“I’m his son. He couldn’t find a date so I’m his plus one.” As I lightly pat my father’s arm, the policeman shakes his head, and tears off a piece of paper.
“Write down where you’re staying and don’t leave London until Scotland Yard gives you the go ahead.” Grumbling, he departs from the bar and our hostess flutters to our side.
“Oh Alistair, I can’t thank you enough. I’m going to make sure you’re A-listed for all our upcoming events.”
My father leans over to kiss her cheek and places his palm way down on her back. “The pleasure is all mine. Maybe we can meet somewhere more private to discuss our future charitable endeavors?”
The elderly socialite blushes and removes his hand. “Oh, go on… Honestly, a man of your age.”
“Well, call me anytime you want to reconsider, pretty lady.” The unrepentant wink makes me cringe. While an essential piece of his persona, his rogue behavior is not something I want to witness myself.
Odd how my patience with his adolescent antics has grown thin, and it probably says more about me than him. Bollocks, if he won’t retire, it’s time for me to resign. As I reflect, the police circle the crowded room. They ask questions, but of course, no one saw or heard anything. Several guests point at the ceiling cameras but I’m certain Robin Hood worked his bloomin’ magic in the blind spots.
After finishing our drinks, we amble around, say our goodbyes, and promise to donate generously to some cause or another. Finally, back at the hotel, I motion him to the bar. There, I order a pint, and move to a table, far from curious ears.
“Okay, how did you pull this thing off?”
The man laughs. “In the first act, an attendant helps a beautiful woman remove her wrap and in doing so, removes a transmitter from her bracelet.”
“Wasn’t the device being monitored by security somewhere?” I’m having a hard time believing his con was so easy.
“Yes, but a few feet off, plus or minus, can’t be detected.”
My dad smirks. “So, in the kitchen, said waiter drops the electronics down the sink where he set up a trap in the floor below. Using the camera feed, a helper walked around the room, mimicking Smythe’s movements above.”
He sips his drink and sighs contentedly. “During your clumsy champagne glass encounter, I signaled my accomplice to leave the building. By the time the security folks looked, my mate was blocks away.”
“Everyone believed the bracelet disappeared when Lady Pennington-Smythe screamed at the teenager, but the jewelry vanished five minutes before. I stuffed your pocket in front of the cameras while your hands were clearly picking up the shards of glass.”
“What if I’d been searched?” I am impressed by his skill, but the risks he took with my life were not his to take.
“By the time the cop greeted us at the bar, the bracelet was on its way out of the country.” His smirk causes me to reach in my empty pocket and at my surprise, he shrugs. “A certain prince in Dubai assures me, the piece will only be worn under the most private of circumstances.”
“Looks like your plan covers all contingencies, but I doubt you fooled MI6.” I worry. They told him to stop stealing, and he ignores their warnings.
“They may suspect, son, but they would need proof.”
“I’m getting too old for your shite.” Finished gulping down my drink, I clunk the lowball glass on the table and glare at his grin.
“You love the drama, Dashiell. You know, you do.”
Before I met Landy, he’d have been correct, but not now. I’m considering having kids, a white picket fence, and the works. He’s putting my future in jeopardy but from this point forward, he will not tug me around by a ring in my nose, no matter how gentle, the leash.
“I’ve changed, Dad. This was my last heist. Robin Hood needs to find another sidekick. I’m burning the green tights.”
My patriarch shakes his head, and smiles. “Sorry, but I’m not convinced.”
“Whatever.” I slap him on the back and call it a night. Upstairs in my room, I check my text messages, and stare.
Oh, bloody hell.
Chapter 4
Landy
With super-caffeinated thoughts racing through my brain, I ride my Harley up the interstate. What if Dash is right? Am I to blame? When a magnet attracts iron, whose fault is it? Have I always been so slapdash, and if so, when did it start?
After my parents divorced, my sister became perfection personified. Making mud pies, her clothes stayed pristine. My outfit was filthy before lunch and unrecognizable by dinner. She played Barbies while I preferred to follow the local boys to the nearby stream and catch tadpoles. We all dug up buried treasures, but I was the only one who lost my sneakers, witnessed the local perv drop his pants, and more than once, ended up at the police station.
