The Saltport ATM

12. Small Bets and Winning Payoffs

"Who were those men helping you before?"

"NYPD, please step aside." The gathering parts for a group of police officers marching through. "Prince Tewen, we have received a message from your father asking that you and your accomplices be taken into custody."

The reporters go wild. Cameras flash, some protest, others fling another dozen questions at Two, who looks like a snail curling up in its shell. Tears well in his eyes, and his wraps his arms over his chest, clutching his elbows.

Prince Haydn raises a hand, hushing the commotion. "I had a chance to talk to Two during our descent. I put a few things in perspective for him, and he says that he's sorry for all the trouble he has caused. He has no further comments at the moment."

Questions fly from all directions, but Prince Haydn takes his brother's arm and marches after the NYPD, who now have the Catonmousse brothers in handcuffs. I tag behind them, catching up to Prince Haydn.

"What'd you say to him?" I whisper.

Prince Haydn's eyes flick in my direction. With a sigh, he says, "In a nutshell, I told him that our meetings have been going well at the UN and that if he doesn't pull any more stunts, we might be able to become recognized the right way."

"I'm sorry," Two sniffs from the other side of Prince Haydn. "I guess I wasn't thinking about the trouble I've caused."

"Not only for us, but also Taylor's family. She's in the hospital now," Prince Haydn adds.

"I know." Two hangs his head. "I really do admire her work. I thought she'd be sympathetic to our cause."

"She is. But when you do stuff like that..."

"I know." Two's voice cracks, a tear slides down his cheek. "It doesn't make people like us more."

Prince Haydn takes a slow breath. "Yes."

We reach the police car parked on the street. Heads poke out of windows as cars roll by on both sides of the road. There's quite a display to watch. Lights flash, and officers swarm the sidewalk, talking into their radios and yelling instructions to each other. One opens a car door and motions for Two to step inside, which he dutifully does. Next, Thomas Catonmousse slides onto the black seats, his brother bringing up the rear. Slightly smirking, Jerrod takes the final seat.

I can't help but raise an eyebrow. A man in his position has no reason to look so self-pleased.

"Is it that hard for you to get a date that you've always wanted to get picked up by the police?"

Jerrod leans back and laces his fingers over his cuffed hands. "You never guessed who had plastic surgery."

Thomas elbows him. "It's not like we're going to get to keep the money, anyway."

"I know. But isn't it nice to be smarter than Miss Makeover?"

My eyes narrow. Miss Makeover, huh? He thinks I'm just some ditzy blonde from Florida who only knows how to improve people's lives, which is a very noble cause, I might add.

"You both did," I blurt out. Jerrod freezes. The smirk drops into his familiar blank expression.

"She called it," Thomas says, wincing slightly.

I blink at them in surprise. It was only a guess — a very lucky one.

"You both did?" I repeat, more curious than victorious.

"I drew the picture, Jerrod added the scars, and we gave it to our plastic surgeon," Thomas sighs.

"But why?" I ask.

"Why not?" Thomas shrugs.

Scowling, Jerrod hands over his briefcase. "Password is 5-0-5-7." A cop passes by and shuts the door. I stare at the Catonmousse brothers through the tinted windows for a minute longer before turning to Prince Haydn.

"Sorry for all the craziness," he says with a shake of his head.

"Overall, it could've been far worse," I chuckle. At least Two has a sense of humor at times.

"Can I buy you dinner to make up for it?" He glances at his watch, eyes shooting open. "Seas, I didn't realize it was so late. I have another meeting at the UN in less than an hour." He smiles apologetically. "Dinner might not work. Between you and me, I have a good feeling about the progress that's been made. Perhaps I can give you an update over brunch tomorrow?"

"I think I can spare an extra day in New York." My fingers twitch around the leather briefcase. I almost can't wrap my head around how much cash is stuffed inside. That might be a good thing, though, as I might faint from full comprehension.

We exchange numbers, then Prince Haydn speeds off toward political haggling in a cab. I exhale, taking a moment to breathe, to allow myself to compress from the past three days. It dawns on me for the first time that I'm in New York City, one-hundred percent, completely on my own.

A smile breaks my lips. I'm in the New York City, all on my own, with a suitcase full of cash. Ten million dollars, to be exact. It's more than enough to pay for a plane ticket back to Florida. Perhaps it can also fund a few last minute purchases here in The Big Apple: a nice hotel room, some shopping, sightseeing, heck, maybe I can even score tickets to a play. I'm here, so might as well make the most of it.

Besides, a few days of vacation never hurt anyone.