The morning dew hadn't even lifted from the grass when the girls of Saint Bernard’s soccer team ran their warm up laps around the field. Mina ran upfront together with Liv, who was definitely hungover. Mina was feeling a bit hungover herself, but more so the emotional kind. The club meeting from yesterday still clung to her like the fog of a bad dream, or perhaps even, the best dream. She was mulling over every second that had transpired on that strange afternoon when Liv’s blunt voice pulled her out of her reverie.
“Where were you last night though? You totally missed out on all the fun, Min.” Liv wasn't out of breath in the slightest. “Or were you out dating again?” she grinned.
Mina shoved the other striker with her shoulder. “None of your business!”
She put on a little burst of speed and ran ahead to escape her teammate’s nosy questions. If she was going to continue seeing this heist club she was going to need much more solid alibis to use on her friends. Perhaps she ought to lean into the sugar daddy story after all. Mina shook her head and pushed the thought away. Her dignity would not allow it.
This whole thing was beyond her. She was still wondering how exactly she managed to get involved, and if it really would be all that wise to keep meeting these people. On the other hand… All of this felt like a lightning in a bottle opportunity that could change the course of her life forever. And if she had to be completely honest with herself, she couldn’t wait to see everyone again and continue their plan.
*
“Mornin’, Curator!” Driver appeared from underneath the Sprinter van, pliers in hand and oil smeared all over his balaclava.
The loud greeting startled a barely-awake Ekster. He still had to get used to the presence of others in his house, especially in the morning. He had never been a natural early riser, and with his busy schedule he had barely slept a minute. At least the morning ride helped clear his head and ease him into the day.
“Morning,” Ekster grunted, as he hung his bike up on two hooks against the wall and removed his helmet. Meanwhile, he tried to remember where he had left his cigarettes.
“They're up in the kitchen,” Driver informed, as if reading his mind. Or perhaps simply aware of his routine. “Gotta balance the good with the bad, am I right?” The large man hollered, already back underneath the car. “Bring me some of that strong coffee you make, too. It’s a good kick up the ass. And you, eat something. Nicotine is no breakfast.”
Ekster smiled weakly. “Save the fatherly worries for your daughter, Driver. They're wasted on me.”
Behind him, the front door opened and Prisma’s lilac hair peeked around the corner.
“Oh, you're up,” she chirped at Ekster.
“Little Priss!” Driver hollered.
Prisma cringed a bit at the nickname, but said nothing of it. “I brought breakfast,’ she said as she pushed her scooter inside. “Have you eaten already?”
*
“Have you had an unauthorized lifestyle change? What in the world happened to that body we’ve worked so hard on?”
The short, dumpy woman with round glasses wasn't all too pleased with Åke’s quarterly results. She flung the measuring tape around her neck and punched his new sizes into an excel sheet.
“I’ll put you on an intermittent fasting plan effective by tomorrow. Quit lifting heavy weights and reduce your swimming sessions to once every fortnight. Go running instead.”
“But I enjoy swimming,” Åke whined. “I’m fine with the diet shit, but don't take all the good things away from me, Marz.”
“You’re getting incredibly top-heavy, it’s not a pretty sight,” Doctor Marzia scolded.
A piece of paper rolled out of the printer. His physical examiner picked it up and scrutinized the numbers.
“Compared to last quarter, your fat percentage went up by zero point four percent, your muscle mass increased by one point seven percent. And you gained, oh my goodness, zero point nine kilograms. Åke, these numbers are absolutely preposterous. What's going on with you?”
Åke flexed his biceps. “But a little meat on the bone looks good on me, don't you think?” He turned to the full-body mirror and checked out his back. Swimming really had done a good number on his traps.
Marzia swatted the sheet of paper between him and his reflection. “Stop that. Pay attention. My opinion matters even less than yours. It’s your job to stay your size. This type of nonsense doesn't serve anyone.”
“Y’know many models are much bigger than I am,” Åke offered as a form of self-defense.
Marzia decidedly rolled her office chair away from her computer and threw Åke his shirt.
“Well, you’re not just some common riff-raff model, are you? I’ll immediately update your diet and workout plan, and you better stick to it. I won't tell his Lordship about your changes, as it's the first time you're this far out of line. Make sure you look as expected next quarter and we'll keep this between us. And once again, as you clearly thrill in making me repeat myself, you must–”
“Quit smoking.” Åke finished her sentence with a bored groan, already looking forward to his next cigarette the second he stepped outside.
*
The plume of incense appeared thick and milky as it leisurely made its way through the rays of morning sun and left the small store through an open window. Farello excitedly ran ahead of Dust down the stairs to the shop floor. The wind chimes caught a bit of movement as the front door opened and the incense instantly dispersed. The happy poodle welcomed the shop's part-time employee with a wagging tail.
