Legacy
Title: Legacy, Part IV
Author's Name: frostian
Genre: RPS, AU
Pairing: JA/JP
Rating: R for language and violence
Word count: ~34k
Warning: Artistic license taken and abused.
Summary: With his father's death, Jared has inherited a painting that has to be returned to its rightful owner. In his quest to fulfill his father's last wishes, he stumbles over a motley crew of strongman, grifter, and a friend whom he'd never stopped caring for. But as they draw up a plan to return the stolen Modigliani, they realize that more than technology stands in their way.
Disclaimer: So much fiction, it could be spotted from an orbiting satellite!
Notes: Adapted from Something Wicked This Way Comes, written for j2_everafter.
Day Twenty-Two
Jared really tried his best not to watch Jensen do his crunches. However, the view out of the balcony was nothing compared to Jensen panting noticeably while covered in slight sheen of sweat.
All throughout his childhood, Jared had too long a limbs, not to mention torso and neck, making his gantry-like shadow pierce the grounds around him. This unfortunately earned Jared the nickname ‘Giraffe’ the moment he hit fourth grade. So, he admired and envied his best friend, who, even at the awkward preteen years, seemed to suffer none of the downsides of hitting puberty.
Jared chugged down half a bottle of beer before daring to glance at Jensen who was now doing planks, with his toes hovering over the floor.
Jared had to blink at that.
After heaven knows how many reps, Jensen paused to take a drink of water. He sighed and sat down in a lotus position.
Oh great, now he’s going to do yoga. Jared rubbed his face. There’s go my sleep for the rest of the month.
To Jared’s great relief and greater disappointment, Jensen slid into meditation instead. And soon, all he heard was Jensen’s soft exhalation.
From the moment he'd met Jensen, Jared was in awe of his friend's physical grace. But it was only after his best friend's five-year absence from his life that Jared realized his feelings weren't purely aesthetic appreciation. The jagged moment occurred when he was nineteen, while watching the gymnastics competition hosted by Duke, his university.
In a blow of awful clarity, Jared finally understood that underlying his admiration was desire. And though he might have been too young to tinge his prepubescent feelings for Jensen with lust, by the time he'd hit thirteen he was definitely harboring more than just friendship for his older friend. Jared had been just too naive to realize it.
And too cowardly.
When Jensen told him privately that he was probably bi if not outright gay, Jared's reaction was one of nervous support. After all what else could a fourteen-year-old do or say?
It wasn't until Jared was nineteen that he saw his reaction to Jensen's quiet revelation to be one of fear. Fear that he was gay, too. Fear that Jensen would reject him if Jared did confess his confused feelings.
And it also meant a hard life for Jared if he did choose that road. Being a gay teenager in Texas meant a constant struggle for him and his family. So, Jared subsumed the idea into a faint notion and went after girls with a vengeance. First was Sandy whom he actually loved in his own way. She broke it off a year later with tears. Then there was Melissa who broke it off in two years with no tears.
Finally, there was Gen who actually agreed to marry him but called off the wedding at the eleventh hour. She had no tears, no accusations, only a single explanation:
"I don't know who she was, Jared, but I know it's not me you're seeing whenever we're together. I thought I could change that but I was wrong. And I love you too much to make both of us pay."
Even then Jared refused to acknowledge the 'she' Gen was talking about.
Now, Jared had no choice but to force himself to finally look down the path he'd not taken. And wonder what kind of life he could've had if he'd been brave enough when he was fourteen. And all the years between then and now.
The door opened, and Chris strolled in, looking chipper than a boy scout who’d just earned five badges in one swoop.
“I’m almost afraid to ask how the other guy looks like.”
“Probably bent over the porcelain throne, praying he would never meet another American for the rest of his life.”
“How did the interview go?” Jared asked.
“I got the job; he got the worst hangover since D-Day.” Chris took out a bottle of whole milk and chugged half of it down.
Jared felt nausea raise its ugly head and glanced away. Jensen, on the other hand, just looked amused.
“Anything to report?” he asked.
“Yeah, Landau’s got a bid going to renew the wiring on the third floor,” Chris said. “According to my new boss, Mr. Atherton, there is only one other serious competitor, a guy named Moretti who got an in because he’s worked for Landau before, when she first moved to Venice. Unfortunately for Mr. Moretti, he had to return twice to correct some faulty wiring. But from what I gathered, that’s pretty common for these parts.”
“So we have to make sure Mr. Moretti doesn’t make the cut,” Jensen said.
Chad wandered out of his bedroom, idly scratching his chin. “That should be easy enough.”
Jared looked at Chad. “Please, please, no explosions.”
Chad rolled his eyes. “No, you dimwit, little problems. You make explosions in Mestre and this entire part of Italy goes to hell in a handbasket.”
“He’s talking more about money laundering; shit like that,” Jensen said, grinning. “And don’t worry, it won’t take long for the books to clear. Little problems, I swear.”
Jared sat back, relaxed. “Okay, the last thing I wanted was some innocent schlub to get caught in the middle of all this shit.”
“You mean your shit, right?” Chad corrected.
“That too,” Jared confessed.
“And I might have something to help move that along,” Chris said. “Atherton said Moretti recently got divorced and it was nasty. The wife took half and from what Atherton told me it was the better half.”
“So he’s probably tight up for cash,” Jensen hummed to himself. “Maybe he starts cutting corners…”
Chad grinned. “Okay, yeah, I could work with that.”
“Some sub par stuff found on site, maybe being installed,” Jensen continued, ignoring Chad’s interruption. “And the city steps in because people get pissed…”
“All right,” Jared interrupted this time. “I see where this is going.”
“And his reputation takes a hit,” Jensen said. “But not for long.”
“Wrong paperwork, wrong shipment,” Chad said. “Big oopsie, sorry for that. No permanent damage done.”
“You’ll work on the substandard material?” Jensen asked.
“Give me few hours,” Chad said. “I should be able to dredge up some shitty stuff by dinner.”
“I can forge the papers,” Jensen said. “I just need a sample to work off of.”
“Got that,” Chris said. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Dropped by Moretti’s place after drinks with Atherton. Just wanted to see if he was shady.”
“Is he?” Jared asked.
“Well, he’s not squeaky clean but in the business he’s in - he’s about as honest as they come.”
Jensen looked through the papers and shook his head. “I could’ve forged this in the sixth grade with crayons and some rubber stamps.”
“That sounds about right,” Chad said, taking a peek over his shoulder. “You could get that paper at the local office store.”
“Let’s get moving then,” Jensen said. “Jared, you want to come?”
“As opposed to breaking and entering and planting false documents?” Jared stood up and grabbed his bag. “I’ll take the trip to the corner store.”
“Okay, then,” Chad yawned and poured himself another coffee cup. “I’ll get going too.”
“Just call us when before midnight,” Chris said. “So we know you’re okay or we should go storming to save your skinny ass.”
“This ass is about as perfect as God could’ve made it,” Chad retorted then added, “but I’ll call.”
Jared couldn’t help but feel inordinate amount of fondness for the grifter as Chad drifted out of his room ten minutes later, looking like a tourist out for a rip-roaring night in Disney World. Jared wondered for the nth time how in hell Chad made any leeway dressed so outrageously in a city renown for its good taste and historical appreciation.
“I don’t know if the guy’s really that crazy or it’s just all an act,” Chris admitted as Chad's light footsteps echoed from the stairs.
“I think it’s a rare combination of both,” Jensen answered. “But the question should be posed to wiser men than we, don’t you think?”
“Amen,” Chris said. “Going to get some shut-eye since it looks like my evening’s completely booked.”
“Do that, I’ll wake you when it’s mealtime.”
Jared realized Chris was about to have a six-hour nap as dinnertime in Venice didn’t kick in until nine if not ten at night. Exactly what is he planning to do after dinner? Jared wondered but wisely decided not to ask; mostly because he really didn’t want to know the answer. And he was genuinely fearful of Chris’ temper should the man not get enough rest.
For all he knew Chris could just dip into the homicidal pool if he didn’t get his eight hours a day.
He watched Jensen get ready and then silently joined him as they made their way out into the city to buy the necessary supplies for forging documents.
Jensen peeked into Jared’s bedroom and to make sure his friend was asleep. He doubted Jared would be awoken by anything Chris and he did at two in the morning, but they had to be sure. Should anything go wrong, Jared’s protest of innocence had to have a genuine ring to it as his friend was a horrible liar.
Chris gave Jensen a swift kick on the backside, forcing Jensen into a stumble before recuperating.
Since they didn’t want to risk been seen by anyone, the two men left the apartment through the alley door. Chris expertly navigated them to Moretti’s office at the Mestre. Surrounded by factories and dingy corporate offices, the two men had little problem staying hidden as they scouted the area.
After being satisfied that there were no security cameras, Jensen took lead. He dared not use the same door Chris had earlier so Jensen singled out a window on the left side of the building. Its frame was rotted so badly that he managed to pop the entire thing without breaking the glass. Chris held it while Jensen climbed in and then wedged it back into its hole. He waited outside, making sure Jensen would not be disturbed as he planted the necessary documents.
Following Chris’ directions, Jensen found Moretti’s office at the back end of the building. He was shocked by the state of disarray it was in, and also slightly annoyed. The only way Moretti was able to do any kind of business surrounded by such chaos was because he had his own filing system.
This behavior forced Jensen to take great care where he planted the false invoices and order forms. He had to dig through many piles before he found acceptable spots. That way, as Moretti tried to find out how the substandard material got into his business, he wouldn’t suspect sabotage as an answer.
Jensen climbed out of the window then made sure the frame wouldn’t pop out from a jostle. He then joined Chris and the two men once more made their way back to Dorsoduro by using a completely different route. All during their trip, they doubled back to ensure they didn’t have anyone following them.
