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“Which I never will!”
“We’ll see,” I said, and I smiled in a way I hoped looked charming and confident. “But that means you have to do this job for me—or you lose. And besides . . .” I watched her carefully as I put my hands on her shoulders. She kept her eyes on me, and I couldn’t read what she was thinking—but she didn’t push me back again. I lowered my voice. “You have to picture this, Monique. You’ve got to feel it like I do.” I think my voice was shaking a little. Monique still didn’t push me away. “Not just the target, but the whole plan, the way this will work—goddamn it, girl! Nothing like this has ever been done before! You are going to be part of the greatest heist in fucking history!”
I shook her gently and willed her to feel the excitement like I did.
“And the challenge! You have never even dreamed of—oh my God, everything has to be perfect, and it’s—nobody else would even think of trying, Monique! But you and me, together—we can do this! I know it!” I took a breath and tried to calm down. It wasn’t easy. “I can pull this off, Monique. Absolutely. But only if I have an absolutely perfect copy.”
Monique looked back at me. She licked her lips, which almost made me forget what I was talking about, and then she pulled away from me. She picked up the photographs, flipped through them, frowning. She traced a detail with one finger, let out a noisy breath. “Maybe,” she said, talking quietly to herself. “Has to be moissanite—shit, that setting’s so busy, so . . .” Suddenly remembering I was there, she jerked her head up. “But Jesus, Riley! How can you possibly even get close enough to—goddamn it, you’re going to be killed!”
“Or worse,” I said mock-seriously.
Monique shook her head vigorously. “I’m serious!” she said. “This thing is wrapped up tighter than, than—”
“A mosquito’s asshole?” I suggested. “A nun’s pussy?”
“Fuck you, Riley, I mean it!” she snapped. She waved the pictures at me. “I read about this. They’ve got dozens of guards, with machine guns, and—you can’t possibly— I mean, how, how—what the fuck are you thinking?”
She was very damn serious, so I got serious right back at her.
“I am thinking that I want to do something that nobody else in the whole fucking world could ever, in a million years, think of or do,” I said. “And more than that—I am doing it.” I took a big breath, and the whole thing just blew up and took me over. “It’s already working, Monique!” I realized I was shouting, but I didn’t care. “It is already falling into place! I am more than halfway there, and the rest of it is going to happen, too, I know it! Goddamn it, I can do this!”
And I could see that she almost began to believe me, believe I could really do it.
Almost.
Monique shook her head. She looked at the picture again, then back at me. “You’re insane,” she said. “Totally fucking crazy. There’s just no fucking way, Riley!”
“There’s always a way,” I said. “Come on, Monique, yes or no. Can you do it? No—” I held up a hand. “I won’t say ‘can you.’ I know you can! But, Monique—will you do it? Will you be a part of history with me?”
She shook her head and looked down at the photograph. “I can try,” she said.
I don’t know where it came from, but I heard my Yoda imitation answer her. “‘There is no try. There is only do or not do.’”
She shook her head, still looking at the picture.
“Monique, you can do this,” I said. “I have every confidence.” I paused. “Well, not every confidence.” Couldn’t help it—my favorite joke. I covered it with a small leer. “Of course, if you’d rather say no, then I guess—”
“Fuck you, man. You are never going to collect on our bet.”
I gave her the first real, big, happy smile I’d worn for days. “I win either way,” I said.
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later,” I said. “Are you in? Monique?”
She hissed, chewed her lip, shook her head. Then she looked up at me, and before she said it I saw it in her eyes. “I’m in,” she said. “But goddamn it, Riley—”
“Absolutely!” I said. I leaned forward and kissed her, too fast for her to stop me. And before she could say anything else, I was out the window and gone in the night.
* * *
—
Monique watched Riley go with an unreadable expression on her face. “Asshole,” she said. But she smiled when she said it—until she looked at the photograph again. “Jesus fuck, he’s totally out of his mind,” she said.
She shook her head and reached for her notebook. Monique was a very organized person, especially when it came to work, and she always planned everything meticulously before she began the actual work. She pulled a folding chair over to the small metal worktable, putting her paints on the shelf underneath the tabletop. Still standing, she put the notebook in the space she’d made. Ready to take notes now, she sorted through the small stack of pictures, showing it from every angle. It was possible. In fact, aside from being a bit complicated, very possible. But the sheer fucking balls of Riley for even trying—!
She thumbed back to the top picture. “Jesus fuck,” she said again, very quietly. For a moment she was overwhelmed. She sank into the chair and flipped slowly through the photos. She thought of materials and techniques, but every one of those thoughts was overwhelmed with the hugeness of attempting something like this. “Shit,” she murmured. “Oh, shit.”