“Morning!” Eulalia said warmly, her bright voice mingling with the wind chimes and the poodle’s cheerful yapping.
“Hiya! Thanks for coming in early today,” Dust replied while she opened the cash register.
“My pleasure,” Eulalia grinned, already fooling around with Farello. “What’s up for today?”
“I’ll be away to run some errands. There are a couple of customer orders ready to be packed and shipped in the back, but apart from that, nothing special’s going on.”
“Cool! Great weather today, right? At least the mornings seem to be cooling down, finally.” Eulalia chatted away while Dust checked her hair and makeup in the mirror behind the counter. “Although I think it might rain soon.”
“Hm? Really, how so?”
“It’s in the air. After today, the weather will turn.”
“That’s a shame.”
Eulalia kissed Farello. “It’ll be good for the grass.”
“That’s true. It’s starting to look like a desert out there.”
“Haha, yeah. Speaking of deserts, how’s your mom doing? Still trekking the Sahara? Where’s she at now?”
Dust re-did the bun on top of her head. “No clue. Probably some place I’ve never heard of before. She sent me some handmade beads. I put them over there.” She pointed at the jewelry drawers in the corner of the shop. “We don’t have the same taste, so I’m selling them.” She looked back in the mirror and applied her favourite lipstick.
Eulalia immediately went over to nose around at the new goodies. “They’re cute. I like ‘em. Your mom is so cool. I hope I get to meet her someday.”
Dust laughed. The very thought of her mom visiting a city was absolutely absurd. “That’d be fun.”
*
“Mom! I’m off!” Max yelled up the stairs of their small city apartment, one foot out the door and on his skateboard already.
“Will you be home for dinner?” his mom yelled back at him from where she was having breakfast with his younger half-sister, María.
“No!” predicted the snotty preschooler.
“Probably not,” Max hollered.
“I see the future!” María said proudly.
“Make sure you text me if you're sleeping at a friend's place tonight!” his mom warned. “And don't you dare come home again smelling of marijuana!”
“Smell like me?” said the child in a confused voice.
“Not María, Mari… nevermind,” the mum caught herself. “Just remember what I said, Max Borja! Set an example for your sister! Te amo!”
“Te amo!” María echoed gleefully.
“Ay, love ya’ll too,” Max called back, just loud enough for them to hear. “Ciao!” He slammed the door behind him and took off to what he now called, in his head at least, The HQ, or, The Heist Quarters.
*
Ekster hadn’t even noticed Dust and Farello coming up to the attic, and was completely blind sided by the large dog jumping him when he returned from a cigarette break.
“What the f—” he sputtered while Farello did his best to lick his face.
“Farello, down! Farello!”
Farello deliberately chose to ignore Dust’s commands. It was much more fun to overwhelm Ekster with attention.
“Farello, no! Off!” Mina ordered sternly. “Come here. Sit.” Farello instantly gave ear to the girl and politely sat next to her at the foot of the reading chair. “Good boy!” Mina praised, conjuring a dog treat from her cross-body bag.
“Ohh, you're good!” Dust laughed in surprise, while Ekster quietly regained his composure. “He usually listens to absolutely no-one but me. And often not even that!”
“My parents have five German Shepherds at home,” Mina said as she went back to shopping on her phone. “Ekster, look, you reckon this one will fit all of your target objects?”
She held up her phone to show Ekster a black sportsbag.
“Hard to say from a picture,” he said with wide eyes, the bewilderment barely gone from his system. “Is it in stock at the mall?”
“Lemme check.”
“If you're so bad with animals, why do you have a cat?” Prisma spoke up from behind her laptop.
“Cat?” Ekster had no idea what she was talking about.
Prisma pointed outside, where a small black cat had just jumped onto the terrace and was curiously peering at them through the window. “It's here literally every day. I assumed it was yours.”
The cat meowed and Farello's ears stuck up in full alertness.
“Oh, that cat,” Ekster huffed as he sat down next to Dust at his desk. “Must be some stray.”
“You should give it some water!” Mina reacted in horror at Ekster's dismissal towards the animal. “She looks a bit malnourished…”
“Don’t you think it resembles Ekster,” Dust chuckled.
“Haha, so true!” Mina grinned gleefully. “It must be lonely and wanting to make friends!”
Ekster glared at her through the jeweler’s loop he had just mounted on his glasses.
“It’s a cat,” he shrugged. “I’m sure it's fine as it is.”