And they didn’t. Should they’ve set out even an hour earlier, Carlson would’ve been on their tail but the FBI agent gave up surveillance at one-thirty in the morning.
Jared woke up, rolled over, and fell out of his bed. He’d forgotten how tiny these European beds could be, and as a trick of fate or because of God’s strange sense of humor, Jared ended up with the smallest one in the apartment.
But he wasn’t about to complain since he also had the best view. Jared opened the door to his balcony and stepped out into the cool air. And since the mornings were still a bit chilly, the smell from the canal wasn’t as horrific as two in the afternoon.
Small boats carrying produce and other perishable goods moved along, proving Venice wasn’t completely a ghost city. A woman peeked out from under a parasol as her gondola drifted by. He gave a wan smile then blushed when he realized he was wearing only shorts and a ratty one at that.
He stepped inside, changed his clothes and went to the kitchen. As usual Jensen was just finishing his morning correspondence. Jared gave a nod of recognition then trudged out to the corner bakery where tempting smells wafted out in ephemeral tendrils.
He bought a variety of morning pastries along with loaves of puccia and pan azzimo, which Chris loved and pretty much devoured before noon. Jared hungrily munched on a cornetto, picked up bottles of Pellegrino at a small market before making his way back. Though he was relegated to the duty of making sure the fridge was well stocked, shopping for the crew was easy enough for Jared since the rest of the team was satisfied with cold cuts, fresh fruit and cheeses he was able to glean from the stores that were open through August.
He saw intrepid tourist couple brave out of their hotel and study their surroundings. In spite of the fact that the streets were pretty much dead, they looked positively ecstatic.
Maybe they’re smart and realize they’ve got the city all to themselves. At least until rest of their brethren wake up and venture forth.
He was on his third cornetto by the time he’d reached the apartment. So, the first thing he did was to take a swig of orange juice as he put out the stuff he’d bought for breakfast.
Chad was rummaging through the fridge and gave a hearty wave as a way of greeting. Jensen came over and grabbed two cornettos. Jared took a peek into his mug and saw it was filled with what looked like coffee. Jared knew better though.
“Exactly how many shots did you swill down so far?”
Jensen made a face. “Five.”
“Jesus, how could you take in that much caffeine and not go crazy?”
“Practice and a well-trained addiction,” Jensen answered promptly. “For a guy who can’t handle a ladle, you know the best food shops.”
“That’s because I can’t cook for shit,” Jared said. “But I do love a good meal. So, last night?”
Jensen cocked his head and thought for a moment. “We managed to plant the paperwork. Chad’s got a line on the stuff we need, so I think with an anonymous phone call Mr. Moretti’s going to have some problems in his hands by the end of this week.”
"That's pretty fast for a place like Venice," Chad muttered through a mouthful of cornetto.
"Not if you call the right person," Jensen said. "Like Moretti's ex-wife's current boyfriend whose job is to check up on building permits and code compliance. From what I hear there's no love lost between those two men."
Chad shook his head in amusement. "You are the man."
Chris meandered out of his bedroom, nearly colliding with a sofa before making his way to them. “Oh man, mucho gracias,” he muttered and took out a chunk from the pan azzimo which he washed down with a glass of orange juice.
“When did you guys drop by Moretti?” Jared asked. He’d stayed up until one, waiting for Jensen and Chris to leave the apartment. He’d fallen asleep waiting to hear their footfall.
“Around three,” Chris answered. “Things are dead then. Well, maybe not Tokyo, but those people are crazy so they don’t count.”
“Things tend to be dead during those hours,” Jensen explained. “Yes, certain cities are notorious for partying even at dawn, but they do so at certain points in the city, not in the business district.”
“But not Tokyo,” Chris corrected.
“No, not Tokyo,” Jensen conceded.
Chris grunted and said, “By the way, Chad, congrads on getting the stuff.”
Jared looked around the apartment. “Wait a minute: you stashed that shit here?”
Chad grinned. “No, dumbass. I got it corralled in a warehouse.”
“Won’t that leave a paper trail?”
“The warehouse was already occupied. We’re just borrowing a corner,” Chad explained. “The owners won’t know anything.”
“The security?” Jensen asked.
“Minimum, at best,” Chad answered. “And it’s August so the guard’s on duty until eleven, then he takes a lunch break and comes back at three. He goes home at seven, and there’s no night guard to replace him.
“Then we could come and go as we please.”
Jared gave a low whistle but said nothing. He understood that as risky as that particular move was, it was the safest choice. No paper trail, no evidence of any wrongdoing. And as long as the renters didn’t find out the plan was foolproof.
“Do you know exactly how much?” Jared asked casually.
Chad shrugged. “Couple of bales of copper wire from somewhere in Africa, bunch of shit from the Ukraine, and some other stuff from a country you probably don’t want to know, or at least that’s what Tomas said.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for Mr. Moretti,” Jared muttered. He then glanced at Jensen. "Wait a minute, how in hell did you plant the paperwork last night if Chad's not sure..."
“They had to be general," Jensen said. "At least general enough to support the idea that there was a mix-up in the shipment and Moretti got screwed. It happens all the time, especially when you deal with so many sellers like Moretti does.”
“He’s bound to get screwed over,” Chris added. “No big deal.”
Jared felt better though his worries weren’t still completely gone.
“By the way, I got the job,” Chris said. “Got the text just now. Starting on Monday.”
Jensen gave a low whistle of relief. “That’s very good news. I wasn’t sure what to do if that didn’t pan out.”
“What can I say?” Chris wolfed down another hunk of bread. “I’m one a kind and the man’s smart enough to appreciate it.”
“Exactly what can you do?” Jared couldn’t stop from asking. “Can you really work as an electrician?”
“I know some stuff,” Chris said. “Besides, they’re going to need people who knows more than what wire’s right for which job and what fuse goes where.”
Jared decided he’d asked enough questions and munched on another cornetto while listening to others chatter about inconsequential things.
Day Eleven
Chris laughed. He turned to his boss and asked, “Seriously? Your parents named you Whitney?!”
“Why do you think I never go by my first name? Everyone calls me Atherton. Hell, if I wasn’t so fond of my balls I’d make my wife call me Atherton!”
Chris handed over a set of pliers at watched the grizzly ex-car salesman rewire the bedroom’s dimmer. “So, how is business going?”
“Good, actually, better than last summer. Thank the good Lord!”
“You got new clients?”
“Yeah, just got a call from a French baroness who bought a palace here,” Atherton wrinkled his nose in distaste. “God knows why. If I lived in France, I’d stay there!”
“A baroness?” Chris elbowed Atherton. “You’re moving up on the world.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I got the account,” Atherton admitted. “But it’s one time deal.”
“Word of a baroness? Sounds like hard currency to me. Especially in the circles she travels in.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Atherton said. “From what I hear she’s a recluse. Except for some charity functions she hosts, the woman hardly steps into the social light.”
“Wonder why.”
“From what I’ve heard she’s had a very troubled past.”
“Well, traveling in that crowd…”
“Her entire family was murdered by the Nazis during WWII.”
Chris managed to look chastened. “Okay, that’s pretty much the worst kind of trouble.”
“She’s quiet about it though. The only reason I know is because someone … well, you know how these stories go.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. He handed over the replacement dimmer. “So, what are we doing for her?”
“Setting up new wiring for an entire floor in her palace,” Atherton explained. “The work’s going to be pretty damn difficult because the place has hodge-podge of an electrical system. And she’s got some heavy duty security going on so we’re going to have to be extra careful unless we want a rain of bodyguards and police on our heads.”
“Not surprised,” Chris said. “So we’re going to tread softly. And make sure not to piss off the big men in black suits.”
“Hand me that, will you?”
Chris did as asked and kept up friendly chatter. He wanted to make sure Atherton included him in the team when the Landau job started. Chris actually liked working for the guy and the thought of hurting one of his co-workers in order to take their place didn’t sit well with him.
Nevertheless, he’d prepared for such contingencies by memorizing all the employees’ home addresses when he had a moment alone in Atherton’s office. Personal distaste rarely dictated what Chris did. Or at least that was the rule until his former employers had embroiled him in the insurance scam.
Insurance scam and cold-blooded murder, Chris corrected himself.
Life had gotten harder since then, but in some ways, it had also gotten easier. Chris didn’t dislike talking about himself as he did back then. And he genuinely enjoyed the company he kept. Even the annoying self-righteous prick, Padalecki, had his good points.
Chris didn’t say anything, but he wondered if there was something between the Jared and Jensen while they were still kids. That in spite of living in a society that so thoroughly condemned homosexuality or expressions of such emotions amongst teenagers, these two managed to somehow to nurture a romantic interest.
Chris grinned at his meandering thoughts. Doesn’t matter now. Padalecki’s Jensen’s client and that means the Original Rule applies: never, ever get involved with a client.
That golden rule had kept Jensen safe, and away from the clutches of the law.
Combine his Hollywood looks and the nature of his business, the thief had amassed quite a few fans. And they wouldn’t mind having him warm their beds along with their bank accounts. But Jensen was also too well aware they were a fickle and a temperamental group.
So he’d taken on the persona of iceman: someone who could not be wooed, swayed, or seduced. In some ways this made him even more attractive, but as Jensen had repeatedly told Chris, at least the clients didn’t expect extra services along with the commissioned heist.
No way Jensen would break that cardinal law, not even for a childhood buddy. Especially for a childhood buddy. Not if he knew what was good for all of us.
Day Five
Jensen was actually grateful for the heat. At least with the warm weather his hip didn’t act up as much. To his dismay he’d discovered that the old adage was true: temperamental weather, especially wet and cold weather, made his injured bones ache.
