Aleksei watched her. “I don’t think I ever told you how upset I was to hear your mother passed. How that swayed me to assist you in your time of need.”
Fantine reached across the table and slipped a cigarette from Aleksei’s pack. “Doesn’t the Bible say something about living by the sword?” She slipped the cigarette between her lips and leaned forward.
Aleksei lit her up. “That does not seem to make sense. Your mother was never violent.”
Fantine took a pull of the cigarette and shrugged. “But she was in a violent business.” She sighed. “Besides, does it actually matter to you? Do we really need to talk about this?” Her mother’s end was sudden and violent—punctuated with lead. One last job where a new partner panicked and decided Fan’s mother was a loose end. When it happened, that sheen Fantine saw in the criminal life faded. She may have wanted to be like her mother, but not in death. So Empire City happened—one last gig before leaving the life. Didn’t work out as well as she planned, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel Aleksei was blocking.
Aleksei shook his head. “No, I suppose not.”
Fantine looked away and blew smoke through her nose. “I’m sorry. You mentioned business and now we’re playing some weird, sentimental catch up BS.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t help you. End of story. I’m not that little girl sitting in your bar while you and my mom schemed.” It was easy to be feisty with Aleksei, even if he had nothing to do with her mother’s death.
Someone—from the looks of it, a waiter—brought a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses to the table. He wandered off into the back of the diner without a word.
Fantine stared at the vodka. “I don’t drink.”
Aleksei poured the shots in silence. A four count pour for each. “If the both of you were in the room, I would have difficulty telling the two of you apart.” He knocked back both shots. “Li…”
“That wasn’t her name.” Fantine clenched her fists. “I asked politely. No more talk about her.”
“As you wish.” Aleksei put out his cigarette in a shot glass and nodded towards Fantine. The twins stood up and flanked her at either side of the booth. One grabbed her shoulder while the other slipped a handcuff around her left wrist. The other cuff attached to a briefcase—a fancy one—all steel with no seams to tell where it opened.
Fantine tried to pull away. “What the hell is this?” She tried to adjust the cuff. It was tight and already cutting blood flow to her hand.
Aleksei poured another shot. “It is a briefcase. Inside is a timer and trigger.”
She swallowed. “Okay. What does that have to do with the handcuffs?”
“I do not want you to run away.” He eyed the briefcase. “Your father, how is his health?”
Fantine lost her breath. Blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you are good as they say you are—as your mother was—I would get to work. If you do not press the button in time,”—he spread his hands palm forward—“your father will…” Aleksei pause. “To be honest, I have no better word than ‘explode.’”
A bomb. Fantine knew it—she didn’t want to believe it—but she knew the crazy Russian bastard had a reputation for the dramatic. Though, why he didn’t just threaten her with the trigger was beyond her. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a hole in this plot. Where was the bomb? Was it activated by radio, no; the range was way too far. Maybe a cellular signal kicked off detonation? This had to be a line of bullshit, there wasn’t time to think things through, not when her heart was trying to claw out her chest and her head swam in adrenaline. Fan’s bread and butter was security. Demo, violence, was something she avoided.
Fine, Fan thought to herself, we’ll play your bullshit game.
Fantine dug into the pocket of her hoodie and fished out one of her smaller picks. She undid the cuff from her wrist with ease and removed the other from the briefcase handle. Laying the briefcase on the table in front of her—handle side towards her—she ran her hands around the perimeter. The area nearest the handle was raised and continued across the sides of the case, but there was no seam. “This isn’t a clamshell,” she muttered to herself. “The outer layer of this case is a dock.” She slipped the lock pick back into her pocket and pulled out a small bag. She unrolled it to reveal a collection of specialized picks and a mini-stethoscope.
Aleksei watched her. “Out of the business, but she has all the tools to…”
“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Fantine raised a finger and spun the briefcase so the bottom faced her. Dead center was a divot with a small hole leading inside. She looked into the hole—no threading at the entrance—so this wasn’t meant to hold a screw. This would be where a custom key would slip in, depress a trigger, and release the docked portion of the briefcase. “This is baby stuff.” She fished one of her tools from her roll and tested the lock. Leaned in as she shifted it around. “No tumblers. It’s a release lock—just like I thought.” Fantine clicked her tongue. She chose what looked to be a dull, thick nail from her pick spread and shoved it into the hole.
A click. The sound of air being released.
Fantine grinned. Turned the briefcase back around and slipped it out the dock. She immediately frowned when she saw that there was a smaller clamshell case within. On its left side, a fingerprint scanner that deactivated the lock. To the right of the scanner, a little LED glowing red. “Damn it.”
Aleksei snorted. Poured himself another shot. “I believe there may be a timer too.” He turned to the twins. “Is there a timer?”
They nodded. “Another three minutes give or take,” one of them answered. He had darker hair than the other.
Fantine studied the fingerprint scanner. Did her best to ignore the layer of sweat on her forehead. She took a breath. Told herself she’d seen this before—along the line of what corporate drones used to get into secure buildings or the fingerprint scanner one would see at Disney World. “This is cheap garbage. Bargain bin corporate security sold to paranoid assholes who think their confidential documents are super important just because they’ve got a salary in the low-six figures.” She shrugged. She knew the type; they made up the middle management at her day job. “Probably works at best, seventy-five percent of the time.” Fantine flipped the briefcase over. Saw a small gap in the panel where the scanner was screwed to the case. “Which means…” She snatched a flat-head screwdriver from her pick set and jammed it into the gap. “The company that made it knew there would be failures—a short or some other boneheaded programming fault.” She pulled hard against the scanner and it gave into her effort. The panel popped out, a few wires exposed. Fantine cut two of them with the flat head and pressed them together. A satisfying tone played and the briefcase popped open.
There was nothing inside.
Fantine blinked and stared at the empty briefcase. She expected a con, but there was no relief. She couldn’t look at Aleksei. The impulse to wing the briefcase at his craggy, bastard face was too overwhelming. “You piece of shit.”
The twins immediately held her arms again. Fantine struggled, but the effort was wasted.