“Oh, what do you know?!” Mina dismissed, matching his levels of sass. “Come on, Pris. Let's try to give it some snacks.”
Ekster watched with a vacant expression as Prisma and Mina attempted to befriend the black cat, before returning his attention to the stolen jewelry on his bench.
“Help me finish this shit up,” he told Dust through gritted teeth, referring to the tedious job of cleaning the jewels. “Before I start feeling like I’m losing money shining this crap.”
“Aye, no problem.” Dust sat down next to him, grabbed a silver ring and studied it before sliding it in her pocket. “I'll save us some work and keep this for myself.”
“Max just got here,” Mina informed with her head around the door and the black cat already in her arms. “Can we finally go shopping now?”
*
Åke dumbly stared at the six digit number on the contract in front of him.
“Cigar?” Viscuso, the lawyer, offered with a toothy grin, presenting him a velvet-lined wooden case holding a perfect row of gold label cigars.
“I’ll have to pass,” Åke said, refusing to take his eyes off the paper in front of him, as if the number would be taken away from him as quickly as it had been revealed.
“I’d offer you a cigarette,” Viscuso gabbled away, “But I sat through a two hour meeting with the Curator this morning. The rascal smokes like he's got a third lung, so I’ve completely run out! My apologies. Truly unbecoming on my part. Allow me to pour you a glass of my best whiskey! Looks like it'd do you well, my friend. Your cheeks have turned a touch pale.”
Åke’s hand unwillingly trembled as he accepted the golden liquid. He bottomed up the drink.
“Easy, friend! Midday has barely popped her head around the corner. Care for a top-up?” The lawyer poured the glass two fingers full.
“This number,” Åke apprehensively said, “It’s double checked and triple confirmed?”
“Mister Åkerman!” The man’s sudden scolding tone caught Åke off guard. “Of course it's correct! What do you think my job is?!”
“I— okay. Sorry,” said Åke weakly. “But it's… a lot, no?”
“Nonsense!” Viscuso seemed genuinely angry for a hot second. “Santo Dio, you're messing with my blood pressure. Don't make me defend the Curator’s calculations. Believe me, they're crunched to the tits. Fifteen point three percent of profit is the bare minimum. Don't forget for one glorious minute you will be carrying the most risk and adding the most value out of everyone. You're making that Curator money just by a matter of association.” He pointed his cigar in Åke’s direction. “I don’t even want to know what exploitative numbers that French aristocrat makes you work for, but better let go fast of that brainwashed mentality you were raised in, son. This is the real world you're dealing with now. And she ain't pretty. We’ll have to thread your way to freedom with the utmost level of precalculated strategy. Your debts with the French are serious monkey business. Now sign that paper, son. Neither of us are getting any younger and above all, it's nearly lunchtime.”
Åke scratched the side of his nose and finally lifted the emerald fountain pen that’d been waiting for him next to the contract. His name ended up looking a bit silly and un-important next to Ekster’s elaborate swirling signature.
“Congratulations, Mister Åkerman!” Viscuso boomed. “A first step in the right direction!”
*
Once Åke returned to ground level, he found Ekster waiting for him right in front of the entrance. His car was parked illegally but he was leisurely leaning against the hood, and was, of course, smoking a cigarette. Upon seeing Åke, a smug grin appeared on his face.
“Took your sweet time signing that paper, didn't you. Get in the back, before those cops turn around and write me a ticket. Oh, and Åkerman—” he stuck out his hand. “Looking forward to doing business with you.”
Åke felt like swatting the hand away, but decided to be a good sport about it in the end. “In the hopes we won't fuck each other over,” he said instead, returning the gesture without too much flair.
Ekster chuckled as he sat down behind the wheel. Åke ended up next to Max and Mina on the backseat, while Dust held Farello by the collar to prevent him from jumping onto Åke’s lap.
“Hi gorgeous,” she greeted him from the front passenger seat.
“In all honesty, I still half expected you to walk away,” Ekster said with the cigarette still in his mouth as he maneuvered the car back into the traffic-jammed street. “And slink your way back to Frog’s silk sheets with your tail between your legs.”
Åke scoffed. “Oh, piss off!”
“Can you not smoke in the car when Farello's here?” Dust asked Ekster.
“What’s Frog?” Max wanted to know.
“Åke’s real boss.” Mina apparently already knew.
“Damn, he must be a solid agent,” Max said. “Y’know people are so mad about your quick rise to fame, they say you're an industry plant.”
“What's an industry plant?” It was Åke’s turn to be oblivious.
“You are,” Ekster responded.
“What?! No!” Max jumped to Åke’s defense. “He’s from the Digging Grounds! Rags to riches!”
