Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Twelve: The Mystery Man

Chapter Twelve: The Mystery Man

Henry Stone (apparently better known as Michael Becks) was a cop…an actual friggin cop. How many evil things I’d done in my past life to deserve that?

The answer was a whole lot.  

I wondered if that meant I’d have to change my last name. Granted it was faked anyway, since my mom had bribed the hospital to give me an imaginary’s man last name.

My brain just couldn’t handle it; I just wanted to pretend that the last few days hadn’t happened, but since that was slightly impossible…I kicked the chair in front of me instead.   

Over the past couple of hours, I’d been slowly moving the chair across from me around and it never failed to make a horrible screeching sound as the legs scraped across the linoleum flooring.

“Shhhh.”

“Sorry,” I mouthed towards the tiny, yet feisty librarian. It was the third (or fourth) time she had to shush me. I suppose having an emotional crisis in a library was slightly inappropriate, but what’s a girl to do?

It  was a good thing that I had pretty much everything I needed, because it didn’t look like I was going to be asked to be quiet again (at least not politely).

So before I got myself kicked out, I logged off and gathered up my things as quietly as I could. Though, I suppose I wasn’t as silent as I thought, since I received several glares from my research companions anyway.

It didn’t matter of course, since my mind was already formulating the next part of the mission, Plan F (or Plan J, I had lost count).  

Damn it. I usually prided myself in my ability to find answers, but this was taking a ridiculous amount of time.    

Of course certain ‘things’ were harder to figure out than others, but a few hours of people watching or some quick research was usually enough to solve any mystery.

But no such luck today.

I left the library feeling slightly disappointed in myself…since when were criminals so hard to catch?

Fortunately, it wasn’t all a complete waste of time. A quick search through the newspaper archives provided me with quite a bit of information on my new best friend, William.

The man had a long history of robbing and conning people with miscellaneous schemes, but every article indicated that he wasn’t the brightest man (clearly, considering that he was currently in jail).

There was a mastermind involved…and I knew just where to find him.

* * * * * * *

Boarded up homes lined the streets, but of course that didn’t prevent the crowds from milling around the lopsided porches doing whatever it is that they do.

I tried to avoid direct eye contact with anyone, but I knew we were secretly being tracked.

It didn’t scare me, but the silly taxi driver kept glancing back towards me, probably hoping that we were going in the wrong direction and that at any minute I would tell him to turn the hell around.

But we weren’t, so that man really needed to stop being such a wimp.

“1487 Cicotte?” He questioned for the fifth time.

“Yes,” I answered slightly agitated.

“You sure?”

“Ask me one more time Mr. Cab-Driver man and I swear I won’t pay you,” I threatened.