've never seen before, an end to this.

Must be the job. I haven't spent much of my young adult life around normal people. The circles I move in are rich mobsters, prost.i.tutes, fences, the genteel upper crust of modern criminality, if there is such a thing. I thought that was normal. Then I come here and see this world where I don't belong and...

Dad's hand falls on my shoulder.

”Practice before I hit the sack, eh? Won't be able to do it for a while.”

I've exhausted myself but I know that would be no excuse. I follow him out into the yard and have to jump back and he swings at me without warning. I'm loosened up and ready, though, and the dance begins on even footing. Clack clack clack, the blades. .h.i.t, the practice sword turned in my hand. Parrying is done with the flat of the blade, never the delicate edge.

The movements are part dance, part chess match, part conversation. Other styles of fencing are all about striking at a weakness or battering the opponent's sword out of the way to strike, about being stronger or faster. This is about directing the opponent's movements, an unconscious game of reading muscle twitches and changes in balance, of following the opponent's eyes and recognizing the beginning of a form and responding with the correct move.

Victory is the difference between playing chess like an amateur and making each move individually and playing at the master level, seeing the entire progress of the game from every move.

Then it happens, something that's never happened before. I find myself standing with the edge of his practice sword resting against my throat, as mine rests against his. A draw.

He pulls back, visibly winded and sweating. ”Again.”

”Wait,” I say, acting more fatigued than I am.

This isn't right. I'm not supposed to be stronger, or faster than he is.

”I need to rest,” I add, and see a look of relief on his face.