Thief!Fic! Ch 1-5 - Round Robin Fic

Chapter 1 - by superstitiousme

"Andrew, you beast. I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Noella said as she leaned close to Brian and attached herself to his waist.

Brian smiled and wrapped his arm around her narrow shoulders. "You look stunning, Noella," he said into her ear in a low voice. And then, more loudly, "I'll take Johnny Walker," to the waiter who met his eyes in open invitation from beyond Noella's right shoulder.

****
The decadent parlor was done up in gold and crimson, with a ten foot Christmas tree in the corner. The hostess of the evening had finally abandoned Brian at the bar in favor of floating in and out of clusters of guests, occasionally looking in Brian's direction with a flirty smile. Brian couldn't hear what she was saying over the music, but he could tell that this job was going suspiciously better than he'd expected.

Outside, the wind was starting to pick up and send huge snowflakes in all directions. Guests swirled on the dance floor in the center of the room and the lights were dimmed in anticipation of the candle-covered cake that was about to emerge from the kitchen door.

Brian caught the bartender's eye, motioning to the light switch behind the bar,

"Time for cake."

****
Brian looked at his watch.

12:42:52

He bit his lip in concentration, mentally counting the seconds as he snuck past the security guard and into the relative silence of the east wing. The hallway was well-lit and more sparsely furnished than the rest of the house. He quickly picked the lock of the office door and slipped inside, stopping to enter the security code in the panel near the door.

He had exactly three minutes and seven seconds to get into the safe and back to the party before Noella had cut the cake or noticed he was gone.

He sighed softly in the dark room.

An exhale from across the room answered him.

The result was instantaneous, the mental map of the room guiding Brian as he side-stepped his attacker and ducked.

"Fuck."

Brian clicked on his penlight, aimed at the whisperer but was greeted by a gun.

"Don't move," said a gravelly voice just outside the circle of light. Brian slowly raised the light until he could make out the jawline of the man's face and the tight collar of a black turtle neck.

"Dressed in tight black, but no ski mask?" Brian tsk'd as he caught the profile of Noella's safe door standing open. "Did you get your costume from the set of Alias?"

The man's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Aren't you a little old to watch Alias? You know, the target audience is eighteen to thirty-four. No douche ads in that time slot."

"You won't shoot," Brian said tersely. "Not if you want to escape." He raised an eyebrow in the dark. "And, I think we both want to escape but they'll be looking for me in less than sixty seconds—"

****
Brian heard nothing but dull ringing as he crawled in the dark on hands and knees, making for the window. The shot had been aimed at the security panel and Brian knew security would be swarming into the room in no more than ten seconds, thanks to that trigger-happy bastard.

Seven, six...

He felt the still hanging escape route on the windowsill and shimmied out the window and down, cursing his new Gucci loafers as they slipped on the rope.

Three, two, one…

As he ran in the snowy footprints of the rotten little shit who'd made him end a job with the hideous need to run for the first time in ten years, he considered how the job should have gone. By now he should be casually saying goodnight to Noella. A chaste kiss goodbye, her powered cheek warming to his touch. A charming smile and promise to call, and he would be walking out the front door with the file tucked safely away.

Instead, he was running like a common thief, through a blizzard, following Spy Kid's footprints and wearing a very expensive, custom-tailored suit.

"You little shit," Brian said breathlessly, sliding down a slope and running across the highway. "I don't look a day over twenty-nine, even in the dark."

And if he was silently conceding the generosity of the little fuck in leaving the rope, he wasn't going to acknowledge it.

Brian circled back around the house, slipped in through the servant’s entrance and managed to make himself look presentable again, as if he hadn’t been dodging bullets, sliding down a rope, and jogging through the snow. He smoothed a hand over his hair, put on a questioning smile, and strode back out into the main room. Thank God for security so lax that the guards all went running to the gun shot instead of manning their posts.

He entered the main room just in time to see a security guard come running into the room to report to Noella. He moved up beside her.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Andrew!” said Noella, clutching his arm. “Where did you go?”

“The little boy’s room,” said Brian, with just the right amount of sarcasm and understatement that no one would ever question him, and Noella probably wouldn’t even remember he’d been missing when she was later questioned by the police. And she would be questioned, there was no doubt about that. Especially if the bastard had gotten the file.