“Bro,” Åke said, leaning over to look past Mina at Max. “I have been living among French aristocrats since the age of eight. Claiming I come from nothing is a touch misrepresentative.”
“Man, what? Countryside-dude is your whole-ass public image,” he sounded a bit disappointed.
“Industry plant,” Ekster coughed.
Dust laughed.
Mina had been having a good look at Åke, now that he was sitting so close. “Your face has a completely different vibe in pictures,” she finally said. “In real life, you look a bit odd.”
“Mina!” Dust exclaimed.
“I said odd, not ugly!” Mina clarified. “His features just read totally different in person. I just think, if I’d pass him in the streets, I wouldn't recognize him so quickly.”
“No one ever does,” Åke shrugged, used to any and all remarks about his appearance. “It's all a performance. You’ll see at the mall, no one turns their heads for some odd-looking countryside guy.”
*
Central Mall was, funnily enough, not located at the center of anything. The name was derived from its founder, Sir Thomas-William Windsor Central. Established in 1784, Central Mall expanded to over a dozen locations across the entire megalopolis, covering over three million square metres of shopping floor in total.
Central Mall was a place for clothes and accessories in the first place, known for its excellent assortment and à la minute tailoring services. Everything you could ever need to wear, could be found at Central Mall.
*
Prisma had been waiting for the others to arrive near the underground parking exit. With her scooter, she’d been able to avoid traffic and get to the agreed location much quicker. She stood against a glowing storefront, perking up when she finally saw a bunch of familiar faces. Max was the first to notice her, and excitedly waved his arms in the air. Prisma awkwardly waved back and shuffled over to them.
“Stuck in traffic?”
“God be with these fucking roads,” Ekster sighed.
“Hiya Priss,” Åke greeted. “Looking cute as always.”
Prisma crossed her arms in front of her body while her cheeks grew red.
“So, let's find my bag, shall we?” Mina suggested, hands on her hips.
“I need to find my guy,” Ekster said, looking around. “He’s going to hook us up.”
Ekster's ‘guy’ was a theatrical, strawberry-blond man in an impeccable light blue suit and heeled boots. He welcomed them with a blinding smile into a private room on the fifth floor. Central Mall offered a variety of personal shopping experiences, and these types of rooms were more than common in the vast mall. This blond man with his dashing presence, however, didn't look like one of the mall’s many generic personal shoppers, but more so like a slick, top-of-the-line salesman.
“Ekster, Ekster, Ekster,” the guy passionately said as he had Ekster locked into a firm handshake with both hands. With his raised boots and perfect blowout he appeared to be a touch taller than Ekster himself, and his crisp silk suit made the other man’s loose fitted two-piece appear casual and nonchalant in comparison.
Ekster mumbled his usual: “Ça va?” and the guy replied, incomprehensibly to everyone else, “Kan niet beter, kan niet beter, en met jou?” The men, despite their glaring differences, chatted away to each other with an easy, familiar fondness.
Max and Mina were quickly distracted by the latest issue of the mall’s official catalogue and the assortment of free snacks, while Prisma politely sat down on the very edge of a nearby couch. Dust had her hands full keeping Farello in check. Åke was the only one trying to listen in to the conversation, but in the end had to conclude he didn't understand a word. He could piece together the general gist of it through the occasional clue, such as when the guy started to excessively gesture at Ekster’s suit, a sentiment which Ekster didn't bother to reciprocate.
Next thing they knew, Ekster had ended the small talk by briskly introducing the others, and the tall blond vigorously shook their hands one by one, making sure to let everyone know the honor was absolutely his. He introduced himself as Robijn, didn’t seem to recognize Åke and gave everyone the same amount of polite attention. Finally he reached the end of the line, and was completely stopped in his tracks by the sight of Dust. He audibly gasped as he shook her hand.
“I am simply humbled to make your acquaintance,” he said with his free hand over his heart. “Miss, pardon my impudence, but never before have I—” He gently turned the back of her hand up and intently studied the tattoos tracing up her arm. “My Goodness gracious. Just exquisite. Excuse my ignorance, but these markings… are you by any chance native to the South Mediterranean No-Man community?”
“Oh,” Dust giggled. “That's what you call us here?”
“My days, to behold genuine No-Man scriptures on a person in real life… They’re gorgeous, just gorgeous, miss. It’s delightful to see how you’re showing them off proudly. Are your legs tattooed?”
Dust, who often exposed as much skin as appropriate, happened to be wearing a pair of pleated culottes today. “Certainly not,” she said. “I’m very much uprooted.”
