Someone in the middle of a top secret mission that had gone off the rails, who was currently committing several felonies by the nature of the job and the weapons it required, and was about to be questioned by local police who most likely had false information and would shoot first ask questions later, should, by all rights, be at least a little worried. Fletcher wasn’t. His life had detoured off the normal path and into Jackedupville long ago. This sort of thing would usually have him, at most, absently running through various escape plans while watching for a signal from one of the guys. Life at six degrees of crazy set different standards. You know, tomayto-tomahto, potayto-potahto, mayhem, ho hum kinda thing.
This time was different though. This time was special. This time he got to see magic in the making.
As Emery moved the minivan over to the shoulder and dropped it in park, Fletcher inched forward in his seat. He was watching her closely. Yup, there it was! A tiny look, less than fleeting, she shot at Chance. Normal people would have missed it; lucky thing they weren't normal. Chance had been watching closely too. Waiting for the look.
The call of the cons.
Fletcher almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation. It was going to be a show! There were times in life when a lucky mortal got a peak into the perfection of the gods: the sunrise over Mt. Kilimanjaro, the deep blue of the waters of the Maldives, looking down from the cockpit to see the tops of the clouds and the sun streaming through the raging storm below, the smile of a woman in love. All perfect, all a privilege to witness, and all nowhere near as entertaining as Chance and Emery working a con on the fly. It was fun.
Fletcher didn’t smile at his good fortune. He may be in the midst of genius in the making, but everyday, sane people, covered in mud and getting pulled over by a trooper, were less amused and more nervous. He could do nervous and secretly appreciate the finer things in life.
Chance was a game player. He could sell anything, especially himself, with bone deep charm. It was a natural gift for him, instinct and feeling. He was good enough that you wanted to thank him for emptying your pockets. It was pomp and circumstance, but with a delicate grace. It was style, instinct, talent, and skill. He was a Degas of the deal.
Emery was a puzzle solver, a point-counterpoint type, always working so many steps ahead of the game, you never noticed a board. Her M.O. was to get information by pointedly not asking or caring. Her game was misdirection, smoke and mirrors, but seemingly straightforward—a thinking man’s game. She had a true understated Bauhaus approach to the grift. She and Chance together were the apex of human theater: the Grateful Dead in concert, the Thrilla in Manilla, Elvis at his prime. Hang-on-to-the-edge-of-your-seat art and entertainment. Fletcher not only had the good fortune to watch two of the best to ever play the game and run with it, but he would get a bit part.
Chance’s curse was turning into Fletcher's all access fun pass.
Before Fletcher's eyes, all the irritation at running through the mud and being roused by the staters disappeared from Chance, replaced by a friendly warm smile that Saint Peter would have believed. Emery rolled down the manual crank window as the Officer tipped his hat at her.
“Ma’am.”
“What seems to be the problem officer?” Emery’s smile was tight and thin lipped. Poor Janet was trying to tie up some loose ends with her philandering soon to be ex husband, and now she was being pulled over. A bad day for her.
“There was a break in reported. We're looking for suspects.” The officer leaned down a bit further, keeping his eye on everyone in the car and his hand loose and close enough to his side arm so he could get to it fast. “Gonna need you to turn off the engine and step outside the vehicle, ma’am.”
Fletcher craned his neck enough to make out the patch of the officer’s uniform. This wasn’t a corporate cop, or even a local. Up close Fletcher could see the Virginia State seal. That was unexpected. No doubt Emery had noticed too. Well now, wasn’t that interesting? Getting local cops involved was doable if you had some money, power, corruption and a bad cop or two laying around. Getting state law enforcement required a hell of a lot more. The cop had said break in, not murder, so whoever was feeding information to the state boys was able to keep a gun battle, shooting, and safe room encrusted genius secret. Awesome, it was a deep reaching conspiracy, the best kind really.
“Oh my God.” Janet quickly turned off the engine. In the space of a heartbeat her shock gave way to a jaded accusatory glare at Chance that carried years of bad marriage and hostility. “This is all your fault Todd.”