Jensen stretched once more, forcing his spine into a hard arch as he raised his arms over his head. He braced himself for the twinge on his lower left ribs. He had inadvertently bruised them during a routine few days ago but the pain from that area was nothing compared the one radiating from his damaged right hip.
To his delight, his ribs remained quiet, and since he’d gotten used to the hip injury Jensen was fully braced for the teeth-clenching pain.
I’m going to have to retire, Jensen concluded. He knew his career as an art thief had come to a standstill with the injury. And he was semi-resigned to never stepping into his kid shoes again until Jared had reentered his life.
Jensen could never be mistaken for a romantic. He knew he was taking a huge risk when he'd agreed to Jared's terms but he couldn’t stand the idea of having his old friend go to someone else for help.
Not unless he was also able to fully accept seeing his friend’s brutal demise in the papers.
Just this one job, dear Lord, Jensen found himself praying. After that ... well, you can even the score any which way you see fit.
Jensen closed his eyes and dropped his head back, relinquishing his control over the pain. With cautious steps, Jensen hobbled over to his bedside table and popped two Tylenols. After taking a good whiff of himself, Jensen decided he needed a shower.
The moment he opened the door, his limp disappeared and a bright smile emerged from his narrow face.
“Hey,” he greeted his friends. “Any changes?”
“Going to Landau’s place at five with Atherton,” Chris said. “Just to scope out the work. From what I hear she won’t be there so we’re going to have an escort show us around.”
“That’s very good news,” Jensen said. “You know what to do?”
Chris nodded. “Got a camera and a sweeper. I don’t want to use the laser devices in case she’s got a redundant system.”
“Okay, just find out the frequencies.”
“Plan to do one better,” Chris said. “Find out where the wiring is on the third floor - odds are good they’re going to be in the same spot on the fourth. Even with heavy modifications, Moretti and his men wouldn’t want to deviate too much.”
“It’d be nice if they were all fed off a central line before they reached the fourth floor,” Jensen said wistfully.
“And the backup system ran parallel to it,” Chris added.
“And I wish Monica Bellucci was giving me a foot massage, but it ain’t going to happen,” Chad said, grinning.
Chris snorted into his coffee cup, unable to hide his smile.
Jensen was about to head towards the bathroom when he saw the look on Jared’s face. He sat down next to the pale man and took the proffered bottle of water. “How you feeling?”
Jared looked so surprised by the question that Jensen had to add, “I heard you emptying out your stomach last night.”
Jared flushed a dull red and looked down at his hands. “I ended up thinking too much, I guess. I knew this was going to be hard, but I didn’t put all the logistics together until last night.
“I mean … if Moretti hadn’t gotten into trouble, if Chris hadn’t gotten that job, if…”
“Shut up,” Chad said, “You’re boring me.”
Jared looked sharply at him.
“Look, whatever worried you last night probably danced through our heads quite a few times in the last month,” Chris explained. “It’s been chewed over, digested and done with. So don’t think about it. Just focus on what’s coming up in the next seven days because…”
Chris faltered and gave a nervous glance at Jensen who sighed and said, “Because in all likelihood, the switch is going to happen next few days.”
Jared looked startled. “What? What do you mean? So early?”
“Like any heist, most of the time is used in the prep work,” Jensen explained. “The actual heist is pretty damn quick: it has to be.”
“So … so … you’re planning to go through with it in two days?”
“Jared, I was prepared to go through with it every single minute of every single day we’ve been in Venice. Like I explained before: a lot of art theft happens because of a combination of luck and chance. If either cropped up in good enough quantity - then yeah, I better be prepared to haul ass.”
“But since that didn’t happen, we’re forced to make our chance,” Chris said. “Which is what’s going to happen in the next few days.”
“What should I do?” Jared asked.
“Besides making sure we can get out of Italy?” Chad looked thoughtful for a moment. “Get rid of half your luggage, dude. There’s no way you’re not going to get noticed hauling that much shit around, even in Venice.”
Jensen saw the seriousness in Jared’s eyes and said, “He’s joking.”
“Fuck you,” Jared said without any heat.
Jensen smiled and soon found himself laughing with Jared. The banter wasn’t really that funny but it had done a great deal to ease his mood. And as he watched Jared laugh with his usual booming personality, Jensen found the pain from his hip slowly wash away.
It wasn't until he was in the shower that Jensen allowed himself to actually admit what he had felt while watching Jared laugh.
Can't fall in love. Not again. And not with Jared.
Jensen had a grand plan once, when he could still afford dreams of Olympic glory. He would keep his sexuality a secret from the media, and in return for his silence the American Olympics Committee and the men's gymnastic team would turn a blind eye to what he was.
Then, long after his retirement, he'd quietly come out. Not that he had any desire to become a public figure, but because Jensen had fully planned to be in a happy relationship, and he wasn't the type to ask his partner to keep quiet about their marriage.
But his father had lost his job at the library, even though the man had put in twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of wearing suits to work, even when he had to do janitorial duties because of budget cuts. And without his family's financial support, even with the scholarship that was offered, Jensen couldn't attend Stanford.
He'd tried desperately to keep up with his training, but gymnastics was an expensive sport and he couldn't get the sponsors he needed. It was then he'd met Keith. A man whom Jensen thought would save him from utter ruin.
Two years later, Jensen was doing common breaking and entering to support Keith's numerous habits. If he hadn't stumbled across Bobby Singer's radar, Jensen would've been another John Doe in the ME's office. Fortunately, he did. The crafty fox weaned Jensen away from his destructive relationship with Keith and taught him the finer arts of theft. And with Jensen's natural prowess, it wasn't long before Jensen's scores ranged in the hundreds of thousands instead of few bucks.
Jensen curled his hands into fists, letting his nails carve their hate into his palms.
This is just a job. Get it done and get everyone home. Safe.
Chris was in awe. He knew the word ‘palace’ usually meant opulent surroundings. But the Landau woman had decorated her home using not only her wealth but also supremely good taste. The silk curtains and furniture were ornate but not overwhelming. And peppered throughout were personal touches. Photographs not showing the famous and the rich but friends and family. And unlike his stint in Miami, nothing in the palace screamed 'money money money'.
Up to this moment, Landau was only an assignment, but now Chris felt proud that he was returning something that belonged to her.
Something precious and rightfully hers.
“Wow,” Atherton said. “Okay, this is something different. Usually, I feel like I’m in a museum whenever I come into one of these buildings.”
“She must be loaded.”
“Her husband was an oil baron from what I’ve read,” Atherton said. "He died ten years ago and left her with everything."
A tall, painfully thin man entered the room. At first glance he looked like an underfed accountant, but Chris saw the special shoes and the way the stork walked. The man was armed for an invasion and the thinness was pretty good disguise for strength.
This guy’s trained and not in a dojo. He’s got blood under his nails.
“Name’s Peter,” the stranger said, breaking into a thin but polite smile.
Chris pinned the accent as Australian and mentally ran down a list of places the guard could have earned his merit badges.
South Africa, Somalia, not the Pacific ‘cause that’d be too close to home. Chris then saw the deep tan lines where a watch used to reside on Peter’s right wrist. Definitely tropical. And a leftie. Fuck me.
He then looked up and caught Peter reading him just as thoroughly.
Well. Shit. So much for private time.
“Would you like something to drink or eat before we begin?”
“Nah, let’s start with the tour,” Atherton said, pulling out a pad of paper and pencil. He saw Peter’s look of surprise. “I’m an old fashioned kind of guy.”
To Chris’ waning expectations, Peter did not leave their side once, and made sure his attention was fully focused on both of them throughout the tour. However, this didn’t prevent Chris from learning as much as possible the layout on the third floor, as he was mindful of the fact that it could be duplicated on the fourth.
Atherton took a deep breath the moment they were out of the front gates. Chris didn’t hear the door close behind them and knew they were still being watched. So, he remained unobtrusively quiet as his boss led them back to their boat.
“Was it just me or was it getting weird in there?” Atherton asked. “I swear, that guy thought we were going to walk away with the family silver!”
“Someone probably tried,” Chris said dryly. “Can’t blame him for doing his job.”
“True,” Atherton said. “But he gave us shit on a shingle for our job. And I can’t go asking again because it might piss off Landau and have us out the door before we can say unfair.”
“Really?” Chris asked. He thought out a scheme and then gently prodded, “Know who did the previous work?”
“Well, Moretti was contracted to do the fourth floor which was three years ago.”
“Think Moretti could give us some info?”
Atherton shook his head. “No, the guy’s plenty sore about losing this bid. He’s not going to lift a finger to help us.”
“But?” Chris wheedled when he heard the thoughtful pause at the end of Atherton’s lament.
“He hired an outside contractor - Alberto - to help him when he got that first job. And Alberto’s a good man. I’ve worked with him before. He might know something that I could use.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chris later discovered that Alberto did plenty of work for Moretti, and though contractually obligated to destroy any written documents pertaining to the system he helped install, he’d kept a copy in case something went wrong and he became embroiled in a lawsuit.
He was obliging enough to copy the layouts for Atherton with a caveat that Landau might have had more work done that negated any information he had.
Atherton took the copies with a grateful smile and a promise that should he find the work too much for his people, he’d be glad to call Alberto.
Chris fairly danced upon finding all this and by midnight Jensen also had a copy of the portfolio. As they already suspected, the layouts were similar between floors with few key differences.
“The backup generator is in the courtyard,” Jensen said. “Why am I surprised?”
“Why? Are you?” Jared asked, confused by the genuine surprise in Jensen’s voice.
“Aesthetics,” Jensen explained. “Thought she might have had it tucked away behind a garage or something. Would’ve been a lot easier to get to instead of an open courtyard.”