Noella, ever a drama queen, promptly leaned into him as if she herself had been shot, forcing him to put an arm around her and slip a mask of concern over his face. Fuck. He’d been looking forward to finishing this job tonight and never having to flirt with this boring debutante again. But now he needed her, in case they caught the thief—which they no doubt would, considering his ineptitude—and he had the opportunity to steal it himself.

He was momentarily distracted by the same hot waiter and mentally cursed again. No time, and definitely no room for fuck-ups, to allow for that.

It was nearly three in the morning when he finally managed to detach Noella from his (crumbled, abused) arm and slide with a relief so pure he was almost dizzy, into his corvette.

The roads were empty, but he was alert anyway, and making plans. As soon as he got home, he’d call Eric, his contact, and demand to know what the fuck had happened. Then he’d get on the internet and make sure there weren’t any deals going down there that he hadn’t heard about. Whoever the wannabe-beatnik thief had been, he was going to find him, and he was going to take what, if there were any justice in the universe, should have been his.

When he slid open the door to his loft, he was so set on getting to the phone, that for half a dangerous second, he didn’t realize that the alarm was off. He took two steps into the cover of the kitchen and then turned to see a familiar figure, dressed all in black, perched on the back of his couch. The gun was nowhere in sight, but Brian wasn’t taking any chances. He reached under the counter and silently picked up his own gun, which he rarely used, but always kept loaded. Thieves, as evidenced by his present uninvited company, weren’t all as charming and intelligent as he was.

“It took you long enough,” said the man. He stood from the couch, but with his back to the windows, it was hard to see his expression.

“Thanks to you, trigger-happy.”

“Yeah, well,” the thief waved a dismissive hand, “It was the only way to get you to shut up.”

“And the best way to get caught,” said Brian, barely holding his anger in check. But the second he let out his anger, he’d have lost the upper hand. There was a chance that the thief still had the file on him, which would be exceptionally stupid, but then so was setting security on them.

“The best way to get you caught. And it didn’t work.” He sounded thoughtful now. Brian had had enough.

“Cut the bullshit. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to be alone in that office.”

“So was I.”

“Then something obviously went wrong.”

“What a brilliant deduction.”

“And I figured you might have some insight as to what it was,” he continued, unfazed.

“Sorry,” Brian told him, not sorry at all.

“Okay, here is what we’re going to do,” said the thief in a bossy tone that annoyed Brian and…did something else to him that he wasn’t going to think about. “We’re both going to put down our guns, turn on the lights, and discuss this like rational people.”

“Do you have the file?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Then you should act like it once in a while.”

“Fuck you,” his voice was cold now, but very calm and there was suddenly a gun in his hand. “At the same time, or I shoot you.”

Brian carefully edged around the counter, his gun in hand, and started to lower it to the floor. The thief followed his motion. When both of the guns had hit the floor, they each stood up quickly, eyes following each other.

“Now what?” he asked. He hit the switch next to him and left them both blinking in the sudden light. It shown off of the thief’s fair hair. The thief pulled off his glove and offered Brian a hand and a wide, mischievous smile.

“I’m Justin,” he said, his smile widening even more, if that was possible. “And I was wrong—I’d guess thirty-three.”

Justin walked carefully around the island surveying Brian, figuring it was probably a good idea to keep a solid object between the two of them. Brian watched him reposition himself, his palms resting flat on the counter in front of him.

“So,” Justin began, “this is a James Bond thing you’ve got going on or what?” It had to be--the suit, the tie, the impractical shoes.

“This is a Catwoman thing you have going on?” Brian's tone intonated a complaint of some sort, but that was far from the truth. This guy could be Catwoman if he wanted to; he pulled it off quite well.

......

“Could I have something to drink?” Justin asked, parched from his evening excursions.

“Milk in a bowl on a floor?”

“Try whiskey. Neat. In a glass.”

Brian noticed how small the thief’s hands were when he handed him the liquor, “Drinking on the job?”

Justin huffed, “That job’s over. That was a setup.”

“You don’t have the file?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have it. It’s tucked away nice and safe right now. But I’m willing to bet that there’s nothing on it.”

“Really?” Brian asked. This guy was more forthcoming that most of his thieving colleagues. It was disarming; he didn’t want to trust him.

“You really have nothing to offer to this conversation, do you?” Justin asked, taking the last swallow of whiskey fast and placing his glass back on the island. Brian found himself doing the same, mimicking this guy. It was fucking unnerving.

Brian thought fast; he had to have something to offer, “Why do you think there’s nothing on it?” He walked around the island as he asked and motioned to the sofa, “Sit down, if you like.”