“What?” Todd shot back full of indignation. “Why do you always assume I did something!”
“Because you always do something stupid.” She cautiously undid her seatbelt. “You bastard. I knew I should have left you stranded in the woods.”
Todd widened his eyes at her. “You’d better get out.” Years of marriage and unrelenting nagging made itself known. He at least had the decency to leave off the “For once, can you do what you're told,” but his look said it loud and clear.
“Or what? You’ll gamble away our savings and sleep around? Oh, right, too late.” The officer stepped back enough to let Janet open the door, then moved her to the rear of the vehicle for the pat down. Good thing she had oh so carefully slipped her weapon into the door panel the second the sirens went on.
With the officer occupied, Chance took the opportunity to slip his handgun under the seat along with his ankle holster. Fletcher had hid his between the seats as soon as he saw the flashing lights. He choked down an errant smile. He’d once again beat Chance to the punch.
Watching in the rearview mirror, Chance cut his eyes to Fletcher as the officer pulled Emery’s hands behind her and put the handcuffs on. “Getting a bit cozy in this town.” He didn’t need to say more. The people looking to kill Sammy Girl either had to call in the homicide unit, which unless they were all pros at framing people, was a stupid risk; or they were calling in favors and using State Police as their toys.
“Are you and Mommy getting divorced?” Fletcher gave Chance his best puppy dog eyes. The cop was good, talking to Janet alone, getting her side of the story before they’d had a chance to get their lies straight. He had paid attention in the academy. The problem with smart cops was they were great at sniffing out inconsistencies and knowing when they needed backup.
“Divorces are so ugly.” Chance’s lip twitched. “Perhaps it was a common law marriage. Long term commitment to misery?” He sagged into the seat before glancing back at Emery. “She had to go with married didn’t she.”
“Only so she could have the fun of divorcing you.” Chance was phobic when it come to anything involving commitment. The man wouldn’t even commit to picking a favorite color. Emery, on the other hand, had more of an aversion; mention long term and she would develop a rash. When you put the two of them together their combined distaste for commitment almost circled back to the other side. That is, they were dedicated in their commitment to noncommittal. It was kinda beautiful.
“Yeah, well she better not try to get my car.”
“You’re a vice ridden dentist. What kind of car do you have? A used Volvo station wagon?” The perverse part of Fletcher enjoyed the way Chance looked morally offended at the idea of a family trekster.
“You know I’m liking Todd less and less.”
“Imagine how Janet feels.”
“All right!” The officer's voice boomed at them through the bullhorn. “Front passenger, open your door from the outside and slowly get out of the vehicle.”
“Oh good,” Chance smiled, “he’s taking the hands-on approach.” Cranking the window down, Chance grumbled about how Janet couldn’t even be bothered to get automatic windows, all while keeping his hands where they could be clearly seen as he reached out the window and ever so skillfully fumbled about until he managed to open the door.
“Fifty bucks says we end up in the mud.” Fletcher grinned at how much Chance would hate that. “Again.”
“Double that says I can get the state to pick up the tab from my tailor.”
“Done.”
Chance was out the door, hands high above his head, and moving towards the center of the road where he’d been directed to get on the ground in the mud. Yup, Fletcher was on a roll. Chance was lying face down, spread eagle and waiting as Fletcher was ordered follow suit. Officer Unknown was bright enough to make sure they were cuffed before he had them get right to their feet again. Situational control was a good thing to have. Sure the cop had it now, but changing that was the challenge. The trick was making things change without hurting anyone. After all, Officer Overachiever here was another guy doing his job.
It wasn’t until they were escorted to the back bumper of the van that Fletcher was able to read the name on the uniform: Officer Dunston. With both of them leaning on the back of the van and Emery against the front of the cruiser, it was show time.
Todd glanced nervously from Fletcher to Janet and back to the officer. Handcuffs were uncomfortable and being rousted was unnerving.
The officer started with Chance. “What’s your name?”
It took Todd a second to remember how to talk. “Doctor Todd Mills.”