“And it puts out on a completely different feed,” Chris said. “So we’ve got an independent backup system throughout the building.”
“But look at this,” Jensen pointed to a section. “Here, they run the same path for at least seven inches.”
“So we access that section and we get to neutralize both,” Chris said.
Chad peered closer. “But that’s in between floors, isn’t it?”
“No,” Jensen corrected him. “At least not really.”
Jared looked closer. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a phantom floor,” Chris said after closely examining the documents, his voice thin with awe. “Holy shit, she built an entire floor?”
“Must have,” Jensen said.
“I still don’t get it.” Jared desperately looked closer but still couldn’t see what the rest were gaping at.
Jensen placed the documents showing the fourth floor schematics on top of the third. Jared saw minute differences in the layout of some piping and wiring, but the only reason he was able to spot them was because Jensen pointed them out.
“She built a floor between third and fourth,” Chad explained. “I’m not talking about an actual floor where there are rooms and toilets. Probably just a hallway. Maybe a panic room.”
“From the schematics and what I know of her, I’d say its maximum height is five feet three since she’s sixty-one inches tall. But look, she’s got all the security wiring running through it along with backup power.”
“Man, that’s fucking clever,” Chris said.
“How?”
“Because phantom floors are tricky,” Jensen said. “There are very few ways to get to them.”
“No elevators, no windows, and sometimes not even stairs,” Chris explained further. “There are probably two or three access hatches but these plans won’t show where.”
“Finding them is going to be difficult,” Chad said. “If she's smart she had them built after everything was put in.”
“So odds are only she and a select few know,” Jared concluded.
“If we consider her age,” Jensen peered closer at the plans, “and it was built to her specifications, then it’s something she wants to access quickly if need be.”
“Why?” Jared asked. “I mean … why would she want to crawl down into a floor with only wirings?”
“It’s a point of escape, Jared,” Jensen answered. “From my experience and her background, it’s probably psychological.”
“Intensely psychological,” Chris said. “But I guess that’s not surprising considering her history.”
“So, how do we do find them?” Jared asked.
“There are only so many areas where she could’ve placed one,” Jensen said. He pointed to a spot then another, “Here and here.”
Chris frowned then pointed to a spot on the far left. “What about there?”
Jensen cocked his head. “Isn’t that a guest bedroom? Wouldn’t that be too risky?”
“It’s a bedroom but I think it belongs to the security team, probably the Stork.”
Jensen grinned at the nickname. “Still hating him for figuring you out?”
“No,” Chris grumbled, “he just looks like one.”
“How do we locate the entrance?” Jared asked. “Jensen can’t just stroll through the entire third floor looking for it. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s a risk,” Jensen admitted. “I’m going to need another night to plan this out. Chris, I want you to start the job. That way you can get the feel of the place. I’ve seen aerial recon of the palace and it’s an interesting layout. To tell you the truth, it feels more like a fortress than anything else.”
“Again, the psychology comes in,” Chad said. “And, can I say? Not surprised.”
The meeting ended right after that. Jared knew he wasn’t reacting well to the situation but he couldn’t stop. He went after Jensen and as soon as he closed the door, Jared rounded on him.
“You can’t be serious,” Jared said desperately. “I'm next to stupid with all this but even I know the scenario we discussed isn’t good. In fact, I think it’s pretty much sweepstakes from hell.”
“Not really,” Jensen said calmly. “Look, I knew it could get hairy. And believe me this isn’t as nearly dangerous as some of my other jobs.”
Jared sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe off from you,” Jensen said. “But the truth is … the truth is if this is the only way to do this, then you’d let me. Right?”
Jared’s anger was crushed under his shame. His silence was enough of an answer so Jensen didn’t push further.
“It’s not that difficult,” Jensen said reassuringly. “Once I have access to the phantom floor it gets lot easier. I can turn the security system off or at least compromise it. After that I’ll need only few minutes to do my job.”
“You’re going to be carrying the painting,” Jared said, suddenly realizing how much more precarious Jensen’s situation was. “Holy shit - you’re going to do all that with the painting strapped to your back?”
Jensen shrugged. “I calculated that in long time ago.”
Jared sat down and took a deep breath. “Okay, this sucks all around.”
Jensen sat next to him. “Jared, my job is never easy. That’s what makes it so interesting.”
Jared looked at his friend. “Is that why you do it?”
Jensen smiled. “Actually, yeah. I like the rush, the challenge, and the difficulties. It’s not legal and sure as hell isn’t safe, but life’s never boring.”
“How long do you plan to do this?” Jared pointed at Jensen’s hip. “I know you think you’re hiding it and you are doing a good job, but that injury’s bad. I can tell that much.”
“To tell the truth, I’m going to retire,” Jensen said. “This is going to be my last hurrah.”
“Then what?”
“I’m thinking about opening an art gallery.”
Jared’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious?”
Jensen nodded. “I’ve been exposed to a lot of great art. And a lot of bad art. I figure it’s about time I put my hard-earned knowledge to use.”
“I can’t imagine you in a suit or some black Hugo Boss ensemble, glad-handing rich people.”
“It’s not the buyers that makes me want to open the gallery,” Jensen said. “It’s the artists.”
“Really? You know few people?”
“I know a lot of good artists who are dying out there because they can’t get a fair break,” Jensen said. “They’re not pretty enough, young enough, hot enough. They’re too ethnic, too black, too white - you name it, I’ve heard it.
“After a while, you want to do something.”
“So, you open a gallery and sell their works?”
“Works of living artists,” Jensen said. “I’m not dissing the old masters. Man, they’ve earned their place in history, but I want to focus on the new kids.”
“You think you could make a go of it?”
“Definitely.”
“So, where would this gallery be? New York? Los Angeles? Las Vegas?”
“Dallas, lots of new money there,” Jensen said with an easy grin. “And that means eager clients wanting something different.”
Jared thought about the clientele Jensen wanted to focus on. “But they’re the ones who like the old masters, the Monets and the Picassos.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could find ways for them to part with their money.”
Jared laughed softly. “You’re mighty ambitious guy.”
“Pays to dream big.”
“So, my ten million?”
Jensen stiffened visibly but said, “Yeah, my cut’s going to go to the gallery.”
“Sounds like a good investment.”
Jensen’s posture relaxed. “It will be.”
“Just so you know, if there’s anything I can do, I will.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said.
Steve was confused. And Agent Carlson didn’t like confused. It gave him heartburn. But as far as he could see, either Ackles was planning the biggest heist in recent history or Morgan was telling the truth: the dickwad was going to return a painting.
And his friends were going to help him.
Steve ran down the mental list he’d prepped on Ackles’ group. Save for Padalecki, the rest were a collection of what Steve would like to describe as ‘very able men with diverse interests.’
Steve smirked. The only thing I’ve got to show for this assignment is five pounds. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to work off the Freshman Fifteen all over again.
He peered into his binoculars and spotted Padalecki leaving Ackles’ bedroom. Once again, he wondered what was between those two.
They’re more than just friends, but either they’re both thicker than a stack of bricks or something happened and they’re not doing anything about their feelings.
Steve felt bad for them. Though given half a chance, he’d arrest all of them with no remorse, after witnessing their daily routine for weeks, he’d developed a certain fondness for them.
Steve had been warned of this: that agents develop emotional connection to their targets under certain scenarios. And he’d prepared himself for it. Still, he’d taken a liking to Koenig’s swagger, Kane’s icy-cold efficiency, and Ackles’ astonishing gift of physical grace. The only time Steve had ever seen anyone prove such talent as Ackles’ was on television, when the men’s gymnastics competition was on during the Olympics.
Too bad he never had a chance. He’d been one of the greats if he’d made it to Sydney or Athens.
Padalecki’s bedroom lights went on and the familiar tall shadow flittered by the semi-transparent curtains.
What could I arrest him for? Hanging around with shady characters? Steve sat back and gave it some serious thought and concluded, I got nothing on him.
Somehow that didn’t anger the agent. Steve liked Padalecki and would’ve been proud to call him friend if they didn’t stand on opposite sides of the law. He’d discovered second Padalecki son came with a clean record, exemplary reputation for his kindness to his friends and family. He was also one of the major patrons to three animal shelters in San Antonio and the guy didn’t just throw money at them. He showed up on adoption days, wasn’t above using that famed smile or even more famous abs to ensure that the older Labrador or the shy cat found a home before sunset.
Steve winced as the first onset of heartburn roared out of his guts.
Day One
Jensen paid the kid the agreed upon sum. He then waited until he knew both the boy and his handler were gone before focusing on the little guesthouse.
So, the FBI does know about me.
The panic he’d expected didn’t come. Jensen had suspected they had a shadow for weeks now. But he decided not to voice his concerns as he didn’t know anything.
So, he played it cautiously and had hired a local talent for ferreting out the tail. It had taken the eleven-year-old less than a day to discover that an American was following them, and that the guy was very good at it.
This meant the American was either a pro in their line of work or someone who chased down pros in Jensen’s line of work.
The first time Jensen saw Carlson he thought he had another thief wanting to steal the painting for his gain. However, the boy reported otherwise. On his own initiative, the kid had taken a look inside Carlson’s tiny bedroom and found the FBI identification card and other matching law enforcement personnel documents.
Jensen wanted to call off the job right then, but after some hard thinking he decided otherwise. The FBI agent would’ve moved already if he had anything solid, but the fact that the guy was just trailing after them told Jensen that Carlson had nothing concrete enough to bring to the local law enforcement.
Jensen wondered if Carlson would ever make a move and decided not to give him cause to; he planned to make the switch after the agent was safely tucked in bed. And by the time the unfortunate man woke up, Venice would be minus four American tourists.
I guess I’m going to have to take that early retirement after all, Jensen concluded dryly.