Justin sat, but in a chair, across from Brian, “Because this isn’t the kind of job I usually pull.”

“Oh?” Brian’s cell phone was vibrating silently in his pocket. He ignored it. “What kind of jobs do you pull?”

Justin’s sleek black arms were crossed definitively across his chest as he responded, “Museums. I steal art. And you?”

“Usually money, in one form or another.”

“Well, no shit, double-oh-dumb ass. Everything boils down to money.” Perhaps this thief was smarter than Brian thought? Or just ruder.

“Fine,” Brian responded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands spread wide as he spoke, “I just think I’m a little more cross-trained than you are. Stealing art, it’s so trendy.”

Justin crossed his legs as he spoke, never taking his eyes off of Brian, “I don’t think you’ve been an authority on trends since maybe 1998.”

Brian was getting tired of this; he had things to do, namely to figure out what the fuck just happened on this job. He didn’t have time to chit chat with Sarcastic Sue. So what if he had a Cross pen that doubled as six different lethal weapons?

It was a Christmas gift.

Justin seemed to be tiring of the sparring as well. He stood and walked to the window, turning away from Brian as he spoke, “Stop fucking around. Are we going to figure this out together or not?”

“I work alone.”

“Goes with the whole Bond mystique, right?”

“Sure.”

Ever persistent, Justin continued, “I think we should work together. Maybe I could—"

“No way. Out of the question.”

“How much were you paid to do this job?” he asked, turning around and facing Brian.

“Million and half once the file was delivered? You?”

Justin’s heart started to sink; he’d only been offered half a million upfront and half million upon delivery. “Same here,” he lied. Brian leaned back on the couch and surveyed the complicated little thief-twink standing in front of him, a cloud passing over Justin's once mischievous face.

“What’s the matter?”

Justin turned around, “Whoever hired us…they know us well. And I’m sure they’ll be shocked that both of us came out of this alive.”

Brian lit a cigarette, inhaled, and considered what the thief was saying, before he offered, “Cigarette?”

Justin shook his head, “No, cigarettes are not romantic symbols to me reminiscent of thieves that’ve come before me. They're just a really slow bullet.”

“How poetically profound of you.”

“I suppose when you’re already past a certain age, well—"

Brian glared at his adversary as he stubbed it out.

Justin took that, his rival maybe actually listening to him, that he should try one more time, “I think you should let me be your partner. In crime.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Justin’s head jerked suddenly as he saw a blonde woman coming down the stairs in Brian’s loft. She was wearing solid black, just like him, (only with heels) and she walked and stood behind the sofa right behind Brian and spoke, her hands on Brian's shoulders, “Because he already has one.”

“Justin, this is Cynthia. Cynthia, Justin.”

The two gave each other wary looks.

“I thought we were alone.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

Cynthia leaned over Brian’s shoulder, her breasts right beside his face, her voice low and calm, “If you’ll give me your phone, I’ll answer it.”

Brian tilted his head back, “In a minute. Justin and I have business to discuss.”

To give Justin credit, he recovered very quickly and said, "All right, so you have a partner." He cocked his head and smiled. "But not a partner who has the file."

"He's got a point," said Cynthia. She smiled, too--a cheshire smile, full of pointy edges. "And he's cute." She looked down at Brian. "Admit it, you were thinking about fucking him."

"Well," said Brian, "Maybe if he hadn't shot a gun in the vicinity of my head and made me nearly ruin my new Gucci shoes running through the snow."

"I left you the rope," Justin protested. Brian gave him a look of disbelief. Cynthia laughed.

"Cynthia," said Brian. "How would you feel, as half of this partnership, about taking on a third partner--temporarily, of course--in order to make truckloads of money?"

"That depends on whether or not we can we trust him."

"I'm right here," said Justin. "And I've changed my mind. I work alone best." He turned to leave.

"Stop," Brian demanded. "What about the file?"

"I stole it," said Justin, flashing a smile. "It's mine. Have a nice life." He hauled open the door and walked out.

"That went well," said Cynthia.

"We don't have the file," said Brian. "Define 'well'." He stood, decided there was no time to change his shoes, damn it, and headed towards the door.

"What are you doing?" asked Cynthia.

"Following the man who does have it." He gave her a sarcastic smile. "Don't wait up, honey," and he hit the stairs at a jog.