“And you?” he asked Fletcher.
“Michael Wiesman.” Michael was a great name, strong, but not over the top, normal but still noteworthy. Yes, Fletcher would make a great Mike. Or Hubert. Next time he was going with Hubert.
“Mr. Mills, what brings you out this way?”
“Doctor, Officer. It’s . . . ah . . . Doctor Mills.” Chance was silky smooth, assuming all the arrogance of his character, yet somehow not sounding condescending.
“Oh my God Todd!” Janet snapped. “You’re not a real doctor, you’re a crappy dentist! You had to drop out of medical school because every time you saw naked people you got dizzy!” Emery’s exasperation was so true, so genuine that Officer Dunston was completely unaware that his calculated, sit back and learn by watching people talk too much was exactly what Emery and Chance wanted.
“Doctor!” Chance shot back, pushing himself off the bumper of the van but not taking a step towards Janet yet. “Do you call an ear nose and throat specialist a doctor? How about a podiatrist?” He let the age old resentment of a couple that hated each other's pick-at-scab arguments come through loud and clear. “Dentistry is simply a doctor of teeth! A niche, a specialty!”
“Yes, and an ENT actually passes Anatomy and Physiology.” Janet’s look was pure smug satisfaction as her dig at poor Todd hit home. Man, it was a good thing neither one of them liked marriage. They sucked at it, even the make believe ones.
“Hey, I took and passed Anatomy and Physiology like every other dentist out there!”
“Yes, only you didn't pass it until you slept with the professor.”
“Enough!” Officer Dunston cut in, shooting them a warning glance at any more outbursts. “What are you doing on Sirrah property?”
“Yes,” Todd was chagrined, “well, you see, I was in town finalizing some paperwork on our divorce when my car broke down a few miles back. I mean really, it’s the middle of nowhere. I have spent the last half of the day trying to get to some sort of civilization to see about getting some help.” His expression turned exhausted. “I sure wish I had run into you a few hours ago, Officer.”
“Yes,” Janet cut in, “well, the middle of nowhere is where you have to live when your husband hides money in the Grand Caymans. I don’t care how many times you ask, I'm not signing anything until you stop lying about the money.” Janet was dividing her looks between Todd and the officer. So direct, so true. “I should have left you back with your stupid broken down Volvo. Maybe Sherrie and Karrie could come and help you out.”
“I told you,” Todd was exasperated, “nothing happened with them.” He spun, turning towards Michael, finding an ally in his friend, and giving credence to Michael’s place in this mess. “I swear to God she never listens. I say invest in solar. Does she? No.”
“Solar was a stripper who wanted money for breast implants!”
“Both of you knock it off. Get back against the car, Doctor.” Yes, he was a very bright policeman. Well that made things interesting in a challenging kind of way, not the oh neat kind of way. Tricking someone who was sloppy or poorly trained was a lot easier than someone who was attuned to things. Officer Dunston was exactly the kind of police officer you wanted patrolling the streets. Unless of course you were the person doing something illegal, then it made things . . . well . . . interesting.
Head down, Janet gave a “Yes Sir.” Now there was a quote Chance would use to tease Emery. Hey Emery, remember that time with the handcuffs and the yes sir? Come to think of it, Fletcher could use that too.
“Mr. Wiesman, how exactly do you fit into this?” Dunston didn’t bother waiting for an answer before moving his hand to the mic on his lapel and pressing the button. “Dispatch from Officer 22049. I need to run some names.”
If the cop was running names then he was going to find out about Michael not being real, and that would lead to back up and more cops and make getting away much more likely to end up with people hurt. Fletcher needed to offer some distraction so the others could lay their plans for escape.
“I’m Dr. Mill’s personal financial planner. I’m here strictly in an advisory capacity.” Look at that, he was a businessman! A fancy one at that. The kind that thinks he is important and loves to talk. While Dunston was running names and listening to Michael, Chance was palming something, keeping it hidden under his thumb. “Todd felt it would be advantageous if I accompanied him on this outing to try and . . . ahh . . . convince Ms. Mills of the positive prospects of seeking a quick resolution to this, well . . . unpleasantness.”
