December 24th, 2012
A family with a history as old as time, and one they refused to muddy or be ashamed of, the Astors were a force to be reckoned with. And not one very many people felt comfortable going up against in any kind of way.
They controlled the gun trafficking business—carving out a mark as the biggest, and likely only, gun trafficking organization in North America. They dominated politics by either being directly in the Senate, or having a foot-long list of politicians they could call on at any time to do their bidding. They owned one of America’s biggest banks, newspapers, and a branch of television media.
It meant they could control what was put out in the world, and in a way, influence the goings on in their own country. They had the means, the tools, and the wherewithal to use it to their advantage, too.
They couldn’t stand competition.
They were excessive to a filthy point.
They never backed down.
Proud.
Arrogant.
Dangerous.
They earned it.
And they knew it.
When an Astor summoned someone—today, it was Ace, a black market broker able to find anything or anyone that might be needed to get a job done, or a deal made—that someone picked up their shit, and they went. No one needed the trouble of ignoring an Astor’s call or request.
“The mansion is quiet today,” Ace noted.
Pearl Astor glanced over at the broker she had called in, and smiled. “I had to get the rest of them out of my hair for this.”
Ace lifted his brow at that. “Oh?”
“Fourth thinks the best way to go about doing this is the flash and dash. Make a big scene, and deal with the clean up later.”
“That might be a faster way, sure.”
Pearl shook her head. “The Astors cannot afford any kind of problems in the criminal world at the moment. We’re gearing up for some … well, that’s none of your business, but I meant what I said. We’re going to have enough to deal with soon, and we don’t need to be adding anything else to our list of problems.”
“Fourth does have his ways,” Ace said.
“Usually, I’m tempted to go with his ways,” the old woman said, smiling in that unsettling way of hers, “but not this time. Are you going to show me what you have, or diddle around longer, Ace?”
Straight to the point.
As always.
“Pearl, you have a call—”
“I am not taking calls, Mathieu,” Pearl said, never looking away from Ace.
The butler—a man in his fifties, at least—continued to stand in the doorway. “It is your son, ma’am.”
“And Senior can wait, I am busy.”
“If you’re—”
Pearl’s sharp gaze drifted to the side, and narrowed when she had Mathieu in her line of vision. “Child, if you ask me if I am sure about the words that just came out of my mouth …”
Child.
The butler was not a young man, but maybe to a woman of Pearl’s age, he seemed like it. Ace couldn’t be sure, but his amusement came out in the form of a grin that he hid by looking down at the tablet in his lap.
Nonetheless, the warning in Pearl’s old voice could have cut glass. Her age, Ace decided, was nothing more than a number. She was just as dangerous as anyone else who laid claim to the Astor name.
“Don’t interrupt my meeting again,” Pearl said.
“My apologies,” the butler muttered.
He was quick to scatter. His footsteps couldn’t even be heard as he left.
Sighing, Pearl turned back to Ace. “Now, are you going to show me what you have? Prove the thief you chose is the right one for the job?”
“She is the right one,” Ace returned, “and actually, she may be the only one.”
Pearl lifted a brow, and a jeweled finger to wave. “So you say.”
“Cozen is exactly what you need. She integrates into a mark’s life, gains their trust, and gets the job done. It may take two weeks, or it may take six months. It doesn’t matter because when she is done, she leaves quietly and without the fanfare another thief might cause with a quick heist.”
“Problematic.”
“Pardon?”
“That would be problematic for us,” Pearl said, “and so, you think this woman and her partner will be—”
“I never said Cozen has a partner. She works alone.”
For a long while, Pearl stared hard at Ace. It almost felt as though she were weighing his words, and how she felt about them.
“No partner?” she finally asked.
Ace shook his head. “She doesn’t need one.”
“And what if she fails—what is her backup?”
“She has never failed.”
Pearl rested back in the couch, and the lines of her aging face deepened with her contemplating frown. “Never?”
“Her way of working takes time, and sometimes it feels like very little is getting done, but it is always successful. If you give her a little bit of faith, I promise you will receive everything you want in return.”
“Fine, show me.”
Ace turned the tablet on, and typed in in his four-digit passcode. A few swipes across the screen, and he had the video brought up. Turning it around for Pearl to get a good view of what was happening on the screen, he waited.
Pearl watched in silence as a party was caught on camera in what had been an art gallery—the famous theft of the Van Gogh painting had basically bankrupt the place when the rich who had been using it to show off their art under the guise of possibly selling it no longer had a client list to keep them relevant.
The camera was directly on the wall that showcased the Van Gogh—a small painting no larger than twelve by eight inches, or so—and a few other pieces that any respectable art dealer would die to put on the market.
The crowd swelled once in the video.
They dispersed.
“I’m sorry, what is happening?” Pearl asked.
“Wait for it,” Ace murmured.
The crowd swelled again, but this time when they dispersed, the painting was gone. The Van Gogh was taken.
Pearl sat back quickly. “I missed it, didn’t I?”
“No,” Ace assured, “but you’ll never see her actually doing it. This took her three months, according to the broker I talked to who approached her for this job. She integrated into the mark’s life, as she does, and then planned her heist according to his ways and rituals. I don’t have all the details of this particular heist, but as you can see, she clearly took her time to know the room, the cameras, and which way would be safe and clean for her to get it done. This is her style, and her signature. Exactly what you want.”
Ace let the video play through the end at a slightly faster speed before stopping at just the right point, saying, “There she is.”
The woman with the russet eyes glancing up at the camera as the guests finally noticed the painting was gone wore a ghost of a smile.
“They have this video, clearly,” Pearl said, hedging at something.
“They never even looked at her for this. The man who I talked to stated she stayed about two weeks after this, and then left quietly.”
Pearl tipped her head to the side. “Cozen, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Appropriate name.”
Ace smirked. “You could say that.”
“Does she always use that name?”
“Depends on the situation, or the mark.”
“And you are sure …”
Ace set the tablet aside. “Pearl, I will do a lot to get a deal done, but I promise you that Cozen is the thief you need for this. Let me approach her with the job.”
“Fourth isn’t going to like this,” Pearl muttered. “He thinks he can do this quicker.”
“I’m sure he could, but Cozen will be clean. Therein lies the difference.”
The Astor queen nodded once. “Fine, approach her.”