The building door had shut a solid ten seconds before he got to it, so when he yanked it open, he wasn't surprised to find Justin nowhere in sight. However, that meant he had to have gone around the corner, or climbed a building, because all other cover was more than ten seconds away. Brian moved stealthily down the street and glanced around the corner to see Justin's retreating back. This would be easier than he'd thought.

He waited until Justin had gotten a good lead on him and then slipped quietly after, keeping to the edges of the street, where the buildings cast the deepest shadows. Justin walked on, fearless and easy. At half a mile, Brian thought maybe they were headed towards the bus station, or a car, in which case the chase would be over, but he'd have a license plate. However, at a mile, he decided that was unlikely, especially since they were wandering further into the industrial district.

Another half a mile, maybe, and Brian was stubbornly still following, but thinking that maybe he didn't care so much any more where Justin was going and that there were easier ways to track him down that didn't involve running around in the snow. Then Justin ducked into the shadow of a building. Brian heard a door shut and he hurried to catch up.

When he got closer, he saw only one shabby door in the entire stretch of wall. He paused. Above it was a faded sign that said, "Dick and ~~Jane~~ John". Brian had heard of this place, but he'd never gone. It was supposed to be a dive, and though dives could be entertaining, this one in particular had a reputation for cheap alcohol and trolls. But whatever other questionable qualities Justin possessed, he was not a troll, so what was he doing here?

Brian slipped inside the door and and was immediately hit by a blast of music and smoke. There was a small, crowded dance floor, and murky, smoky clusters of tables all around it. Brian scanned the area, his eyes adjusting to the dark and the flashes of light. He caught a glimpse of a blond head on the second level, moving toward the back of the club, and swiftly wove his way towards the stairs.

At the top, he was just in time to see the back of Justin's head disappear through a black door. The whole wall was painted black. Brian probably wouldn't have known the door was there if he hadn't just seen someone open it. He moved past men, all but ignoring them (aside from noticing that some of them weren't bad, after all). He was on a mission, though. First business, then extracurricular activities.

He examined the door, glanced behind him, and moved quickly, warily, through it. Justin stood before a man at a desk. He looked tense, his spine was straight, and his voice was assured and slightly angry.

"...want to know what the fuck is going on," Brian heard Justin finish.

"Fancy meeting you here," Brian drawled.

Fifteen minutes after the loft door slammed closed, Cynthia tossed the Prada catalogue she’d been browsing back on the counter, poured herself a drink, flipped open her cell and dialed.

“Good news?”

“Of course,” she said and her red fingernails clicked on the counter. “Things went as planned.”

”And the disk?”

She looked at her watch, “You’ll have it within the hour.”

******
The office behind the black wall was ridiculously fruity, with apricot walls, plum carpet and a raspberry couch with peach cushions. It was a clever tactic, Brian thought. Distract your opponent with nausea.

Justin looked momentarily surprised by Brian’s appearance just behind him, but attempted to mask it by crossing his arms over his chest and turning to repeat his question to the man behind the large cherry wood desk,

“What the hell is going on?”

“Mr. Taylor, do have a seat and I’ll be right with you,” said the man as he stood and stuck out a hand to Brian. “Brian Kinney. It’s a pleasure to finally—"

“Two things, Mr.—" Brian gave him a withering look.

“Emmett Honeycutt,” said the man, drawing back his hand but continuing to smile cheerily at Brian.

“Two things, Mr. Honeycutt,” Brian continued. “Number one. That,” he gestured at Justin, “was the one and only time you will ever cross me without severe consequences. Assuming, despite evidence to the contrary, that you’re not a fool. This is your ‘get out of jail free’ card, and you just played it.”

Emmett raised a brow respectfully but continued to smile at Brian.

Brian sharpened his tone,

“Number two. You are going to give me back my disk. Right now.”

Justin opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it when he noticed the feral look on Brian’s face. What kind of novice did Brian take him for? He had the disk, and neither one of these men were going to so much as glimpse it until somebody started explaining what the fuck was going on.

He settled back on the sofa and watched. He could wait all night.

Emmett sat down calmly and paged through a large file on his desk,

“Of course I'll give you the disk,” he agreed serenely. Justin muttered darkly from the sofa, but Emmett went on as if he hadn’t heard. “But something tells me, a man of vision and reputation such as yourself, you’re going to want to take a look at this.”

He met Brian’s steely gaze and slid a set of blueprints forward, across his desk.

To Be Continued...