He returned to the apartment and found the rest of the team in serious conversation.
“What is it?”
“Tonight,” Chris said. “The old lady’s going to attend a party. And she’s bringing the Stork and two other guards. That leaves only two other men guarding the entire building.”
“The city is also scheduling a rolling blackout,” Chad said. “And that part of Venice is going to get hit between one and three in the morning.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be tonight, then.” Jensen took a deep breath. “Chad, handle the painting like we’ve discussed. No matter what happens, don’t bring it here.”
“Done, anything else?”
“Wear something less flashy and get your hands coated.”
“Coated?” Jared echoed.
“We can’t walk around in gloves during August heat,” Chad said. “Instead we coat our hands with a type of plastic. Also less chance of leaving DNA residue.”
“I got your bodysuit,” Chris said. He went to his bedroom and returned with a small gym bag. “It’s got shoes, too.”
Jared eyes widened when he realized Chad was Jensen's backup in case things went south. He was tempted to ask about those scenarios, but he didn't think his stomach could hold it together if he got the answers so Jared kept his mouth shut.
Chad took it. “When do we start?”
“One,” Jensen decided. “I want to make sure she’s still out. Three would be too late for someone like Landau.”
“And from the security team’s schedule - the two men who are staying behind are usually on the afternoon shifts,” Chris added. “They’re not going to be functioning too well at one in the morning. They might be professionals but they’re still human and that means their bodies are on schedule. Especially after working such cushy job for years.”
“I’ll see you at one, then.” Chad whirled around and added, “And I will call if things get weird.”
Jared waited until Chad was gone before asking, “What should I do?”
“Get some shut eye,” Jensen said. “And pack your stuff. We might have to leave quickly.”
Jared gave a nervous smile and left. He was halfway done packing when his legs followed good on their threat and gave out. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes.
“Oh fuck it,” he whispered weakly.
Jared then tried to finish packing to find out that somehow, he couldn’t fit all the clothes back into the four bags. He stared bleakly at the heaping mess strewn across his bed.
I didn’t buy anything. What the fuck?!
“You need help?”
Jared jumped and turned around to find Jensen standing at the doorway.
“I thought you might need some hand,” Jensen said, closing the door behind him.
“I’m doing okay,” Jared protested, knowing how helpless he looked.
Jensen smiled but said nothing. Instead, he emptied all the bags. He then began folding the clothes. As Jared watched, Jensen meticulously put away everything until only the necessities remained.
“That’s better,” Jensen said. He looked at Jared. “The panic you’re feeling isn’t because of fear. It’s because everything is coming to an end.”
“Like finals,” Jared said with a small stutter. “But with guns.”
Jensen nodded. “Something like that.”
“This sucks.”
“It’ll suck a lot less tomorrow when you’re back in Texas.”
“Then what?”
Jensen sighed and leaned back onto the wall. “Then we take a big fucking vacation. That includes you, Jared. You really need to decompress.”
“How do I do that?”
“Go to work, meet your friends. Visit your family. The normal things you did before you got embroiled in all this.”
“Hey, this was my shit. I was the one who dragged you into it.”
“But you get the idea, right?”
Jared rubbed his face and wondered how in hell he was going to get any rest even though he felt so tired he didn't think he could make it down the stairs to the lobby.
“Eat something,” Jensen recommended. “Then take a nap. We’re going to move fast once the night falls.”
Jared decided that was a damn good idea. So, he ate his body weight and by doing so was able to fall to an uneasy sleep fueled by fresh bread, cold cuts, and unpasteurized goat cheese.
Part III * Conclusion
Author's Name: frostian
Genre: RPS, AU
Pairing: JA/JP
Rating: R for language and violence
Word count: ~34k
Warning: Artistic license taken and abused.
Summary: With his father's death, Jared has inherited a painting that has to be returned to its rightful owner. In his quest to fulfill his father's last wishes, he stumbles over a motley crew of strongman, grifter, and a friend whom he'd never stopped caring for. But as they draw up a plan to return the stolen Modigliani, they realize that more than technology stands in their way.
Disclaimer: So much fiction, it could be spotted from an orbiting satellite!
Notes: Adapted from Something Wicked This Way Comes, written for j2_everafter.
Day Twenty-Two
Jared really tried his best not to watch Jensen do his crunches. However, the view out of the balcony was nothing compared to Jensen panting noticeably while covered in slight sheen of sweat.
All throughout his childhood, Jared had too long a limbs, not to mention torso and neck, making his gantry-like shadow pierce the grounds around him. This unfortunately earned Jared the nickname ‘Giraffe’ the moment he hit fourth grade. So, he admired and envied his best friend, who, even at the awkward preteen years, seemed to suffer none of the downsides of hitting puberty.
Jared chugged down half a bottle of beer before daring to glance at Jensen who was now doing planks, with his toes hovering over the floor.
Jared had to blink at that.
After heaven knows how many reps, Jensen paused to take a drink of water. He sighed and sat down in a lotus position.
Oh great, now he’s going to do yoga. Jared rubbed his face. There’s go my sleep for the rest of the month.
To Jared’s great relief and greater disappointment, Jensen slid into meditation instead. And soon, all he heard was Jensen’s soft exhalation.
From the moment he'd met Jensen, Jared was in awe of his friend's physical grace. But it was only after his best friend's five-year absence from his life that Jared realized his feelings weren't purely aesthetic appreciation. The jagged moment occurred when he was nineteen, while watching the gymnastics competition hosted by Duke, his university.
In a blow of awful clarity, Jared finally understood that underlying his admiration was desire. And though he might have been too young to tinge his prepubescent feelings for Jensen with lust, by the time he'd hit thirteen he was definitely harboring more than just friendship for his older friend. Jared had been just too naive to realize it.
And too cowardly.
When Jensen told him privately that he was probably bi if not outright gay, Jared's reaction was one of nervous support. After all what else could a fourteen-year-old do or say?
It wasn't until Jared was nineteen that he saw his reaction to Jensen's quiet revelation to be one of fear. Fear that he was gay, too. Fear that Jensen would reject him if Jared did confess his confused feelings.
And it also meant a hard life for Jared if he did choose that road. Being a gay teenager in Texas meant a constant struggle for him and his family. So, Jared subsumed the idea into a faint notion and went after girls with a vengeance. First was Sandy whom he actually loved in his own way. She broke it off a year later with tears. Then there was Melissa who broke it off in two years with no tears.
Finally, there was Gen who actually agreed to marry him but called off the wedding at the eleventh hour. She had no tears, no accusations, only a single explanation:
"I don't know who she was, Jared, but I know it's not me you're seeing whenever we're together. I thought I could change that but I was wrong. And I love you too much to make both of us pay."
Even then Jared refused to acknowledge the 'she' Gen was talking about.
Now, Jared had no choice but to force himself to finally look down the path he'd not taken. And wonder what kind of life he could've had if he'd been brave enough when he was fourteen. And all the years between then and now.
The door opened, and Chris strolled in, looking chipper than a boy scout who’d just earned five badges in one swoop.
“I’m almost afraid to ask how the other guy looks like.”
“Probably bent over the porcelain throne, praying he would never meet another American for the rest of his life.”
“How did the interview go?” Jared asked.
“I got the job; he got the worst hangover since D-Day.” Chris took out a bottle of whole milk and chugged half of it down.
Jared felt nausea raise its ugly head and glanced away. Jensen, on the other hand, just looked amused.
“Anything to report?” he asked.
“Yeah, Landau’s got a bid going to renew the wiring on the third floor,” Chris said. “According to my new boss, Mr. Atherton, there is only one other serious competitor, a guy named Moretti who got an in because he’s worked for Landau before, when she first moved to Venice. Unfortunately for Mr. Moretti, he had to return twice to correct some faulty wiring. But from what I gathered, that’s pretty common for these parts.”
“So we have to make sure Mr. Moretti doesn’t make the cut,” Jensen said.
Chad wandered out of his bedroom, idly scratching his chin. “That should be easy enough.”
Jared looked at Chad. “Please, please, no explosions.”
Chad rolled his eyes. “No, you dimwit, little problems. You make explosions in Mestre and this entire part of Italy goes to hell in a handbasket.”
“He’s talking more about money laundering; shit like that,” Jensen said, grinning. “And don’t worry, it won’t take long for the books to clear. Little problems, I swear.”
Jared sat back, relaxed. “Okay, the last thing I wanted was some innocent schlub to get caught in the middle of all this shit.”
“You mean your shit, right?” Chad corrected.
“That too,” Jared confessed.
“And I might have something to help move that along,” Chris said. “Atherton said Moretti recently got divorced and it was nasty. The wife took half and from what Atherton told me it was the better half.”
“So he’s probably tight up for cash,” Jensen hummed to himself. “Maybe he starts cutting corners…”
Chad grinned. “Okay, yeah, I could work with that.”
“Some sub par stuff found on site, maybe being installed,” Jensen continued, ignoring Chad’s interruption. “And the city steps in because people get pissed…”
“All right,” Jared interrupted this time. “I see where this is going.”
“And his reputation takes a hit,” Jensen said. “But not for long.”
“Wrong paperwork, wrong shipment,” Chad said. “Big oopsie, sorry for that. No permanent damage done.”
“You’ll work on the substandard material?” Jensen asked.
“Give me few hours,” Chad said. “I should be able to dredge up some shitty stuff by dinner.”
“I can forge the papers,” Jensen said. “I just need a sample to work off of.”
“Got that,” Chris said. He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Dropped by Moretti’s place after drinks with Atherton. Just wanted to see if he was shady.”
“Is he?” Jared asked.
“Well, he’s not squeaky clean but in the business he’s in - he’s about as honest as they come.”
