Con Artist Legacy

Prologue: The Heist

Prologue: The Heist

Mystery Man, The Past

I tugged at the sleeves of my jacket, calmly masking my escalating rage with a disarming smile. The problem with borrowed suits was that they never fit correctly-- a necessary evil, tolerated only in hopes that there wouldn’t be a need to borrow anything in the near future.

Taking one last look at my reflection in the gallery’s window, I smoothed out my newly darkened and shaven hair. This disguise, a stark contrast to my Swedish roots, had taken me longer to get accustomed to than any previous alias.

The man in my reflection would’ve been unrecognizable to my own mother; an unsettling feeling to say the least. But at the end of the day, it was all part of the job and if things went according to plan this would be the last night for this persona anyway.

The place was packed; the rich and famous had all turned up tonight. All mindless puppets, ogling at paintings and pretending they knew what they were looking at. They had so much, and not one knew what they had or how to use it. In a way, it made it easy for us.

I took my time and walked around the gallery, stopping in front of all the right pieces of art (the ones where most people paused at). I ooh and ahhed with the best of them, but made sure to keep to myself; participating in short and pleasant conversations when required, and then off to the next piece. 

Glancing back, I caught a glimpse of Ian scratching his eyebrow, as he moved towards the exit. Ian wasn’t the brightest, but he could follow directions and knew how to keep his mouth shut. The eyebrow scratching was one of our signals, indicating that “Plan A” was underway.

I watched closely as he placed a briefcase near the area being used for coats, immediately to the right of the entrance; a space left unattended because everyone felt safe. The few guards present were more concerned with keeping an eye on the auction table, which had closed five minutes ago (as advertised). A chubby man with a bad toupee cautiously placed a similar-looking case into a safe behind him.

Lured into a false sense of safety, soon the guards would ease into the festive mood of the gallery…and no one would notice me picking up Ian’s case later and walking out with thousands in auction money. I would be long gone by the time Mr. Bad Toupee (and Ian) figured out the money had been switched, another talent of oafish Ian.   

I chuckled with pride and turned back, accidentally bumping into an older woman carrying her weight in jewels. Automatically turning on the charm, I whispered, “Sorry, Ma’am. Your beauty is so distracting that I wasn’t paying much attention to anything else.”

This made the woman in front of me giggle to herself, just like a school girl (sad if you thought about it). “That’s alright. I wish more handsome men would bump into me tonight.”

I took my turn to laugh at her sauciness, while excusing myself gracefully in the process. My smile never wavered, as I slipped a diamond tennis bracelet into one of my large jacket pockets (the only good thing about this suit). The comforting jingle of the small fortune collected throughout the evening, accompanied my every step; all icing on the cake at this point, just like the briefcase.  

This was the heist of a lifetime, my biggest score-- destined to propel me to new levels (we’d see who was laughing at the end of the night). I’d been working non-stop on this job, rarely leaving the room I’d rented just for the occasion. I knew everyone that worked here and their movements, the guest list and most importantly, the layout and placement of all the pieces.

The Osment Gallery was essentially one large room with five smaller rooms attached; two on each side and one near the rear. Small partitions made it possible to enter one room and walk from space to space in a circle.

Today the gallery was auctioning paintings by a local who had recently achieved some notoriety (I gave it a couple of weeks before everyone forgot about him and hid whatever they bought in the basement, embarrassed). Osment was also displaying jewelry he’d recently acquired for his new wife, and everyone that could come was there. It was why I was here.

Weeks of careful planning, culminated in a mere fifteen minutes of rubbing elbows and discreetly obscuring my true intentions. My grand plan and the ultimate reward was so close (and mine), but I’d always known that a second person would be necessary. 

It was also common knowledge that most jobs failed because of the number of people involved; the best kept secrets were the ones not told. So I’d made the decision to involve Ian only this morning, after spotting him in a bar last night (and let’s just say it was his grave fortune).

It was our first time meeting, but there’d been no problems convincing him. He was given specific instructions, but little other information. A smarter man would have realized that he was being set up, but luck was on my side.

Lost in my thoughts I bumped into a younger man, around fifteen, and he didn’t even wait for an apology. He just gave me that icy glare common to the rich. The nerve of some people…at least the addition of another wallet helped soften the blow.

The interruption made me realize that I stood at the entrance to the May Room (named after Osment’s wife). The space was one large white box, in the center of which was a podium, where a three lilac-flower necklace was displayed.

My heart beat faster with each step as I walked slowly towards the podium, waiting until there were only two other people in the room with me. I made sure to stand in front of the door that faced the main room. When Ian turned to look at me, I scratched my eyebrow and gently tugged my right ear twice.

“Quick, is someone a doctor?” A female voice called out, followed by a loud crash that could only be caused by two-hundred and twenty pounds hitting the floor. Chaos ensued with people screaming and running towards Ian, who was now pretending to have some kind of seizure in the middle of the main room.

I ran out the back room with the “Black Lilac” inside my jacket, making my way towards the entrance, and staying clear of the commotion. Reaching the entrance, I easily bent down and grabbed the briefcase, walking out the door like I owned the place.

Somewhere in the gallery the voices of several men could be heard, “The necklace…the necklace is missing!” Orders to close down the gallery could be heard through the open doors, and I quickened my step down the street. Any other person would’ve panicked, but there’d always been a chance that someone would notice the necklace missing before I could make my getaway (inconvenient, but still only a small problem).

Rounding the corner, I noticed two guards coming out; they were stopping everyone and searching them for the necklace. I could hear sirens, and knew blockades were probably going to be set up soon.

Turning left on Main Street, I entered a residential area of large Victorian homes. One particular building, clearly under construction stood at the end of the street. I’d seen it a few weeks ago while casing the area for this type of situation. I ran in and went straight to the basement. Kneeling down before an unfinished wall, I grabbed everything in my pockets and threw it all on top of the money.

The flower necklace landed on top. The jewels glittered as random rays of light hit the different stones; amethysts, emeralds, and diamonds. It was painful to leave it all behind, but the police would probably stop me on the way out.

I closed the case and slid it carefully behind a half finished wall, wedged between layers of insulation and placed plastic wrap around it. Construction was on hold for lack of money and wasn’t scheduled to resume for at least a couple months. I’d have some time to come back and get the jewels when it was safer. I walked cautiously out the back door and headed towards the alley. A getaway car was parked a couple streets back. As I walked with my head down towards the car, Ian was being arrested.

Fools…all of them.

Edited 2014