Austin Camacho - The Payback Assignment

“Me?” Felicity’s emerald eyes glinted with surprise. “Why on earth?”

“You might not guess it, but I’ve done a lot more than fight in my time,” Morgan said, ticking off the list on his fingers. “I’ve conducted safaris in the Congo, dived for sunken treasure off the coast of Mexico, climbed mountains in Switzerland, hustled pool in Philly, raced motorcycles in France, even flown photo surveys for prospectors in Canada. Been around a lot, but I still can’t do what you do.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’ve got the moves to be a great thief.”

“Not that stuff,” he said. “What I mean is, I can get by in a couple different languages, but I can’t order properly in a French restaurant, you know? I can choose gear for combat, but I can’t dress myself for a night out at a fancy ballroom. What you got, lady, is class. Maybe I just need to hang around somebody who could teach me that stuff.”

“What I’ve got,” mused Felicity, “is a lifetime of shoehorning my way into upper crust society. You know, I’ve never told anyone about those times. I was seventeen when I made my first big heist. One rich lady’s jewels can go a long way.” Her eyes drifted off into the past, and Morgan stretched his arms behind his head. He was drifting off with her.

“Before that I was ragged, living hand to mouth, travelling with some friends all over the Irish countryside. I could have stayed there and probably lived off that one score for months. Instead I sold that jewelry to a fence and bought some decent clothes and a ticket to Monte Carlo. Lord, I wanted to meet the beautiful people, the people who had real money. I figured I’d just look around and go home when I ran out of cash. But the rich turned out to be the easiest pickings. It was like walking up on money lying in the street. I couldn’t just leave it there. Anyhow, now I’m one of the people who’s got real money, but sometimes I wish I’d never left my old friends behind. I’ve built a great life for myself, but I must admit I miss having people to share it all with. It’s hard in my business to have people who are really close. I’m not talking about a lover, mind you, but a real mate. Someone special.”

“Well, we ought to talk about doing some travelling together or something,” Morgan said. “I mean, after we get our money. And that means we need to get moving on finding your precious brooch.”

“Well, that’s no problem, my lad,” Felicity said. “I reasoned that no one would hunt out a piece of jewelry so unusual just to sell it. And no man would want to keep it. On the other hand, no woman would want to hide it. So, I looked in the most obvious place.”

“And just where was that, Sherlock?” Morgan asked.

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Was that skepticism I heard in your voice? For shame, lad. That place would be right here, in the society page.” He followed Felicity’s long index finger down to a grainy black and white photograph in the newspaper. It was a party scene as far as he could tell. The kind of thing that passes for fun among the cocktails and hors d’oeuvres set. One member of the tuxedo-draped crowd was a short, portly man with pockmarked cheeks. A slightly taller, heavyset woman in a dark evening gown hung on his arm. Morgan could see that at one time the woman must have had fabulous legs. An oval piece of jewelry sat at her throat. He figured it to be less than two inches long, and a little more than an inch wide. A large teardrop diamond dominated the center of the piece. Pearls surrounded the gem, ranging from the smallest at the top to the largest at the bottom. The pearls were perfectly symmetrical.

“The woman’s a little past it,” Morgan said.

“Never mind her,” Felicity said, playfully slapping his head. “That’s the brooch.”

“Pretty,” Morgan said.

“Pretty? Why it’s one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve seen in an entire life of crime.”

“Well anyway, at least we know we’re in the right city,” Morgan said.

“Yes, and this party was big news,” Felicity said. “I’ll know that brooch’s address by tonight. And then, I’m going to go claim it.”

“I thought you wanted your money?”

“After this guy tried to have us killed, don’t you think we ought to be getting both?” Felicity asked.

“I guess that’s reasonable, Red. But we don’t need to rush out and get it today, do we?”

“You’re right, I suppose,” Felicity said. “No point pursuing it on a Sunday. So I guess we have a whole day. What say we see the city?”

An hour later, Morgan and Felicity were walking slowly down Fifth Avenue, with only a steady stream of traffic separating them from Central Park. They had decided to dress casually and show each other New York. The oaks were shedding their summer covering, and Morgan realized he missed the swirling eddies of multicolored confetti that whipped through the gutters. Felicity turned her face away as a bus pulled past, belching carbon monoxide.

“You know, I can’t remember the last time I used public transportation,” Felicity said when she could face him again. “This could be an adventure.”

“Yeah, well I think driving would have been a lot more exciting,” Morgan said, “considering that whoever’s looking for us knows your car. I don’t think there’s much danger of anybody coming after us on foot.”

They had only to walk a couple of blocks to leave the area Felicity was familiar with, and this wasn’t an area of the city Morgan knew well either. But with traffic adding a white noise background they meandered at a gentle pace, enjoying the sun on their faces on a cool, cloudless day. A few blocks south of Felicity’s apartment, Morgan stopped to stare up at a group of tiny hooded cherubs carved into a column beside an ornate wrought iron gate.

“What the hell’s behind there?”

“Actually, it’s a French Gothic chateau, believe it or not, right in the middle of New York City,” Felicity said. “Used to be some wealthy fellow’s house. Now it’s the Ukrainian Institute of America.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Who could make something like that up?” she asked with a smile. “And, by the way, your prediction was a little off. We’ve picked up some company. A lot smoother than the idiots who followed me yesterday. About a half a block back.”

“Damn. Must have been watching the door, waiting for us to come out,” Morgan replied. He casually looked back and zeroed in on a short black man in jacket and tie who worked at not looking back at him. “I’ve got him. Doesn’t look like a shooter. Probably bird dogging for somebody else. That his back up across the street, a block back, in the leather coat?”

“Uh huh,” Felicity said, leading him to the curb. “There’s a third man a block behind number one on our side. Let’s screw them up and cross the street.”

As they stepped into the street Felicity looked back, appearing to check traffic. On the other side she stopped, pretending to examine the route map at a bus stop. She nodded her appreciation, speaking to Morgan without looking at him.

“Very good. Number two moved up. Number three crossed the street back there. You know, the FBI uses a three man team just like this.”

“If they’re tracking us for somebody else, they’ll do anything not to be made, even if it means losing us,” Morgan said as they resumed their walk. “Did you say you run?”

“For exercise, yes. Why?”

Without warning, he turned and started jogging into Central Park. Felicity tucked her purse under her arm and followed. They trotted cross-country where anyone following them would be very obvious. When their aimless run again brought them to a street, he stopped and they both burst out laughing. They were still chuckling a little when a bus stopped in front of them. They boarded without being sure where this bus would take them, not that it mattered. Having shaken their shadows, their tour of New York could now begin.