“I see, I see,” Robijn gently kissed the back of her hand before letting go. “I must confess that I’m embarrassed to say, my preparations are falling short today. If only Ekster had notified me about the significance of his associates, I would have arranged a more comfortable environment for the likes of you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Dust said with a smile that had turned a touch wry.
“Trust me, I saved you from yourself,” Ekster grunted at the salesman. “Now let’s get on with it, shall we. I don’t have all day to waste on chit-chat.”
“What’s uprooted mean?” Åke whispered in Dust’s ear, after Robijn went out to the back.
“It means I haven’t built a fixed residence,” Dust whispered in return. “And have no offspring.”
*
“Whoa look, Åke, you’re in here too!” Mina held up the thick catalogue, featuring editorials from brands the mall carried. The double spread showcased a dynamic full-body shot of Åke and two female models in futuristic athletic wear. “This brand is totally hot. Everyone lines up for their limited drops.”
Åke reluctantly ripped his eyes away from Dust trying on thermal shirts to see what Mina was talking about. “Oh, N-45? They’re definitely something. I would never dare to wear that stuff out the door,” he said.
Mina sat up a little straighter as she flipped through the pages. “When I go pro, I want this brand to sponsor me. That’d be like— a dream come true.”
“For real? I mean, I can put in a good word for you,” Åke suggested. “Cool girl like you. I think you’re a pretty easy sell!”
Mina was rendered speechless.
“Good call,” Ekster said from where he was glued to the coffee machine. “She still needs a cover story. Being a student won’t account for the money she’ll be making in the future. Same for you, Max,” he called to the boy behind the fittingroom curtain.
“I for sure ain’t selling my soul in front of no camera,” Max declared. “Sorry, Åke,” he quickly added.
“No worries!” Åke shrugged as he thumbed his way through a rack of clothes nearby.
“Yo, what ya’ll think about this?” Max opened the curtain and showed off a tactical ski-suit with an arctic camouflage pattern, complete with steel-nosed boots, knee protection, a dog-ear cap and reflective sunglasses.
Mina fully cracked up and even Prisma giggled.
“Where do you think you’re going in that?” Mina cackled.
“Looking drippy as fuck man.” Åke put two encouraging thumbs up.
“If you’re just trying on things for the fuck of it, we’re leaving,” Ekster sighed. “Watching you try one thing after the other is getting tiring.”
“But this one’s got camo, Boss,” Max said, unfazed. “Åke’s got that leather purple jacket, you tell me which one attracts more attention. Check it out, all limbs have a zip.” Within a couple of seconds, he transformed the skisuit into a gillet, leaving his lower half somewhat exposed.
“Put some goddamn pants on!” Mina yelped with her hands in front of Prisma’s eyes.
Robijn returned to the room with a selected assortment of headwear for Åke, and grew immediately enthusiastic upon seeing Max. “You certainly have an eye for quality, young sir! This suit comes in twelve colours and is seamlessly compatible with a collection of ghillie suits each accompanied with matching boots.”
Max’s jaw was on the floor. “Shit man! Ghillies and matching boots? Say less, pack this one up.”
*
“Y’know I keep wondering how you’re able to continuously spend so much?” Åke asked, watching Max struggling to lift all four of his bags by himself, as Ekster swiped his credit card for everyone’s shopping.
“Debt collaterals,” Ekster answered bluntly.
Åke stood up a little straighter. He knew a thing or two about that. “What’s your collateral? The HQ?”
“No,” Ekster replied calmly, only to quickly end the conversation. “Ask me again later,” he said when Robijn walked over to extensively shake hands again.
“It’s always a pleasure seeing you here, old friend,” Robijn fawned. “I urge you to send my regards to your mother, I miss her dearly. Please drop by whenever you need any adjustments, repairs or additional items. And as usual, I’ll make sure to keep everything off the books,” he added in a low tone. “Mister Åkerman,” he turned to Åke, “I hope you’ll excuse my rude behavior of not recognizing you earlier. We’re naturally humbled and honored that you’ll be wearing our clothes. I made sure to add a generous discount over everyone’s purchases, and took the liberty of adding a couple of gifts for you to wear on your days off.”
“Appreciate it, but my wardrobe’s under strict supervision,” Åke joked, even though he wasn’t joking at all.
Robijn's eyes twinkled mischievously behind his artificially prominent lashes. “From what I have seen today, sir, outside of your comfort zone is where you truly shine the brightest.”
*
“A couple of years back I wanted to take a bunch of risks. I only earned black cash from odd jobs but needed white money to back me up. I managed to find someone at a bank who was willing to wash my earnings by depositing them into a life insurance account. I used that as a collateral to take out credit. I’ve been doing it that way ever since.”
