The Heist by C.W. Gortner

Author:C.W. Gortner [C. W. Gortner, MJ Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MJ Rose, C W Gortner, mystery, historical fiction
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The following day, I wake to find that Lauren has sent over my tuxedo for the party. It’s in a garment bag outside my door. When I try it on, it’s a near-perfect fit. A little snug in the crotch, but the pants break just where they should, and the matching, polished shoes are my size if a little too tight, as well. I look like a penguin in it, and I’ve no idea how to fasten a bow tie—it’s the kind you have to knot, not clip on. I decide to forgo the ruffled tux shirt and wear my plain black shirt instead.

Black on black. Like my mood.

I drop my shirt off at the dry cleaner’s and pay a fortune to have it back today, then drive my rented car to the Beverly Hills Hotel, a ridiculous, frothy pink building that looks like Mae West’s hat. I have to walk the ballroom and make sure there are no security risks for tonight. I doubt there’ll be anything to be concerned about at a fancy party with big celebrities in a swanky big-star hotel, but it’s my job, and I have to keep busy. I need to keep my mind on my work and not on Ania.

She might show up tonight. If she does, what am I going to say to her?

The ballroom is gilded and overwrought like Mae West’s saloon. There’s an upper gallery where invited journalists will report on the stars and industry bigwigs mingling below for their tabloids. Hotel personnel set up cocktail tables, and maids vacuum the carpet. I check the exits and entrances, noting where each one goes. Then, as I look at my wristwatch and realize I only have a few hours to drive by the cleaner’s to pick up my shirt, eat a quick lunch, shower, shave, and get dressed in my penguin suit to drive to the studio to retrieve my gun—the studio has me licensed to carry one—and meet Miss Elain—we’re taking a studio limo to the party, of course—I reach for my cigarettes in my jacket and feel the papers I stashed there last night.

I never removed them. I’d fallen into bed in my shorts, so tired that I passed out. Now, as I pull out the one with the strange markings, my blood turns to ice.

It’s a floorplan, all right. Of this very ballroom. Every exit and entrance I just noted is marked by a red X. Ania drew up the plan, with all the ways in and out.

She’s planning something for tonight. At the party.

I can barely keep myself together as I speed like a maniac to get my shirt and return to my apartment. I gulp down a bowl of cold cereal for lunch, hop in the shower and shave too close, nicking my chin, then throw on my tuxedo and stuff the bow tie into my pocket. Someone will have to help me tie it. Maybe Lauren if I see her at the studio. If not, whatever.

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