During his little spiel, Janet had leaned in closer to Todd, the look on her face going from confused to bitter. It was enough to have the cop shoot her a look, which was enough time for Chance to look at Fletcher a fraction of a second long. Fletcher and Emery both knew that look: their boy needed distractions to work his magic.
Chance could pick locks with his eyes blindfolded. It was a skill they all drilled, a means of survival they’d had to use more than once. Every one of them could pick a lock; some did it better than others. Emery for all of her gifts struggled with locks, but Chance had started honing his skills early in life. Swear to God, Fletcher had seen him pick his cuffs with nothing more than a shoestring and a feather. He kept several very small picks hidden in his waistband, his belt and his shirt cuffs, a testament to his dedication to the art. All the skill in the world didn’t matter, however, if the officer made you while you were only halfway free.
Officer Dunston’s radio flared to life. The dispatcher on the other end was ready for information. “First name Michael Wiesman; second, Todd Mills; third, Janet Mills.”
Time for Emery and him to play!
“A quick resolution, really?” Janet had moved again, to the other side of the officer, where she could glare daggers at Michael, and Chance would be forgotten. “How about you cut the crap, Michael, and tell the truth before we all end up in jail.” She had an ice-cold tone that promised big drama that only ever came from the rush of the con.
“I assure you Ms. Mills that I—”
“Assure me of what? I saw what you two were doing in that Volvo and it wasn’t advising!”
“There, ahh, surely you don’t understand . . .” Michael was floundering, but Fletcher couldn’t wait to find out what Todd and his adviser had been doing. Drugs? Chemistry? Knitting? Praying?
“Understand what? That you two were having sex?” Oh! “Or that my husband will sleep with anything that moves, including you? Well, I have news for you Michael, Todd is a man whore, and you're nothing but his latest toy.”
“Hey!” Todd’s umbrage and step forward was enough to cover the ratcheting of the cuffs as he spun his wrists out of them. “That is preposterous! I have standards.”
“Standards?” Michael's voice rose an octave. He was a huge step up from the tramps Todd usually went for, Janet included.
“Oh hit a nerve, did I, Todd? You never could handle the truth. I know everything. Seven hundred sixty-seven dollars on my Victoria Secret card!” Janet was in full swing and not about to stop. “I hope like hell Michael is the one who's wearing the garter and thongs. God knows Todd doesn't have the ass or legs to pull that look off.”
Chance couldn’t give a damn about gay or straight, but say the body he took so much pride in wouldn’t be the ideal showcase for any article of clothing lucky enough to be draped over his perfection, and he would demand vindication.
“All right! Enough is enough!” Officer Duston cut in, sharp and abrasive, letting everyone know he was done playing their game. “I don’t care who’s sleeping with who. You move from the car again and you're going to get resisting tacked on to your arrest report.”
“Don’t you mean who chicken legs here isn’t sleeping with? That’s a much shorter list!”
Dunston turned towards Emery, his mouth ajar, ready to read her the riot act. It was go time. Chance took a large step forward, closing the gap between himself and Officer Dunston, throwing a hard right cross. It had to hurt, the meaty thud of flesh on flesh made that clear. Dunston stumbled backward. Before he could reach for his sidearm, Fletcher moved and kicked his foot out, catching the officer in the hip and throwing him off balance.
It bought them the half second Emery needed to duck behind the squad car, safe and out of the way. Fletcher ran at Dunston, slamming into him with his chest, shoving him towards Chance. Ready and waiting, Chance cupped his hands together, wrapped them around the back of Dunston’s head, and slammed the poor guy’s face into his knee. It would hurt, there may be a broken nose, a concussion, lost teeth, but those were minor when death was a real option. No matter what Hollywood would try to tell you, getting knocked out sucked; but when you were armed, fighting, and losing, it was the best outcome you could hope for.