Åke listened to the story with his mouth half-open. They were walking a bit behind the others through the mall, on their way back to the car. “How did ya convince that banker?”
“You know,” Ekster shrugged with his hands in his pockets. “A plain old bribe has never failed me before.”
“If the Marble Mary is any indication of how much money you make, your life insurance must be quite the checking account by now,” Åke said, trying to hide the envy in his voice.
“By now, life insurance is not my only collateral,” Ekster grinned. “I try not to bet myself into too much risk, but I’ve got a couple of cross-collaterals going on, and just recently I managed to acquire a specifically valuable asset in a shadow bank.” His grin turned a touch evil as he side-eyed Åke.
“I see,” Åke wryly said. “Any chance I can have access to that money, too? Or do I have to get my hands dirty for you first?”
“I’m afraid so,” Ekster laughed. He apparently thought this was all very amusing. “I can't take out a loan against you. I have no ownership. I merely use your status to wire some paperwork through. Nevertheless, you represent more value than anything else I own, allowing me to wash larger amounts of cash at the same time.”
For a moment Åke observed his distorted reflection in the polished granite mall floor. “You think Frog uses me as debt collateral?”
“Without a doubt.”
“So if he ever goes bankrupt, what happens to me?”
Ekster took a second to answer. “Technically…” he started slowly, before backtracking on his own words. “I mean, if I’m honest, and I rarely am, I don’t know. I don’t know what happens to humans. But in the case of bankruptcies, assets are auctioned off for bottom prices. The reputation has been tainted, and so the value tanks for the foreseeable future. There is no reason for your Frog to go bankrupt though,” Ekster added quickly. “He’s got influence and heritage. His family are one of those old French dynasties that their little revolution tried and failed to get rid of back in the day. Trust me, they are very protected.”
“I know what you’re saying,” Åke said with a sour expression. “But he’s a risk taker and invests in the future, instead of the past. His unconventional pursuits have made him more than a couple of enemies and he’s not the head of the family either. They’re a lineage of scholars and teachers, in the business of educating the workforce, and traditionally don’t trade in heritage themselves. His brother made it very clear that they wouldn’t mind disowning him if his ventures pose too much of a reputational risk.”
“Sounds like reasons enough for you to prep for an early exit,” Ekster mumbled.
“I’ve heard some horror stories,” Åke muttered in return. “Of what they do with devalued assets. I— uhm, would like to keep my eyes in their sockets, if you know what I’m saying.”
*
With the entire group gathered on the roof terrace for a quick bite, Ekster showed Driver an address scribbled on a piece of paper, before putting his lighter under it and burning it.
“I visited their shop a couple of weeks ago,” he said, lighting a cigarette from the same flame. “They're good people. The owner, Mister Lee, knows you're coming in. Make sure Max double checks if everything’s complete. I paid a down payment and will wire the remaining amount after we’ve taken the goods for a test run.”
Driver simply nodded, but Max could barely sit still from excitement.
“Dude, I’ve been dreaming about this day,” he told Åke. “Ever since I was a kid I wanted to own an MSR.”
“You are still a kid,” Åke pointed out. “I can't believe you're even buying a kid a weapon,” he criticised Ekster.
“People our age generally don't rank in the top ten Down Sight teams of the world,” Ekster said, indifferent to any trifflings about his morality. “Max is the kid,” he paused, then continued, “The man for the job.”
Max turned excitedly to a very uninterested Mina and a politely smiling Prisma. “When the Remington MSR is fully assembled, including the barrel, it's freaking huge. Way taller than I am. Every part of this thing is practically detachable and customisable. Really, the sky’s the limit, with this weapon,”
“Cool shit,” Mina said absentmindedly while she nibbled at a piece of diced cheese with mustard. Her eyes fell on Max’s spotless neon-green sneakers with metal spikes and flat yellow laces. “Hey, wait a minute,” she perked up and pointed at his feet. “You weren't wearing those this morning!”
Max’s neck grew as red as his hair. “I-I was!”
“Liar!” Mina loudly accused him. “Are those from Central Mall?! When did you even manage to grab ‘em?”
Max groaned with his head in his hands. “They stuck to my fingers on the way out.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Mina was exasperated and offended all at the same time. “What if you were caught? All of us would’ve been in major trouble too!”
“Ekster could've bought them if you had just asked,” Prisma said with a little laugh.
Max peeked between his fingers up at Ekster, who was wearing a very strained expression on his face. Just when everyone thought Max was about to receive a total bollocking, Ekster said: “Who in their right mind would want to pay for these at full price. They’re— fucking hideous.”
