Silas Read online

  while you take care of the arrangements," he said. "As we have another pressing engagement." He strode across the room, without waiting for me.

  I shook Coker's hand. "You’ll have to pardon Roger," I said. "He's so used to handling larger transactions that he's forgotten what it's like to make smaller businesspeople very rich. He used to be a small businessperson once himself."

  "Small..." Coker's voice sputtered, then trailed off. I knew the gears in his head would be churning at the implication that not only was he a small business person, much smaller than the whales we usually dealt with, but that we were treating him as a virtual charity case.

  The implication was that we would make him rich. Obscenely rich.

  A man like Coker wouldn't be able to resist the lure.

  I held out my hand, shaking his. "I must go," I said. "We'll be in touch." Then I spun on my heel and joined Iver outside.

  We were both silent even after we got to the car. As I drove, Iver thumbed over the screen on his phone. We weren't even five minutes down the road when he looked up. "The money was transferred," he said.

  I chuckled, unable to contain my delight. "You did a brilliant job in there," I said. "Your snobbery is quite convincing."

  Iver winked. "Don't let the game fool you, darling," he said. "My snobbery is only rarely part of the con."

  I laughed. "You know, when we first started together, I wasn't sure you actually had a heart."

  "I've convinced you otherwise?" he asked. "And they say you can't con a con."

  "Who the hell says that?" I asked. "That's not a saying. Of course you can con a con. They say you can't con an honest man."

  "I'm afraid that's not very accurate, either," he said.

  "You've been conning honest people?" I asked.

  Iver tapped on his phone, distracted. "Not since you caused me to see the error of my ways," he said. "I'm a changed man. Reformed."

  "A regular saint," I said.

  "You've been Little Miss Robin Hood for a long time now," Iver said, looking up from his phone. "Have you ever conned any honest people?"

  "Once," I said, Silas' image flashing in my mind. “A long time ago.”

  After all, love was the ultimate con, wasn't it?

  “Sorry I missed the fight, man,” Abel said. He sat at the table in the bar, one leg in a cast. “I heard it was an epic one.”

  “Hell,” I said. “You’re apologizing for Coker running you down? Are you kidding me?”

  He laughed. “No. There's no way I’m apologizing for that. I'm just sorry for missing your comeback. I mean, if it had been me you were fighting, you’d have just been embarrassed, because you'd have gotten the shit kicked out of you.”

  I held up my beer glass. “Well, cheers to the fact that I got to kick Rush’s ass, then. Instead of getting my ass kicked.”

  “Cheers to that,” Trigg said. He stood. “Now, drink up. Stacey’s only working until ten, and until then, beer’s free.”

  I gulped down the last few swallows, and pulled Abel’s glass from his hand, giving it to Trigg. “There you go.”

  A hand slapped my back hard, and I spun around¸ expecting to have to knock the shit out of someone. Instead, I came face to face with an older man in a grey pullover sweater, a cane in one hand.

  “You’re that fighter,” he said. “I watched you at the fight the other night. You were quite remarkable.”

  This little old man was watching amateur fights? The look of disbelief must have registered on my face, because he chuckled.

  “Oh, now, even an old man like me has to have some hobbies,” he said. “Betting on fights just happens to be one of mine. And you won me ten grand.”

  I whistled. “Congratulations.” Must be nice, I thought. Ten grand was more than the purse for the fight.

  “Well, now,” he said. “If you gentlemen would be so inclined, there’s a bar upstairs on the top floor that is reserved solely for the suites. Your drinks are on me. Whatever you would like. The sky’s the limit.”

  I was just opening my mouth to decline - a couple of cheap beers was just fine with me - when Trigg ambled up beside me. “Free drinks in the penthouse bar?” he asked. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But we’re just drinking beer in the bar down here with the other commoners.”

  The old man chuckled. “Well, if you change your mind,” he said. He handed me a card. “You’ll need this key card to access the upper floors.”

  Wordlessly, he turned and ambled away.

  Trigg snatched the card from my hand. “Well, boys,” he said. “Tonight we get to drink like the rich folks do. Silas, that includes you."

  Iver handed me a glass of champagne. "To another job well done," he said, raising his glass. "Where is Oscar, anyway?"

  As if on cue, the door to the suite opened, and Oscar ambled inside. "I'm here," he said. "I was just getting some fresh air."

  Emir handed him a glass. "The money is set up in accounts that the family will be able to access under the radar of any government entity. Minus our shares, of course."

  Iver nodded. "I'll deliver the news to Deborah."

  I sighed. "What's next, boys?"

  Iver shrugged. "The south of France is nice this time of year."

  "Emir?" I asked.

  "I have a flight out of town tomorrow," he said. "There's a comic convention, and a new video game I've been dying to hole up for a week with."

  "And you, Oscar?" I asked. "Far flung travel plans?"

  "Oh, you know," he said. "An old man like me, I'm not chasing models and yachting anymore."

  Iver chuckled. "Don't let him tell you stories, Ariana," he said, calling me by my grifter alias. "Oscar's got more life left in his pinkie than the rest of us do in our entire bodies. What are you really up to, old man?"

  Oscar laughed. "I think I'm going to spend a month in Rome," he said.

  Iver sighed. "There was this Italian girl once..."

  Emir held up his hand. "The rest of us mere mortals don't need to hear about your escapades with models and heiresses."

  Iver's eyes twinkled. "Speaking of heiresses, there's a shipping magnate's daughter I really should check up on."

  Emir grimaced. "Don't you ever get tired of being a man whore?" he asked.

  Iver grinned. "I don't understand the question," he said, turning to me. "Does the question make any sense to you?"

  I laughed. "Boys, stop your bickering."

  "What are your plans for your time off, Ariana?" Oscar asked. "Are you leaving it up to fate?"

  After a job, I usually headed to the airport with no luggage and no plans, to take whatever flight was available that suited my fancy. I guess I could throw a dart at a map or something, really leave it up to fate to decide. And maybe I would do that, sometime in the future. But this time, I was going back to Colorado. My grandmother was still there. It had been almost a year since I'd sneaked back to see her, and that was long enough.

  I sipped from the glass. "I think so," I lied. “Should we meet in New York next time, boys?”

  Another grifter’s rule - always keep moving. We rotated cities and discarded identities like people changed clothes.

  “At the Four Seasons, I think,” Iver said. “Or the Ritz.”

  “The Ritz,” Oscar said. “Now, shall we retire to the restaurant for dinner?"

  Iver paused. "Oscar, you look like the cat that ate the canary," he said. "What deviousness do you have planned?"

  Emir wrinkled his nose. "Please say you didn't tell the maitre'd it was one of our birthdays," he said. “If I have to listen to wait staff sing to me…”

  "Oh God, Oscar," I said. "If you have something up your sleeve..."

  Oscar put his hands in the air. "Can't an old man dine with friends without his motives being questioned at every turn?" he asked, exhaling heavily. "Grifters are some of the least trusting people in the world."

  Iver laughed. "Spoken like a guilty man," he said.

  "Holy