“This… isn’t what I expected,” I admit, glancing back up at the painting in front of us for reference before taking my eraser to the page. “If your plan is for me to create some impressive forgery, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
We’re sitting on the massive stone bench in the center of this wing of the museum, as we’ve been the last hour and a half. Well,I’msitting. Maverick is stretched out on his back with one arm tucked behind his head and the other hand playing Solitaire on his phone. Only a few inches separate us, making me hyperaware of every time he shifts a muscle, which does nothing to help my concentration. Though admittedly, not only would this doodle not hold up under scrutiny, it wouldn’t even fool someone walking by.
“What were you expecting?” he asks distractedly and I sigh.
“I don’t know, something more exciting, I guess? The training that I’ve had thus far mixed with-“ I weigh my words in case anyone’s eavesdropping “-what the others are busy with, made me think shadowing you would be more interesting than lounging around a museum.”
He sets his phone on his stomach and takes my sketchpad away from me. Without a word he starts adding onto the scene, a grandfather clock quickly taking shape in the background. On the side, he adds a few mice scurrying down before passing it back just as easily and I simply gape at him for a moment. Not only for the gorgeous detail, but howquicklyhe did it, making it seem like no big deal.
“Holy hell, this is gorgeous.” I look at it next to my shitty sketch and feel a bit embarrassed.
He’s already back on his phone, not looking at me. “Check the time.”
Looking closer at the drawing, it’s set to quarter past three and I glance at my watch, frowning when I see that it’s four. “I don’t get it.”
He sets his phone on his chest with a huff, reaching up to pinch the fabric of my jacket on my upper arm, pulling me down until I’m forced to bend over so that he can whisper in my ear. “Starting at three, guards appeared in fifteen minute intervals.”
As I return upright, I look at him with new appreciation. I was sitting right next to him and thought he was lost in his own world, completely disinterested to everything happening around us. He never even tilted his head to scan the room.
I take another look at the picture, particularly the addition of the scurrying mice. “And you noticed three of them?”
He smirks, winks, and goes back to concentrating on his phone. To anyone sparing us a second glance, we’d appear as nothing more than a bored man humoring his girlfriend for an afternoon. Licking my lips, I go back to work, keeping up the ruse that I didn’t realize we were playing. Though now, I try to embrace his energy, seeing what else I notice without being obvious. And anything that I add to my sketch I ensure won’t be easily discernible in case someone comes across it, or it can be picked up on one of the security cameras.
Opening up to a new page, I start drawing a few buildings, each of them with a subtle signal to mark the order of paintings and what they are for reference. Above them, I create a sparse night sky, the stars signifying the cameras that I’m aware of.
It’s what they were teaching me at the casino. Hide in plain sight, sleight of hand, be memorable for the wrong things so you won’t be a suspect when something turns up missing.
Which means they’re going to steal something from the museum, and we’re in charge of casing the place so they can make a plan to pull it off.
The gallery.I can’t stop the smile from appearing on my face as I riddle it out, shaking my head.
Sure, Julian is clearly a loan shark, but he needs to launder the money somehow, lest he have briefcases of cash stashed everywhere. The casino is a good way to have massive influxes of money coming in and out, the extra money from loans being able to subtly be written off as hotel room rentals, but the gallery?
It’d be the perfect place to sell stolen art. The price tags of anything theyactuallysell there can easily be inflated to cover the difference of the black market pieces. Art is subjective, and people pay obscene amounts for some things, so it’s harder to look into market values to prove he’s actually doing anything illegal.
“So how did you come to live at the house?”
His thumb hesitates on the screen. “Why?”
Confused, I try to focus on what I’m working on rather than reading into his every move. Lord knows I already have my hands full with the others, I don’t need to drive myself crazy imagining all of the ways that I’m pissing off Maverick too.
“Just figured we might as well kill time somehow, no pressure. Forget I said anything.”
We go back to silence for a few minutes before he pockets his phone, tucking both arms behind his head and shutting his eyes with a heavy sigh. “My parents were killed in a robbery gone wrong when I was a kid. Aunt raised me, but I’d have been better off in foster care than that hellhole.” He doesn’t elaborate on that part and I don’t push.
“She dated some shady people, and next thing I know, she was working at Julian’s club. Not long after, she was caught stealing.” Pursing his lips first, he rushes out, “And her boyfriend, working for Julian at the time, killed her for putting them both at risk. So I slit his throat before he could do the same to me.”
I don’t even bother pretending to draw at this point. “So why would you work for Julian after that mess?”
Opening his eyes, his pale irises fall on my face, measuring my response. “Because one look at me and no one believed it was self-defense. Julian got me out of a life sentence in exchange for working for him, which he loves to bring up on any fucking occasion that he can.”
My heart bleeds for the man, for all of them really. Clearly no one that works for Julian is here because theywantto be, but because they’re trapped.
Except me. I practically begged him to let me stay, to give me a home and a purpose. No wonder Maverick can barely stand to look at me.
My voice is a harsh croak and I have to clear it a few times. “I’m so sorry.”
His eyes are already closed though, either hiding from my pity, or from the memories his story dredged up. “No use crying over spilt milk. What’s done is done, and I’ve accepted it by now. I’m just not so blind as to fawn over what a benevolent savior he is like the rest of ‘em are.”