*
Driver had completely upgraded the white Sprinter van. He’d put in new brakes, stiffened up the suspension, upgraded the tires and improved the airflow under the hood. He knew everyone would love the feel of his modifications, from the quick pull-ups, to the sharp turns and decrease in bounce.
Åke felt the increasingly familiar nausea churn in his stomach as Driver drifted through the neighborhood alleyways. “Let me guess,” he said, holding onto both the door and the seat to keep himself from flying all over the place. “You taught Ekster how to drive?”
Driver sure thought that was funny.
“Oh man, I need you to be my driving instructor too!” Max exclaimed from the backseat. “You bet imma drop a huge bag on a dope car someday.”
Åke felt like Max was like so many teenagers in the megalopolis. Obsessed with flashy, expensive stuff, but with a deep hole in his shallow pocket.
“The Curator takes reinvestment very seriously,” Driver said as a subtle warning.
“Yeah, yeah, he told me all about it,” Max waved the argument away. “Back when I met him, I thought to myself, damn this guy is balling. He looks real drippy and that car he drives is no joke. I straight-up asked him how he made his money. Thought if he can do it, so can I.”
Åke rolled his eyes. “He comes from money.”
“You've got him all wrong, man.” Max shook his head. “I don't know about his family and shit, but I was told he was broke as fuck before. Lived on the streets and all. Rock bottom type shit.”
“Who told you?” Åke asked with a raised eyebrow.
Max pointed at Driver. “Who else? Ay, I’m not totally thick. I would never pick up a random gig from some half-baked goon. I’m trying to get out of this petty crime life, y’know. I can't be going around nicking sneakers forever. It attracts the wrong crowd, y’know what I’m sayin’. I need to be moving up in life, if I ever wanna set my family right. Ekster's got the money thing figured out, that's for sure. I wanna be learning that shit too.”
“Right…” Åke said slowly, processing this new information. “Family’s important, I suppose.”
“For sure, bro,” Max nodded. “For me, family is my mom and my half-sister, María. I wanna be able to send my sister to college when she's all grown up, right. She’s only four but I can already tell she's hella smart. She needs to go to one of those expensive state-level unis to get the best opportunities possible. Imma make that shit happen for her. It’s the best way to support my mom too. Reselling sneakers is getting me nowhere, I need to drop that shit asap. I’ve got big dreams for my future too, y’know.”
Åke looked over his shoulder at the red-haired kid, who sat staring out the window. “You mean like with that game you play?”
The light instantaneously returned to Max’s eyes. “Yeah man. Top ten isn’t too bad, but the aim is to be number one.”
After the forty minute drive east, whilst Max spoke in one seemingly continuous breath to the newly crowned ‘noob’, Åke, about the ups, downs, ins and outs of Down Sight, Driver finally stopped. He had parked the van up in front of a nail salon.
“This should be it,” he said.
“Uhh…” Max and Åke grunted in unison.
“What did you two expect? An ‘illegal guns for sale’ sign?” Driver laughed.
Inside was an actual nail salon in business. A couple of clients looked up at the misplaced group of three as they strolled through the door. Driver led the way to the counter, where a young girl with short black hair and symmetrical eyebrow piercings was filing her own nails.
“We have an appointment with Mister Lee,” Driver said to the twenty-something-year-old.
The girl looked the three of them up and down before shouting over her shoulder. “Appa! Customers!” She opened the counter and gestured with her head for them to go ahead. Max grinned at the girl as he walked past, but her attention was already back on making her pointy nails even deadlier.
They went through the curtain and crossed a short hallway, where a short middle-aged man stood waiting for them in the back.
“Driver?” he confirmed with his hand out. “Call me Lee.”
He greeted Åke and Max the same way, before leading the way into the workshop. The smell of acetone from the nailsalon was quickly canceled out by the overwhelming aroma of hot iron, carbon and oil. Business in the brightly lit garage was in full swing. Åke gawked at the two masked blokes pouring molten metal into casts. Someone else was opening cooled casts and passing the parts onto the next person at a bench grinder, who one by one polished the pieces. A couple of ladies stood chatting away at an assembly line table, nimbly putting together one pistol after another other. Max was most interested in the girl working next to the counter. She was the spitting image of the girl in the nail salon, the only difference being that she had not pierced her eyebrows but her cheeks, and was bent over a disassembled piece of weaponry clamped in a steel bench vise. With a dremel, she was engraving the steel by hand. Whatever she was creating, it was detailed and beautiful.
Max nudged Åke with his elbow. “Check that out. Fucking sick.”
Åke twisted his head to get a glimpse, noticing the pencil sketch of an asian dragon on her bench.
“That’s insanely pretty,” he said, in awe. “But I’m still not sure if guns are for me.”