The officer dropped to the ground in an untidy pile. Chance bent down, quickly grabbing the keys to the cuffs off of the officer's belt and relieving him of his sidearm. He tucked it into the back of his pants as he grumbled to himself. “Couldn’t be easy, could it? Had to be all sorts of thorough and call in our names.” He got behind Fletcher and unlocked the pilot's cuffs. “There’s a dashcam.”
This time was different though. This time was special. This time he got to see magic in the making.
As Emery moved the minivan over to the shoulder and dropped it in park, Fletcher inched forward in his seat. He was watching her closely. Yup, there it was! A tiny look, less than fleeting, she shot at Chance. Normal people would have missed it; lucky thing they weren't normal. Chance had been watching closely too. Waiting for the look.
The call of the cons.
Fletcher almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation. It was going to be a show! There were times in life when a lucky mortal got a peak into the perfection of the gods: the sunrise over Mt. Kilimanjaro, the deep blue of the waters of the Maldives, looking down from the cockpit to see the tops of the clouds and the sun streaming through the raging storm below, the smile of a woman in love. All perfect, all a privilege to witness, and all nowhere near as entertaining as Chance and Emery working a con on the fly. It was fun.
Fletcher didn’t smile at his good fortune. He may be in the midst of genius in the making, but everyday, sane people, covered in mud and getting pulled over by a trooper, were less amused and more nervous. He could do nervous and secretly appreciate the finer things in life.
Chance was a game player. He could sell anything, especially himself, with bone deep charm. It was a natural gift for him, instinct and feeling. He was good enough that you wanted to thank him for emptying your pockets. It was pomp and circumstance, but with a delicate grace. It was style, instinct, talent, and skill. He was a Degas of the deal.
Emery was a puzzle solver, a point-counterpoint type, always working so many steps ahead of the game, you never noticed a board. Her M.O. was to get information by pointedly not asking or caring. Her game was misdirection, smoke and mirrors, but seemingly straightforward—a thinking man’s game. She had a true understated Bauhaus approach to the grift. She and Chance together were the apex of human theater: the Grateful Dead in concert, the Thrilla in Manilla, Elvis at his prime. Hang-on-to-the-edge-of-your-seat art and entertainment. Fletcher not only had the good fortune to watch two of the best to ever play the game and run with it, but he would get a bit part.
Chance’s curse was turning into Fletcher's all access fun pass.
Before Fletcher's eyes, all the irritation at running through the mud and being roused by the staters disappeared from Chance, replaced by a friendly warm smile that Saint Peter would have believed. Emery rolled down the manual crank window as the Officer tipped his hat at her.
“Ma’am.”
“What seems to be the problem officer?” Emery’s smile was tight and thin lipped. Poor Janet was trying to tie up some loose ends with her philandering soon to be ex husband, and now she was being pulled over. A bad day for her.
“There was a break in reported. We're looking for suspects.” The officer leaned down a bit further, keeping his eye on everyone in the car and his hand loose and close enough to his side arm so he could get to it fast. “Gonna need you to turn off the engine and step outside the vehicle, ma’am.”
Fletcher craned his neck enough to make out the patch of the officer’s uniform. This wasn’t a corporate cop, or even a local. Up close Fletcher could see the Virginia State seal. That was unexpected. No doubt Emery had noticed too. Well now, wasn’t that interesting? Getting local cops involved was doable if you had some money, power, corruption and a bad cop or two laying around. Getting state law enforcement required a hell of a lot more. The cop had said break in, not murder, so whoever was feeding information to the state boys was able to keep a gun battle, shooting, and safe room encrusted genius secret. Awesome, it was a deep reaching conspiracy, the best kind really.
“Oh my God.” Janet quickly turned off the engine. In the space of a heartbeat her shock gave way to a jaded accusatory glare at Chance that carried years of bad marriage and hostility. “This is all your fault Todd.”
“What?” Todd shot back full of indignation. “Why do you always assume I did something!”
“Because you always do something stupid.” She cautiously undid her seatbelt. “You bastard. I knew I should have left you stranded in the woods.”
