Cash
Cash strolledout of the club, whistling to himself as he entered the warm spring evening. He was thrilled to discover that Lawrence had gone and hired himself a bodyguard, a complication that made the entire job much more exciting. Trailing the party monster across the city hadn’t exactly presented him with any challenges, and Cash was craving a bit of adrenaline.
Not that he was complaining about trailing Lawrence. There was something about his sassy energy and his cute bubble butt that made Cash smile from the shadows. The bodyguard was a bit rough for his taste but still damn handsome, and watching the two of them awkwardly flirt had kept Cash entertained for the better part of the evening. Once he was done ogling the show Lawrence put on from the dance floor and chuckling at the anxious, jealous longing in Raiden’s stare, Cash decided to emerge from the shadows and see how good Raiden actually was at his job.
And his instincts were quite good, Cash discovered. Quick enough to spot him early on, once Cash emerged and made his staring obvious, but not so fast that he reached Lawrence first.
Anyway, he reminded himself as he hopped onto the back of his motorcycle, the cocktail he had left with Lawrence should be enough to arouse further suspicion and keep the game going with Raiden, at least for a while.
Cash flew through the city on his ride, a scrambler he’d spent years customizing. It hummed between his legs, and Cash spread his grip on the wide handlebars. The bike was one of only a few select indulgences he allowed himself, and the engine was music to his ears as he rolled up to his current home, a squat brick building in the Meatpacking District. A hardware store occupied the entire first floor, and the buzzer announced a woodworking studio on the second and third floors, which was where he headed.
Herman Fine Woodworking had been abandoned for about three years when Cash came across the files for the property. He was shocked that it had lasted that long, but after one developer lost it in a divorce, a property management company had acquired it through a bulk transaction, then misfiled the property entirely in their own system. With no agent attached to it, the place had essentially disappeared in smoke.
Cash hit the light switch, and the long fluorescent bulbs flickered above the wide open space. He had computers set up on long oak tables, chipped and marked from the woodworking days, and a chaotic mess of papers were piled on every table and taped to the wall alongside maps and diagrams and photocopies.
He was really quite fortunate, actually, to have found the studio in the first place. He just so happened to be poking around in the network of a particularly exploitative realty conglomerate. And since he was there already, he took the time to delete the file altogether and to switch the property tax payments over to a dummy account, just to be safe.
Cash unbuttoned his collar, then tossed his jacket onto the counter. He pulled some old Chinese takeout from the fridge and went to munching on it cold. He checked some photographs he had developed in the bathroom, mainly just the businesses where Lawrence’s father spent his days, places he’d scoped plenty of times before in his stalking of Horizon Zed. A couple of his desktop computers had been dedicated to unencrypting the files he grabbed from the senator’s campaign office for Reed, and he nodded as he scrolled his eyes across the screen, chewing greasy rice as code ran by.
He lifted the shiny rock he’d grabbed at the office, then tossed it in the air. Cash wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but like with the realty company, he tried not to let an opportunity slip by. And a senator’s secret files were bound to have something he could use, if the desktops he’d built himself could summon enough power to crack the encryption.
His buzzer rang out. It was crackly and old, and it made him wince every time it blared. He considered ignoring it, but when it kept blaring, he knew exactly who it was.
“What do you want, Fox?” he asked into the intercom.
“Just let me up, Harvard. Come on. I gotta pee!”
Cash sighed, then buzzed him in. He and Fox had known each other since they were hired for the same heist about five years earlier, and even though they weren’t exactly friends, their relationship was the closest thing to it that Cash allowed himself. The Harvard nickname had always annoyed him, though. While he did work his ass off and manage to attend an Ivy League school, he only did it so that he could learn to navigate high society and creep a little closer to Horizon Zed, and despite his affectations, he still felt quite attached to his roots back home in North Carolina, thank you very much.
Fox burst through the front door, then charged his way toward the bathroom. “Hell, man, I drank two beers in Alphabet City and then walked over here.” He was slim, and his long legs flew across the room until he stumbled into the bathroom, then went to pissing without even closing the door.
“Good to see you, too,” he called out.
Fox groaned from the bathroom, and Cash heard the toilet flush and the sink run. When he emerged, he stuck his hands in the front pocket of his blue hoodie, then plopped down on the old plaid couch that had been abandoned with the property. “What did you get up to tonight?” he asked.
Cash grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, then tossed one Fox’s way. “I’m working a new job for Reed, running surveillance on some rich kid. You?”
“Me? Not much. I had a bite to eat in the Village, then swung by a lovely apartment on the Upper East Side for some jewelry shopping.”
“Jewelry shopping?” Cash asked. He took a seat in a leather armchair across from Fox. “That’s sweet, Fox. You haven’t dressed up for me in years.”
Fox snorted. “You know I’m happy in my hoodies, Harvard.” He reached into his pocket, then pulled out a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper. “I told you about this job. These brooches were snatched up from their rightful home by Nazis, and like a lot of that loot, they never made it back when the war was over.” He unfolded the paper, revealing a few gleaming brooches, flush with purple, blue, and green gems. “Some very old women in Belgium will be receiving a nice surprise in the mail.”
Cash nodded, admiring the pieces. “I’m sure they’ll take you out for lunch next time you’re in Antwerp.”
Fox snatched the jewelry back. “You know I’m not in it for the glory.”
“Just the money and the smug sense of superiority over normal people.”
Fox made air quotes. “Normal people. Whatever that means. How’s Reed treating you? You know he’s a real prick. Are you watching your back?”
Cash crossed one leg over the other and narrowed his eyes. “I’ve worked with him before. I have a good sense of his sensitive spots. The job’s a bit boring, though. The guy I’m watching just drinks and parties.”
“Why’d you take it?”
“His father works for Horizon. I couldn’t turn that down. Plus, Reed is supposed to be giving me access to all his research.” Although Cash always had a sense that Fox might stab him in the back, his solitude had compelled him to share a little about his vendetta with the man, considering almost no one else would understand his obsession like Fox would.
His guest turned his eyes to the papers taped to the walls, then over to the computer, still humming as they ran their algorithms. “It’s always about that fucking company with you, isn’t it?”