Jensen looked through the papers and shook his head. “I could’ve forged this in the sixth grade with crayons and some rubber stamps.”
“That sounds about right,” Chad said, taking a peek over his shoulder. “You could get that paper at the local office store.”
“Let’s get moving then,” Jensen said. “Jared, you want to come?”
“As opposed to breaking and entering and planting false documents?” Jared stood up and grabbed his bag. “I’ll take the trip to the corner store.”
“Okay, then,” Chad yawned and poured himself another coffee cup. “I’ll get going too.”
“Just call us when before midnight,” Chris said. “So we know you’re okay or we should go storming to save your skinny ass.”
“This ass is about as perfect as God could’ve made it,” Chad retorted then added, “but I’ll call.”
Jared couldn’t help but feel inordinate amount of fondness for the grifter as Chad drifted out of his room ten minutes later, looking like a tourist out for a rip-roaring night in Disney World. Jared wondered for the nth time how in hell Chad made any leeway dressed so outrageously in a city renown for its good taste and historical appreciation.
“I don’t know if the guy’s really that crazy or it’s just all an act,” Chris admitted as Chad's light footsteps echoed from the stairs.
“I think it’s a rare combination of both,” Jensen answered. “But the question should be posed to wiser men than we, don’t you think?”
“Amen,” Chris said. “Going to get some shut-eye since it looks like my evening’s completely booked.”
“Do that, I’ll wake you when it’s mealtime.”
Jared realized Chris was about to have a six-hour nap as dinnertime in Venice didn’t kick in until nine if not ten at night. Exactly what is he planning to do after dinner? Jared wondered but wisely decided not to ask; mostly because he really didn’t want to know the answer. And he was genuinely fearful of Chris’ temper should the man not get enough rest.
For all he knew Chris could just dip into the homicidal pool if he didn’t get his eight hours a day.
He watched Jensen get ready and then silently joined him as they made their way out into the city to buy the necessary supplies for forging documents.
Jensen peeked into Jared’s bedroom and to make sure his friend was asleep. He doubted Jared would be awoken by anything Chris and he did at two in the morning, but they had to be sure. Should anything go wrong, Jared’s protest of innocence had to have a genuine ring to it as his friend was a horrible liar.
Chris gave Jensen a swift kick on the backside, forcing Jensen into a stumble before recuperating.
Since they didn’t want to risk been seen by anyone, the two men left the apartment through the alley door. Chris expertly navigated them to Moretti’s office at the Mestre. Surrounded by factories and dingy corporate offices, the two men had little problem staying hidden as they scouted the area.
After being satisfied that there were no security cameras, Jensen took lead. He dared not use the same door Chris had earlier so Jensen singled out a window on the left side of the building. Its frame was rotted so badly that he managed to pop the entire thing without breaking the glass. Chris held it while Jensen climbed in and then wedged it back into its hole. He waited outside, making sure Jensen would not be disturbed as he planted the necessary documents.
Following Chris’ directions, Jensen found Moretti’s office at the back end of the building. He was shocked by the state of disarray it was in, and also slightly annoyed. The only way Moretti was able to do any kind of business surrounded by such chaos was because he had his own filing system.
This behavior forced Jensen to take great care where he planted the false invoices and order forms. He had to dig through many piles before he found acceptable spots. That way, as Moretti tried to find out how the substandard material got into his business, he wouldn’t suspect sabotage as an answer.
Jensen climbed out of the window then made sure the frame wouldn’t pop out from a jostle. He then joined Chris and the two men once more made their way back to Dorsoduro by using a completely different route. All during their trip, they doubled back to ensure they didn’t have anyone following them.
And they didn’t. Should they’ve set out even an hour earlier, Carlson would’ve been on their tail but the FBI agent gave up surveillance at one-thirty in the morning.
Jared woke up, rolled over, and fell out of his bed. He’d forgotten how tiny these European beds could be, and as a trick of fate or because of God’s strange sense of humor, Jared ended up with the smallest one in the apartment.
But he wasn’t about to complain since he also had the best view. Jared opened the door to his balcony and stepped out into the cool air. And since the mornings were still a bit chilly, the smell from the canal wasn’t as horrific as two in the afternoon.
Small boats carrying produce and other perishable goods moved along, proving Venice wasn’t completely a ghost city. A woman peeked out from under a parasol as her gondola drifted by. He gave a wan smile then blushed when he realized he was wearing only shorts and a ratty one at that.
He stepped inside, changed his clothes and went to the kitchen. As usual Jensen was just finishing his morning correspondence. Jared gave a nod of recognition then trudged out to the corner bakery where tempting smells wafted out in ephemeral tendrils.
He bought a variety of morning pastries along with loaves of puccia and pan azzimo, which Chris loved and pretty much devoured before noon. Jared hungrily munched on a cornetto, picked up bottles of Pellegrino at a small market before making his way back. Though he was relegated to the duty of making sure the fridge was well stocked, shopping for the crew was easy enough for Jared since the rest of the team was satisfied with cold cuts, fresh fruit and cheeses he was able to glean from the stores that were open through August.
He saw intrepid tourist couple brave out of their hotel and study their surroundings. In spite of the fact that the streets were pretty much dead, they looked positively ecstatic.
Maybe they’re smart and realize they’ve got the city all to themselves. At least until rest of their brethren wake up and venture forth.
He was on his third cornetto by the time he’d reached the apartment. So, the first thing he did was to take a swig of orange juice as he put out the stuff he’d bought for breakfast.
Chad was rummaging through the fridge and gave a hearty wave as a way of greeting. Jensen came over and grabbed two cornettos. Jared took a peek into his mug and saw it was filled with what looked like coffee. Jared knew better though.
“Exactly how many shots did you swill down so far?”
Jensen made a face. “Five.”
“Jesus, how could you take in that much caffeine and not go crazy?”
“Practice and a well-trained addiction,” Jensen answered promptly. “For a guy who can’t handle a ladle, you know the best food shops.”
“That’s because I can’t cook for shit,” Jared said. “But I do love a good meal. So, last night?”
Jensen cocked his head and thought for a moment. “We managed to plant the paperwork. Chad’s got a line on the stuff we need, so I think with an anonymous phone call Mr. Moretti’s going to have some problems in his hands by the end of this week.”
"That's pretty fast for a place like Venice," Chad muttered through a mouthful of cornetto.
"Not if you call the right person," Jensen said. "Like Moretti's ex-wife's current boyfriend whose job is to check up on building permits and code compliance. From what I hear there's no love lost between those two men."
Chad shook his head in amusement. "You are the man."
Chris meandered out of his bedroom, nearly colliding with a sofa before making his way to them. “Oh man, mucho gracias,” he muttered and took out a chunk from the pan azzimo which he washed down with a glass of orange juice.
“When did you guys drop by Moretti?” Jared asked. He’d stayed up until one, waiting for Jensen and Chris to leave the apartment. He’d fallen asleep waiting to hear their footfall.
“Around three,” Chris answered. “Things are dead then. Well, maybe not Tokyo, but those people are crazy so they don’t count.”
“Things tend to be dead during those hours,” Jensen explained. “Yes, certain cities are notorious for partying even at dawn, but they do so at certain points in the city, not in the business district.”
“But not Tokyo,” Chris corrected.
“No, not Tokyo,” Jensen conceded.
Chris grunted and said, “By the way, Chad, congrads on getting the stuff.”
Jared looked around the apartment. “Wait a minute: you stashed that shit here?”
Chad grinned. “No, dumbass. I got it corralled in a warehouse.”
“Won’t that leave a paper trail?”
“The warehouse was already occupied. We’re just borrowing a corner,” Chad explained. “The owners won’t know anything.”
“The security?” Jensen asked.
“Minimum, at best,” Chad answered. “And it’s August so the guard’s on duty until eleven, then he takes a lunch break and comes back at three. He goes home at seven, and there’s no night guard to replace him.
“Then we could come and go as we please.”
Jared gave a low whistle but said nothing. He understood that as risky as that particular move was, it was the safest choice. No paper trail, no evidence of any wrongdoing. And as long as the renters didn’t find out the plan was foolproof.
“Do you know exactly how much?” Jared asked casually.
Chad shrugged. “Couple of bales of copper wire from somewhere in Africa, bunch of shit from the Ukraine, and some other stuff from a country you probably don’t want to know, or at least that’s what Tomas said.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for Mr. Moretti,” Jared muttered. He then glanced at Jensen. "Wait a minute, how in hell did you plant the paperwork last night if Chad's not sure..."
“They had to be general," Jensen said. "At least general enough to support the idea that there was a mix-up in the shipment and Moretti got screwed. It happens all the time, especially when you deal with so many sellers like Moretti does.”
“He’s bound to get screwed over,” Chris added. “No big deal.”
Jared felt better though his worries weren’t still completely gone.
“By the way, I got the job,” Chris said. “Got the text just now. Starting on Monday.”
Jensen gave a low whistle of relief. “That’s very good news. I wasn’t sure what to do if that didn’t pan out.”
“What can I say?” Chris wolfed down another hunk of bread. “I’m one a kind and the man’s smart enough to appreciate it.”
“Exactly what can you do?” Jared couldn’t stop from asking. “Can you really work as an electrician?”
“I know some stuff,” Chris said. “Besides, they’re going to need people who knows more than what wire’s right for which job and what fuse goes where.”
Jared decided he’d asked enough questions and munched on another cornetto while listening to others chatter about inconsequential things.
Day Eleven
Chris laughed. He turned to his boss and asked, “Seriously? Your parents named you Whitney?!”
“Why do you think I never go by my first name? Everyone calls me Atherton. Hell, if I wasn’t so fond of my balls I’d make my wife call me Atherton!”