Todd widened his eyes at her. “You’d better get out.” Years of marriage and unrelenting nagging made itself known. He at least had the decency to leave off the “For once, can you do what you're told,” but his look said it loud and clear.
“Or what? You’ll gamble away our savings and sleep around? Oh, right, too late.” The officer stepped back enough to let Janet open the door, then moved her to the rear of the vehicle for the pat down. Good thing she had oh so carefully slipped her weapon into the door panel the second the sirens went on.
With the officer occupied, Chance took the opportunity to slip his handgun under the seat along with his ankle holster. Fletcher had hid his between the seats as soon as he saw the flashing lights. He choked down an errant smile. He’d once again beat Chance to the punch.
Watching in the rearview mirror, Chance cut his eyes to Fletcher as the officer pulled Emery’s hands behind her and put the handcuffs on. “Getting a bit cozy in this town.” He didn’t need to say more. The people looking to kill Sammy Girl either had to call in the homicide unit, which unless they were all pros at framing people, was a stupid risk; or they were calling in favors and using State Police as their toys.
“Are you and Mommy getting divorced?” Fletcher gave Chance his best puppy dog eyes. The cop was good, talking to Janet alone, getting her side of the story before they’d had a chance to get their lies straight. He had paid attention in the academy. The problem with smart cops was they were great at sniffing out inconsistencies and knowing when they needed backup.
“Divorces are so ugly.” Chance’s lip twitched. “Perhaps it was a common law marriage. Long term commitment to misery?” He sagged into the seat before glancing back at Emery. “She had to go with married didn’t she.”
“Only so she could have the fun of divorcing you.” Chance was phobic when it come to anything involving commitment. The man wouldn’t even commit to picking a favorite color. Emery, on the other hand, had more of an aversion; mention long term and she would develop a rash. When you put the two of them together their combined distaste for commitment almost circled back to the other side. That is, they were dedicated in their commitment to noncommittal. It was kinda beautiful.
“Yeah, well she better not try to get my car.”
“You’re a vice ridden dentist. What kind of car do you have? A used Volvo station wagon?” The perverse part of Fletcher enjoyed the way Chance looked morally offended at the idea of a family trekster.
“You know I’m liking Todd less and less.”
“Imagine how Janet feels.”
“All right!” The officer's voice boomed at them through the bullhorn. “Front passenger, open your door from the outside and slowly get out of the vehicle.”
“Oh good,” Chance smiled, “he’s taking the hands-on approach.” Cranking the window down, Chance grumbled about how Janet couldn’t even be bothered to get automatic windows, all while keeping his hands where they could be clearly seen as he reached out the window and ever so skillfully fumbled about until he managed to open the door.
“Fifty bucks says we end up in the mud.” Fletcher grinned at how much Chance would hate that. “Again.”
“Double that says I can get the state to pick up the tab from my tailor.”
“Done.”
Chance was out the door, hands high above his head, and moving towards the center of the road where he’d been directed to get on the ground in the mud. Yup, Fletcher was on a roll. Chance was lying face down, spread eagle and waiting as Fletcher was ordered follow suit. Officer Unknown was bright enough to make sure they were cuffed before he had them get right to their feet again. Situational control was a good thing to have. Sure the cop had it now, but changing that was the challenge. The trick was making things change without hurting anyone. After all, Officer Overachiever here was another guy doing his job.
It wasn’t until they were escorted to the back bumper of the van that Fletcher was able to read the name on the uniform: Officer Dunston. With both of them leaning on the back of the van and Emery against the front of the cruiser, it was show time.
Todd glanced nervously from Fletcher to Janet and back to the officer. Handcuffs were uncomfortable and being rousted was unnerving.
The officer started with Chance. “What’s your name?”
It took Todd a second to remember how to talk. “Doctor Todd Mills.”
“And you?” he asked Fletcher.
“Michael Wiesman.” Michael was a great name, strong, but not over the top, normal but still noteworthy. Yes, Fletcher would make a great Mike. Or Hubert. Next time he was going with Hubert.
“Mr. Mills, what brings you out this way?”
