“Wait, you reallyweren’tthere for the Puffin?” Will broke in.
She smiled condescendingly at him. “Of course not, sweetheart. I like a bit of fun, but I’m not an idiot. And I was right to avoid it; look at what happened to poor Jansen and Eli.”
Good point. And yet… “So I guess you don’t want to know which universally hated asshole got away with the Puffin, then.”
Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “No one did. The display Puffin was a fake.”
“The one in the vault wasn’t, though.”
“Wait.” She shook her head. “Wait. You’re saying it wasMarcus? Really?”
“Mmhm.” Will nodded. “He was really hedging his bets when it came to framing someone else for the theft.”
“And poor Jansen was the unlucky winner.” She looked between the two of them for a moment. “Neither of you are particularly vindictive. Why do you care what happens to the Puffin?”
“It’s not about the statue,” Cole replied, his voice chill. “It’s about the attempt at manipulation.”
This was why Cole Dalton worked alone, Will supposed—no one to betray him, and no need to hunt people down once they did.
“Speak for yourself,” Will said with a lazy smile. “I want the bird.”
Vanessa laughed. “If I knew where Marcus was holed up right now or what he plans to do with the Puffin, I’d point you in his direction if only to watch the sparks fly. I don’t,but.” She smiled coyly. “I know who does. It’s not going to be easy to talk with him, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because he was arrested for attempted robbery last night, of course.”
CHAPTER 5
Jansen Mortimer’s week just kept getting deeper into hell. He’d almost bailed on the party, but then his car had shit the bed, and he’d needed to get that stupid penguin statue so he could sell it and pay for repairs. He didn’t even care what the thing was really worth—he’d trade it for the parts and labor required to get his crapwagon running again.
And he’d gotten his hands on the penguin, too. Got it out of the case and under his arm, but everything was slippery because of the sprinklers, and then that plainclothes lady cop had tackled him. The penguin—which wasn’t supposed to be that fragile, was it?—had broken.
So had, he was pretty sure, his right arm.
When he’d hit the floor, he’d landed weird on his elbow, and something had moved in a way it definitely shouldn’t have. Something had crunched. Then there’d been so fucking much pain, which had only gotten worse when the pigs had cuffed him roughly. At least the sprinklers had soaked him from head to toe, so no one had actually seen the tears streaming down his face. Though the screams probably gave him away. Manliest moment of his life, right there. Fuck.
Now he was in this jail cell where he’d been all goddamned night. They’d tried to grill him, but he’d refused to say anything except “I need a hospital,” “I’m not talking without a lawyer,” and “I’m not talking until I’m in a hospital with my lawyer.” He’d been so done with their bullshit and in so much pain, he’d actually started singing those answers in varying keys and melodies.
Eventually, they’d gotten tired of him, booked him, tossed him in here, and that was all she wrote.
He’d told four different people that he needed to have a doctor look at his arm. He’d begged the last one. “Look at the way it’s swollen! Can I at least go get it X-rayed to make sure it’s not broken?” Because he was pretty sure itwasbroken.
The response to that had been that if he left this jail, it would be to go to Rikers, where he would “forget all about how bad your arm hurts.”
He’d stopped asking after that. It hurt like a motherfucker, but he’d been to Rikers Island twice before and he wasn’t going back.Noooway. His best hope was that when he finally got to see his lawyer, she’d raise hell and get him to a hospital.
Lying on the hard cot, he stared up at the dingy beige ceiling. He was cradling his arm across his stomach, but it didn’t help much. Between the cold and the pain, he hadn’t slept at all. The noise (metal, concrete, and angry men didn’t exactly create white noise) hadn’t helped, and now he was on the brink of hallucinating.
Maybe if I pass out, they’ll send me to a hospital?
Or they’ll let me die. Yeah. They’ll probably let me die.
Everyone in his circle knew people who’d died in jail cells because the cops and guards just didn’t care. A broken arm wasn’t life-threatening, but if they let it get infected or something…
Jansen exhaled and closed his eyes.
Should’ve just done a GoFundMe to pay for the car.