“Just you wait and see what we’ve got lined up!” said Max, excitement plastered all over his face.
Mr. Lee stood to the side chatting with Driver for a little while, before pulling three black cases from underneath the counter.
“We’re pleased to be doing business with the Curator. A household name by now, though not known for building teams. But as we know, the one who does not evolve is left behind while history is written. It’s exciting to be part of this new avenue for the young Curator.” He clicked open the locks on the biggest case of the three. “Made for the kid with the experience of a veteran, or so I’ve heard. The Remington MSR with a twenty inch barrel, quick-detachable suppressor, 0.338 rubber bullets, and a PMII sight,” Mr. Lee presented.
He had barely finished his sentence before Max was already all over the disassembled weapon.
“Adjustable trigger unit, removable bolt heads, oh man, look at this beauty,” he rambled as he watched with greedy eyes how Mr. Lee expertly assembled the rifle.
He hadn't been exaggerating when he said the gun was huge.
“Looks heavy,” Åke said, eyeing the thing that wasn’t just taller than Max, but even taller than himself.
“I probably won’t be running a marathon with it,” Max said, weighing the weapon in his hands. “But either way, I might need to join you at the gym, bro.”
“The weapon system weighs what the weapon system weighs,” Driver said. “Practice, get used to it and get good. It’s what we used to say in the army.”
“You were in the army?” Max was instantly curious, but Driver didn't seem terribly excited for story-time.
“Please forget I mentioned it.” His voice was suddenly distant and harsh.
“Is that why you wear the mask?”
Driver did not say another word, he just stared cold-eyed down at the child.
“Oh. Okay. All good, man,” Max said nervously before quickly turning his attention back to the gun.
Mr. Lee opened the second case and revealed an already fully assembled weapon that simply looked like a short tube with pistol grip and visor.
“Whoa—!” Max exclaimed, as if he hadn’t been the one ordering the items. “The Carl Gustaf 84 mm recoilless rifle!”
Mr. Lee nodded, clearly impressed.
“Mister Lee, you’re a master. I can’t believe you produce these things in house, by hand,” Max said, in awe. “They’re fucking flawless.”
“I thank you kindly, young sir,” Mr. Lee said modestly. “It’s a team effort, and I promise they function as well as they look.”
Max rubbed his hands together. “So this one is the UMP?” he nodded at the third and last case.
“Correct. The UMP-45. A classy weapon, for the no-nonsense tactical support. Includes silencer and optics, as requested.”
“Oh,” Åke faintly said, as he was handed the black steel weapon. He had in fact never held a gun in his entire life, and in that moment, he wondered if this is what it might feel like to hold your first born baby. “Holy fucking shit.” He angled the gun in the light. “I might have just fallen in love. Do you have a mirror, Master Lee? I really want to see how cool I look!”
“Dude, it looks so sleek.” Max couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. “But compared to the drip you just scored at the mall, this thing is looking way too basic.”
“Max…” Driver cautioned the spend-happy teenager, who glanced back somewhat nervously, but ignored him all the same.
“What do you offer in terms of customisation, Master Lee?”
“You’re already one of my favourite customers, little red-head,” Lee said with an amused smile. “Wrapping can be done while you wait, have a look at our options.” He pulled out a large and heavy flipbook from under the counter, opening it up somewhere in the middle to reveal a rainbow of foils.
Åke audibly gasped. He had never felt more greedy in his life. “So many options… so shiny…” he breathed.
“Ttal!” Lee called to the girl who’d been working on the dragon engraving up until now. “Put that aside for a bit and set our young sir up with a wrap. My daughter has flawless taste, and her craftsmanship is second to none,” he said proudly. “She’ll turn this generic piece of steel into an iconic accessory that could only ever be yours.”
Åke turned to the girl. “Hello there, Ttal is it?” The girl opened her mouth to reply but her father cut her off.
“Ttal is Korean for daughter, her name is Eunji, and I will remind you that I am holding a gun Mr Åkerman.”
“Fair point!” smiled Åke holding up his hands.
He watched wide-eyed as Eunji showed him the different wrap options from the flickbook.
“Shit…” Åke sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. “I think I might be a gun guy now.”
“Fucking right you are, bro!” Max grinned as he picked up the V4 Sentinel Combat Scope for a closer look.
Chapter 2 - Friday Night Things
Chapter 6 - Sweet Superstitions
Chapter 9 - Unparalleled Potential
Chapter 11 - The Bigger Picture
Chapter 12 - Unforseen Victories
Chapter 13 - To be Announced
© 2022 Heist Club
Developed by Blauw Films
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