“Doctor, Officer. It’s . . . ah . . . Doctor Mills.” Chance was silky smooth, assuming all the arrogance of his character, yet somehow not sounding condescending.
“Oh my God Todd!” Janet snapped. “You’re not a real doctor, you’re a crappy dentist! You had to drop out of medical school because every time you saw naked people you got dizzy!” Emery’s exasperation was so true, so genuine that Officer Dunston was completely unaware that his calculated, sit back and learn by watching people talk too much was exactly what Emery and Chance wanted.
“Doctor!” Chance shot back, pushing himself off the bumper of the van but not taking a step towards Janet yet. “Do you call an ear nose and throat specialist a doctor? How about a podiatrist?” He let the age old resentment of a couple that hated each other's pick-at-scab arguments come through loud and clear. “Dentistry is simply a doctor of teeth! A niche, a specialty!”
“Yes, and an ENT actually passes Anatomy and Physiology.” Janet’s look was pure smug satisfaction as her dig at poor Todd hit home. Man, it was a good thing neither one of them liked marriage. They sucked at it, even the make believe ones.
“Hey, I took and passed Anatomy and Physiology like every other dentist out there!”
“Yes, only you didn't pass it until you slept with the professor.”
“Enough!” Officer Dunston cut in, shooting them a warning glance at any more outbursts. “What are you doing on Sirrah property?”
“Yes,” Todd was chagrined, “well, you see, I was in town finalizing some paperwork on our divorce when my car broke down a few miles back. I mean really, it’s the middle of nowhere. I have spent the last half of the day trying to get to some sort of civilization to see about getting some help.” His expression turned exhausted. “I sure wish I had run into you a few hours ago, Officer.”
“Yes,” Janet cut in, “well, the middle of nowhere is where you have to live when your husband hides money in the Grand Caymans. I don’t care how many times you ask, I'm not signing anything until you stop lying about the money.” Janet was dividing her looks between Todd and the officer. So direct, so true. “I should have left you back with your stupid broken down Volvo. Maybe Sherrie and Karrie could come and help you out.”
“I told you,” Todd was exasperated, “nothing happened with them.” He spun, turning towards Michael, finding an ally in his friend, and giving credence to Michael’s place in this mess. “I swear to God she never listens. I say invest in solar. Does she? No.”
“Solar was a stripper who wanted money for breast implants!”
“Both of you knock it off. Get back against the car, Doctor.” Yes, he was a very bright policeman. Well that made things interesting in a challenging kind of way, not the oh neat kind of way. Tricking someone who was sloppy or poorly trained was a lot easier than someone who was attuned to things. Officer Dunston was exactly the kind of police officer you wanted patrolling the streets. Unless of course you were the person doing something illegal, then it made things . . . well . . . interesting.
Head down, Janet gave a “Yes Sir.” Now there was a quote Chance would use to tease Emery. Hey Emery, remember that time with the handcuffs and the yes sir? Come to think of it, Fletcher could use that too.
“Mr. Wiesman, how exactly do you fit into this?” Dunston didn’t bother waiting for an answer before moving his hand to the mic on his lapel and pressing the button. “Dispatch from Officer 22049. I need to run some names.”
If the cop was running names then he was going to find out about Michael not being real, and that would lead to back up and more cops and make getting away much more likely to end up with people hurt. Fletcher needed to offer some distraction so the others could lay their plans for escape.
“I’m Dr. Mill’s personal financial planner. I’m here strictly in an advisory capacity.” Look at that, he was a businessman! A fancy one at that. The kind that thinks he is important and loves to talk. While Dunston was running names and listening to Michael, Chance was palming something, keeping it hidden under his thumb. “Todd felt it would be advantageous if I accompanied him on this outing to try and . . . ahh . . . convince Ms. Mills of the positive prospects of seeking a quick resolution to this, well . . . unpleasantness.”
During his little spiel, Janet had leaned in closer to Todd, the look on her face going from confused to bitter. It was enough to have the cop shoot her a look, which was enough time for Chance to look at Fletcher a fraction of a second long. Fletcher and Emery both knew that look: their boy needed distractions to work his magic.
