I finish jotting down his cut and hand him the paper. His expression doesn’t change, but he does go utterly still. Finally, he looks back up at me.
“What’s the job?”
Thirteen
The new guy is:
Ezra Cardoso
and he’s prickly as a cactus and probably has a variety of undiagnosed anxiety disorders, but once we’ve explained his role in the job—leaving out the magic, the Titans, and the Dead—he’s all in.
“So I’m guessing this book is worth a lot, huh?” he asks, low enough I can barely hear him over the hum of the airplane.
We’re the last of the crew to fly to Los Angeles. The others took their flights throughout the week, in pairs or solo.
Actually, it was Ezra’s suggestion that we all arrive separately.
“Large groups are noticeable,” he’d said, “and easier to track. The fewer ties between us, the better.”
For someone who doesn’t do teams, he really knows what he’s doing.
The plane jostles with turbulence and thefasten seat beltsign comes on.
“The book is invaluable,” I answer. “Even if we wanted to, we wouldn’t be able to fence it. It’d be like hawking theMona Lisa.”
He nods, and I think the conversation is over and I might get some sleep, but a few minutes later, he asks, “What’s so special about it?”
“TheMona Lisa? Hell if I know.”
“The book,” he deadpans.
It’s not the first time he’s asked, and it probably won’t be the last. I’m guessing he thinks he can trick me into answering if he asks enough, but as skilled as he is as a pickpocket, he’s no con artist.
“You don’t have to worry about it,” I say. “You’re here as an acrobat, a second-story man, a shadow, if you will.”
“A ghost,” he adds.
I shake my head. “Ghosts can’t pickpocket. A poltergeist, maybe.”
He laughs, uncomfortable, like he’s not sure he gets the joke. And he doesn’t. We’ve found that we don’t need to be too careful about what we say around Ezra. If the truth is too fantastical, most people see it as an attempt at humor. Or a metaphor. I can tell Ezra mainly just thinks we’re weird.
The guy behind me kicks my seat for the fourth time, so I decide to recline it.
Ezra notices and rolls his eyes. “You know,” he says, considering me, “if you were a little more forthcoming, I could help.”
“We’ve got it handled,” I say.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re not a very trusting person, are you?”
My seat jerks, like the guy behind me is banging his head on it.
“I just know the value of playing things close to the chest. Besides, I’m well within my rights to be wary of you. You pickpocketed me and stole my necklace.”
“This one?” He pulls down the collar of his T-shirt to revealmynecklace on his thieving hairy chest.
“Youwearit?” I gasp.
He grins. “Efor Ezra.”
