‘Something like that.’
‘Then we moved to the US and you married Erick,’ Mary continued. ‘Another mistake because although he looked like the real deal, he was hiding a lot of debts, remember? We barely managed to clear two hundred grand between us.’
‘Yeah, he was a real asshole,’ Denise commented. ‘He actually deserved what he got.’
‘No shit,’ Mary agreed before continuing. ‘And then I married Nelson. Finally, we got it right. After I liquidated everything back in Massachusetts, we came out with just a little over nine mil – about four point five million each, right?’
Denise nodded.
‘And how much of all that do you still have left?’
Denise lips stretched into a thin line before she gave Mary an unsteady nod. ‘A little.’
Mary’s eyes widened at her. ‘You’ve spent most of it already? Really?’
‘We’ve been running this “wedding con” for fourteen years now, sis,’ Denise said back, matter-of-factly, moving back onto a sitting position. ‘You said so yourself – Nelson was the first time that it really paid off big. I had quite a lot of ground to make back.And what’s the point in doing these long-ass cons, if we’re not going to spend the money once the con is over?’
Mary couldn’t really argue with Denise’s logic, but it also gave her a chance to restate her own. ‘Exactly, and this is where this job comes in, Denise. If we get this one right, and I know we will, thiswillbe the last job… ever. And I’m not only talking about cons… we’ll never have to work another day in our lives because Quaddra is a billionaire. No dodgy deals with shady individuals… no money tied up in businesses… nothing like that. I’m talking about his bank accounts and his investments – untangled money that the judge can easily order to be moved from his accounts to mine.’
‘Yeah, I’ve checked him out a little,’ Denise said in reply. ‘What sort of name is Quaddra, anyway?’
‘You’ve checked him out?’
‘I’ve been following you around for two weeks, remember? I saw you with him… found out who he was… and read a few articles on the net. That’s all.’
‘Please tell me that there was no contact,’ Mary’s tone was serious, almost angry, because she knew how Denise liked to operate. ‘You didn’t bump into him on the streets, or sit next to him in a restaurant or a bar, or anything like that, did you? Did you talk to him?’
‘No. Nothing like that. I’m not stupid. Absolutely no contact. I just checked him out – Quaddra Buckner, right? He was easy to find because who the hell is called Quaddra? Does it actually mean anything?’
In silence, Mary studied Denise for a few more seconds until she decided that she wasn’t lying. ‘Yeah, it means that he has a billion dollars attached to his name.’
Denise didn’t look too impressed.
‘You don’t really understand what that means, do you?’
‘Yeah,’ Denise nodded. ‘It means that he’s rich.’ She followed the nod with a shrug. ‘So were all the previous ones.’
‘He’s not rich, Denise. He’s a fuckingbillionaire.’ Mary placed a hand on Denise’s thigh, her voice calm… calculated. ‘Most people don’t really grasp the real difference between one billion and one million, so let me break this down to you in easy, more understandable terms, OK?’ She lifted her left index finger. ‘One million seconds is equivalent to about eleven days.’ She paused, giving Denise a chance to wrap her head around that figure. She then lifted her right index finger in opposition to her left one. ‘Onebillionseconds is equivalent to about thirty-one point fiveyears. Not days, Denise…years.’ Mary paused again.
Denise’s frown was a pensive one.
Mary knew she’d got her. She wiggled her left index finger. ‘Eleven days.’ Right index finger wiggle. ‘Thirty-one point fiveyears. Do you see the difference now? We do this right and we’ll be set forever – no more cons… no more jobs… no more anything. We could buy our own island and spend the rest of our lives sipping cocktails on the beach.’
Sixty-Three
Mary didn’t have a lot in her apartment in terms of food, so she ordered a breakfast delivery from Jolt N Bolt in the Dogpatch.
‘So,’ Denise said. They had both moved from the sofa to the dinner table in Mary’s living room. ‘How did you meet this Quaddra guy?’ She reached for a mozzarella, tomato and basil croissant that had come with their order. ‘When did you decide that he would become a mark?’
‘Well,’ Mary began. ‘I met him here in San Francisco, but I learnt about him almost a year ago. About six months after the Nelson job.’
‘What?’ Denise almost choked on her croissant. ‘You started looking for a new mark six months after Nelson? Are you nuts?’ Mary’s lips parted, as she was about to utter a reply, but Denise didn’t give her the chance. ‘And what the fuck, Mary? If we were to do this, this was supposed to be my turn to wed… your turn to be the mistress, remember? Too risky otherwise. What the hell were you thinking?’
‘That’s the thing, Denise, I wasn’t looking for a mark at all.’
‘Is that so?’
Mary paused her with a hand gesture. ‘After I got my identity change, I relocated to Nashville for six months.’ She saw no point in revealing anything about her encounter with gangster-suit man just outside The Whiskey Bent Saloon. She didn’t wantDenise to worry about something that Mary was sure posed no threat anymore.