Chance could pick locks with his eyes blindfolded. It was a skill they all drilled, a means of survival they’d had to use more than once. Every one of them could pick a lock; some did it better than others. Emery for all of her gifts struggled with locks, but Chance had started honing his skills early in life. Swear to God, Fletcher had seen him pick his cuffs with nothing more than a shoestring and a feather. He kept several very small picks hidden in his waistband, his belt and his shirt cuffs, a testament to his dedication to the art. All the skill in the world didn’t matter, however, if the officer made you while you were only halfway free.
Officer Dunston’s radio flared to life. The dispatcher on the other end was ready for information. “First name Michael Wiesman; second, Todd Mills; third, Janet Mills.”
Time for Emery and him to play!
“A quick resolution, really?” Janet had moved again, to the other side of the officer, where she could glare daggers at Michael, and Chance would be forgotten. “How about you cut the crap, Michael, and tell the truth before we all end up in jail.” She had an ice-cold tone that promised big drama that only ever came from the rush of the con.
“I assure you Ms. Mills that I—”
“Assure me of what? I saw what you two were doing in that Volvo and it wasn’t advising!”
“There, ahh, surely you don’t understand . . .” Michael was floundering, but Fletcher couldn’t wait to find out what Todd and his adviser had been doing. Drugs? Chemistry? Knitting? Praying?
“Understand what? That you two were having sex?” Oh! “Or that my husband will sleep with anything that moves, including you? Well, I have news for you Michael, Todd is a man whore, and you're nothing but his latest toy.”
“Hey!” Todd’s umbrage and step forward was enough to cover the ratcheting of the cuffs as he spun his wrists out of them. “That is preposterous! I have standards.”
“Standards?” Michael's voice rose an octave. He was a huge step up from the tramps Todd usually went for, Janet included.
“Oh hit a nerve, did I, Todd? You never could handle the truth. I know everything. Seven hundred sixty-seven dollars on my Victoria Secret card!” Janet was in full swing and not about to stop. “I hope like hell Michael is the one who's wearing the garter and thongs. God knows Todd doesn't have the ass or legs to pull that look off.”
Chance couldn’t give a damn about gay or straight, but say the body he took so much pride in wouldn’t be the ideal showcase for any article of clothing lucky enough to be draped over his perfection, and he would demand vindication.
“All right! Enough is enough!” Officer Duston cut in, sharp and abrasive, letting everyone know he was done playing their game. “I don’t care who’s sleeping with who. You move from the car again and you're going to get resisting tacked on to your arrest report.”
“Don’t you mean who chicken legs here isn’t sleeping with? That’s a much shorter list!”
Dunston turned towards Emery, his mouth ajar, ready to read her the riot act. It was go time. Chance took a large step forward, closing the gap between himself and Officer Dunston, throwing a hard right cross. It had to hurt, the meaty thud of flesh on flesh made that clear. Dunston stumbled backward. Before he could reach for his sidearm, Fletcher moved and kicked his foot out, catching the officer in the hip and throwing him off balance.
It bought them the half second Emery needed to duck behind the squad car, safe and out of the way. Fletcher ran at Dunston, slamming into him with his chest, shoving him towards Chance. Ready and waiting, Chance cupped his hands together, wrapped them around the back of Dunston’s head, and slammed the poor guy’s face into his knee. It would hurt, there may be a broken nose, a concussion, lost teeth, but those were minor when death was a real option. No matter what Hollywood would try to tell you, getting knocked out sucked; but when you were armed, fighting, and losing, it was the best outcome you could hope for.
The officer dropped to the ground in an untidy pile. Chance bent down, quickly grabbing the keys to the cuffs off of the officer's belt and relieving him of his sidearm. He tucked it into the back of his pants as he grumbled to himself. “Couldn’t be easy, could it? Had to be all sorts of thorough and call in our names.” He got behind Fletcher and unlocked the pilot's cuffs. “There’s a dashcam.”