Chris handed over a set of pliers at watched the grizzly ex-car salesman rewire the bedroom’s dimmer. “So, how is business going?”
“Good, actually, better than last summer. Thank the good Lord!”
“You got new clients?”
“Yeah, just got a call from a French baroness who bought a palace here,” Atherton wrinkled his nose in distaste. “God knows why. If I lived in France, I’d stay there!”
“A baroness?” Chris elbowed Atherton. “You’re moving up on the world.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I got the account,” Atherton admitted. “But it’s one time deal.”
“Word of a baroness? Sounds like hard currency to me. Especially in the circles she travels in.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Atherton said. “From what I hear she’s a recluse. Except for some charity functions she hosts, the woman hardly steps into the social light.”
“Wonder why.”
“From what I’ve heard she’s had a very troubled past.”
“Well, traveling in that crowd…”
“Her entire family was murdered by the Nazis during WWII.”
Chris managed to look chastened. “Okay, that’s pretty much the worst kind of trouble.”
“She’s quiet about it though. The only reason I know is because someone … well, you know how these stories go.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. He handed over the replacement dimmer. “So, what are we doing for her?”
“Setting up new wiring for an entire floor in her palace,” Atherton explained. “The work’s going to be pretty damn difficult because the place has hodge-podge of an electrical system. And she’s got some heavy duty security going on so we’re going to have to be extra careful unless we want a rain of bodyguards and police on our heads.”
“Not surprised,” Chris said. “So we’re going to tread softly. And make sure not to piss off the big men in black suits.”
“Hand me that, will you?”
Chris did as asked and kept up friendly chatter. He wanted to make sure Atherton included him in the team when the Landau job started. Chris actually liked working for the guy and the thought of hurting one of his co-workers in order to take their place didn’t sit well with him.
Nevertheless, he’d prepared for such contingencies by memorizing all the employees’ home addresses when he had a moment alone in Atherton’s office. Personal distaste rarely dictated what Chris did. Or at least that was the rule until his former employers had embroiled him in the insurance scam.
Insurance scam and cold-blooded murder, Chris corrected himself.
Life had gotten harder since then, but in some ways, it had also gotten easier. Chris didn’t dislike talking about himself as he did back then. And he genuinely enjoyed the company he kept. Even the annoying self-righteous prick, Padalecki, had his good points.
Chris didn’t say anything, but he wondered if there was something between the Jared and Jensen while they were still kids. That in spite of living in a society that so thoroughly condemned homosexuality or expressions of such emotions amongst teenagers, these two managed to somehow to nurture a romantic interest.
Chris grinned at his meandering thoughts. Doesn’t matter now. Padalecki’s Jensen’s client and that means the Original Rule applies: never, ever get involved with a client.
That golden rule had kept Jensen safe, and away from the clutches of the law.
Combine his Hollywood looks and the nature of his business, the thief had amassed quite a few fans. And they wouldn’t mind having him warm their beds along with their bank accounts. But Jensen was also too well aware they were a fickle and a temperamental group.
So he’d taken on the persona of iceman: someone who could not be wooed, swayed, or seduced. In some ways this made him even more attractive, but as Jensen had repeatedly told Chris, at least the clients didn’t expect extra services along with the commissioned heist.
No way Jensen would break that cardinal law, not even for a childhood buddy. Especially for a childhood buddy. Not if he knew what was good for all of us.
Day Five
Jensen was actually grateful for the heat. At least with the warm weather his hip didn’t act up as much. To his dismay he’d discovered that the old adage was true: temperamental weather, especially wet and cold weather, made his injured bones ache.
Jensen stretched once more, forcing his spine into a hard arch as he raised his arms over his head. He braced himself for the twinge on his lower left ribs. He had inadvertently bruised them during a routine few days ago but the pain from that area was nothing compared the one radiating from his damaged right hip.
To his delight, his ribs remained quiet, and since he’d gotten used to the hip injury Jensen was fully braced for the teeth-clenching pain.
I’m going to have to retire, Jensen concluded. He knew his career as an art thief had come to a standstill with the injury. And he was semi-resigned to never stepping into his kid shoes again until Jared had reentered his life.
Jensen could never be mistaken for a romantic. He knew he was taking a huge risk when he'd agreed to Jared's terms but he couldn’t stand the idea of having his old friend go to someone else for help.
Not unless he was also able to fully accept seeing his friend’s brutal demise in the papers.
Just this one job, dear Lord, Jensen found himself praying. After that ... well, you can even the score any which way you see fit.
Jensen closed his eyes and dropped his head back, relinquishing his control over the pain. With cautious steps, Jensen hobbled over to his bedside table and popped two Tylenols. After taking a good whiff of himself, Jensen decided he needed a shower.
The moment he opened the door, his limp disappeared and a bright smile emerged from his narrow face.
“Hey,” he greeted his friends. “Any changes?”
“Going to Landau’s place at five with Atherton,” Chris said. “Just to scope out the work. From what I hear she won’t be there so we’re going to have an escort show us around.”
“That’s very good news,” Jensen said. “You know what to do?”
Chris nodded. “Got a camera and a sweeper. I don’t want to use the laser devices in case she’s got a redundant system.”
“Okay, just find out the frequencies.”
“Plan to do one better,” Chris said. “Find out where the wiring is on the third floor - odds are good they’re going to be in the same spot on the fourth. Even with heavy modifications, Moretti and his men wouldn’t want to deviate too much.”
“It’d be nice if they were all fed off a central line before they reached the fourth floor,” Jensen said wistfully.
“And the backup system ran parallel to it,” Chris added.
“And I wish Monica Bellucci was giving me a foot massage, but it ain’t going to happen,” Chad said, grinning.
Chris snorted into his coffee cup, unable to hide his smile.
Jensen was about to head towards the bathroom when he saw the look on Jared’s face. He sat down next to the pale man and took the proffered bottle of water. “How you feeling?”
Jared looked so surprised by the question that Jensen had to add, “I heard you emptying out your stomach last night.”
Jared flushed a dull red and looked down at his hands. “I ended up thinking too much, I guess. I knew this was going to be hard, but I didn’t put all the logistics together until last night.
“I mean … if Moretti hadn’t gotten into trouble, if Chris hadn’t gotten that job, if…”
“Shut up,” Chad said, “You’re boring me.”
Jared looked sharply at him.
“Look, whatever worried you last night probably danced through our heads quite a few times in the last month,” Chris explained. “It’s been chewed over, digested and done with. So don’t think about it. Just focus on what’s coming up in the next seven days because…”
Chris faltered and gave a nervous glance at Jensen who sighed and said, “Because in all likelihood, the switch is going to happen next few days.”
Jared looked startled. “What? What do you mean? So early?”
“Like any heist, most of the time is used in the prep work,” Jensen explained. “The actual heist is pretty damn quick: it has to be.”
“So … so … you’re planning to go through with it in two days?”
“Jared, I was prepared to go through with it every single minute of every single day we’ve been in Venice. Like I explained before: a lot of art theft happens because of a combination of luck and chance. If either cropped up in good enough quantity - then yeah, I better be prepared to haul ass.”
“But since that didn’t happen, we’re forced to make our chance,” Chris said. “Which is what’s going to happen in the next few days.”
“What should I do?” Jared asked.
“Besides making sure we can get out of Italy?” Chad looked thoughtful for a moment. “Get rid of half your luggage, dude. There’s no way you’re not going to get noticed hauling that much shit around, even in Venice.”
Jensen saw the seriousness in Jared’s eyes and said, “He’s joking.”
“Fuck you,” Jared said without any heat.
Jensen smiled and soon found himself laughing with Jared. The banter wasn’t really that funny but it had done a great deal to ease his mood. And as he watched Jared laugh with his usual booming personality, Jensen found the pain from his hip slowly wash away.
It wasn't until he was in the shower that Jensen allowed himself to actually admit what he had felt while watching Jared laugh.
Can't fall in love. Not again. And not with Jared.
Jensen had a grand plan once, when he could still afford dreams of Olympic glory. He would keep his sexuality a secret from the media, and in return for his silence the American Olympics Committee and the men's gymnastic team would turn a blind eye to what he was.
Then, long after his retirement, he'd quietly come out. Not that he had any desire to become a public figure, but because Jensen had fully planned to be in a happy relationship, and he wasn't the type to ask his partner to keep quiet about their marriage.
But his father had lost his job at the library, even though the man had put in twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of wearing suits to work, even when he had to do janitorial duties because of budget cuts. And without his family's financial support, even with the scholarship that was offered, Jensen couldn't attend Stanford.
He'd tried desperately to keep up with his training, but gymnastics was an expensive sport and he couldn't get the sponsors he needed. It was then he'd met Keith. A man whom Jensen thought would save him from utter ruin.
Two years later, Jensen was doing common breaking and entering to support Keith's numerous habits. If he hadn't stumbled across Bobby Singer's radar, Jensen would've been another John Doe in the ME's office. Fortunately, he did. The crafty fox weaned Jensen away from his destructive relationship with Keith and taught him the finer arts of theft. And with Jensen's natural prowess, it wasn't long before Jensen's scores ranged in the hundreds of thousands instead of few bucks.
Jensen curled his hands into fists, letting his nails carve their hate into his palms.
This is just a job. Get it done and get everyone home. Safe.
Chris was in awe. He knew the word ‘palace’ usually meant opulent surroundings. But the Landau woman had decorated her home using not only her wealth but also supremely good taste. The silk curtains and furniture were ornate but not overwhelming. And peppered throughout were personal touches. Photographs not showing the famous and the rich but friends and family. And unlike his stint in Miami, nothing in the palace screamed 'money money money'.
Up to this moment, Landau was only an assignment, but now Chris felt proud that he was returning something that belonged to her.
Something precious and rightfully hers.
“Wow,” Atherton said. “Okay, this is something different. Usually, I feel like I’m in a museum whenever I come into one of these buildings.”
“She must be loaded.”
“Her husband was an oil baron from what I’ve read,” Atherton said. "He died ten years ago and left her with everything."
A tall, painfully thin man entered the room. At first glance he looked like an underfed accountant, but Chris saw the special shoes and the way the stork walked. The man was armed for an invasion and the thinness was pretty good disguise for strength.
This guy’s trained and not in a dojo. He’s got blood under his nails.
“Name’s Peter,” the stranger said, breaking into a thin but polite smile.
Chris pinned the accent as Australian and mentally ran down a list of places the guard could have earned his merit badges.
South Africa, Somalia, not the Pacific ‘cause that’d be too close to home. Chris then saw the deep tan lines where a watch used to reside on Peter’s right wrist. Definitely tropical. And a leftie. Fuck me.
He then looked up and caught Peter reading him just as thoroughly.
Well. Shit. So much for private time.
“Would you like something to drink or eat before we begin?”
“Nah, let’s start with the tour,” Atherton said, pulling out a pad of paper and pencil. He saw Peter’s look of surprise. “I’m an old fashioned kind of guy.”
To Chris’ waning expectations, Peter did not leave their side once, and made sure his attention was fully focused on both of them throughout the tour. However, this didn’t prevent Chris from learning as much as possible the layout on the third floor, as he was mindful of the fact that it could be duplicated on the fourth.
Atherton took a deep breath the moment they were out of the front gates. Chris didn’t hear the door close behind them and knew they were still being watched. So, he remained unobtrusively quiet as his boss led them back to their boat.
“Was it just me or was it getting weird in there?” Atherton asked. “I swear, that guy thought we were going to walk away with the family silver!”
“Someone probably tried,” Chris said dryly. “Can’t blame him for doing his job.”
“True,” Atherton said. “But he gave us shit on a shingle for our job. And I can’t go asking again because it might piss off Landau and have us out the door before we can say unfair.”
“Really?” Chris asked. He thought out a scheme and then gently prodded, “Know who did the previous work?”
“Well, Moretti was contracted to do the fourth floor which was three years ago.”
“Think Moretti could give us some info?”
Atherton shook his head. “No, the guy’s plenty sore about losing this bid. He’s not going to lift a finger to help us.”
“But?” Chris wheedled when he heard the thoughtful pause at the end of Atherton’s lament.
“He hired an outside contractor - Alberto - to help him when he got that first job. And Alberto’s a good man. I’ve worked with him before. He might know something that I could use.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chris later discovered that Alberto did plenty of work for Moretti, and though contractually obligated to destroy any written documents pertaining to the system he helped install, he’d kept a copy in case something went wrong and he became embroiled in a lawsuit.
He was obliging enough to copy the layouts for Atherton with a caveat that Landau might have had more work done that negated any information he had.
Atherton took the copies with a grateful smile and a promise that should he find the work too much for his people, he’d be glad to call Alberto.
Chris fairly danced upon finding all this and by midnight Jensen also had a copy of the portfolio. As they already suspected, the layouts were similar between floors with few key differences.
“The backup generator is in the courtyard,” Jensen said. “Why am I surprised?”
“Why? Are you?” Jared asked, confused by the genuine surprise in Jensen’s voice.
“Aesthetics,” Jensen explained. “Thought she might have had it tucked away behind a garage or something. Would’ve been a lot easier to get to instead of an open courtyard.”
“And it puts out on a completely different feed,” Chris said. “So we’ve got an independent backup system throughout the building.”
“But look at this,” Jensen pointed to a section. “Here, they run the same path for at least seven inches.”
“So we access that section and we get to neutralize both,” Chris said.
Chad peered closer. “But that’s in between floors, isn’t it?”
“No,” Jensen corrected him. “At least not really.”
Jared looked closer. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s a phantom floor,” Chris said after closely examining the documents, his voice thin with awe. “Holy shit, she built an entire floor?”
“Must have,” Jensen said.
“I still don’t get it.” Jared desperately looked closer but still couldn’t see what the rest were gaping at.
Jensen placed the documents showing the fourth floor schematics on top of the third. Jared saw minute differences in the layout of some piping and wiring, but the only reason he was able to spot them was because Jensen pointed them out.
“She built a floor between third and fourth,” Chad explained. “I’m not talking about an actual floor where there are rooms and toilets. Probably just a hallway. Maybe a panic room.”
“From the schematics and what I know of her, I’d say its maximum height is five feet three since she’s sixty-one inches tall. But look, she’s got all the security wiring running through it along with backup power.”
“Man, that’s fucking clever,” Chris said.
“How?”
“Because phantom floors are tricky,” Jensen said. “There are very few ways to get to them.”
“No elevators, no windows, and sometimes not even stairs,” Chris explained further. “There are probably two or three access hatches but these plans won’t show where.”
“Finding them is going to be difficult,” Chad said. “If she's smart she had them built after everything was put in.”
“So odds are only she and a select few know,” Jared concluded.
“If we consider her age,” Jensen peered closer at the plans, “and it was built to her specifications, then it’s something she wants to access quickly if need be.”
“Why?” Jared asked. “I mean … why would she want to crawl down into a floor with only wirings?”
“It’s a point of escape, Jared,” Jensen answered. “From my experience and her background, it’s probably psychological.”
“Intensely psychological,” Chris said. “But I guess that’s not surprising considering her history.”
“So, how do we do find them?” Jared asked.
“There are only so many areas where she could’ve placed one,” Jensen said. He pointed to a spot then another, “Here and here.”
Chris frowned then pointed to a spot on the far left. “What about there?”
Jensen cocked his head. “Isn’t that a guest bedroom? Wouldn’t that be too risky?”
“It’s a bedroom but I think it belongs to the security team, probably the Stork.”
Jensen grinned at the nickname. “Still hating him for figuring you out?”
“No,” Chris grumbled, “he just looks like one.”
“How do we locate the entrance?” Jared asked. “Jensen can’t just stroll through the entire third floor looking for it. It’s too dangerous.”
“It’s a risk,” Jensen admitted. “I’m going to need another night to plan this out. Chris, I want you to start the job. That way you can get the feel of the place. I’ve seen aerial recon of the palace and it’s an interesting layout. To tell you the truth, it feels more like a fortress than anything else.”
“Again, the psychology comes in,” Chad said. “And, can I say? Not surprised.”
The meeting ended right after that. Jared knew he wasn’t reacting well to the situation but he couldn’t stop. He went after Jensen and as soon as he closed the door, Jared rounded on him.
“You can’t be serious,” Jared said desperately. “I'm next to stupid with all this but even I know the scenario we discussed isn’t good. In fact, I think it’s pretty much sweepstakes from hell.”
“Not really,” Jensen said calmly. “Look, I knew it could get hairy. And believe me this isn’t as nearly dangerous as some of my other jobs.”
Jared sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe off from you,” Jensen said. “But the truth is … the truth is if this is the only way to do this, then you’d let me. Right?”
Jared’s anger was crushed under his shame. His silence was enough of an answer so Jensen didn’t push further.
“It’s not that difficult,” Jensen said reassuringly. “Once I have access to the phantom floor it gets lot easier. I can turn the security system off or at least compromise it. After that I’ll need only few minutes to do my job.”
“You’re going to be carrying the painting,” Jared said, suddenly realizing how much more precarious Jensen’s situation was. “Holy shit - you’re going to do all that with the painting strapped to your back?”
Jensen shrugged. “I calculated that in long time ago.”
Jared sat down and took a deep breath. “Okay, this sucks all around.”
Jensen sat next to him. “Jared, my job is never easy. That’s what makes it so interesting.”
Jared looked at his friend. “Is that why you do it?”
Jensen smiled. “Actually, yeah. I like the rush, the challenge, and the difficulties. It’s not legal and sure as hell isn’t safe, but life’s never boring.”
“How long do you plan to do this?” Jared pointed at Jensen’s hip. “I know you think you’re hiding it and you are doing a good job, but that injury’s bad. I can tell that much.”
“To tell the truth, I’m going to retire,” Jensen said. “This is going to be my last hurrah.”
“Then what?”
“I’m thinking about opening an art gallery.”
Jared’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious?”
Jensen nodded. “I’ve been exposed to a lot of great art. And a lot of bad art. I figure it’s about time I put my hard-earned knowledge to use.”
“I can’t imagine you in a suit or some black Hugo Boss ensemble, glad-handing rich people.”
“It’s not the buyers that makes me want to open the gallery,” Jensen said. “It’s the artists.”
“Really? You know few people?”
“I know a lot of good artists who are dying out there because they can’t get a fair break,” Jensen said. “They’re not pretty enough, young enough, hot enough. They’re too ethnic, too black, too white - you name it, I’ve heard it.
“After a while, you want to do something.”
“So, you open a gallery and sell their works?”
“Works of living artists,” Jensen said. “I’m not dissing the old masters. Man, they’ve earned their place in history, but I want to focus on the new kids.”
“You think you could make a go of it?”
“Definitely.”
“So, where would this gallery be? New York? Los Angeles? Las Vegas?”
“Dallas, lots of new money there,” Jensen said with an easy grin. “And that means eager clients wanting something different.”
Jared thought about the clientele Jensen wanted to focus on. “But they’re the ones who like the old masters, the Monets and the Picassos.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could find ways for them to part with their money.”
Jared laughed softly. “You’re mighty ambitious guy.”
“Pays to dream big.”
“So, my ten million?”
Jensen stiffened visibly but said, “Yeah, my cut’s going to go to the gallery.”
“Sounds like a good investment.”
Jensen’s posture relaxed. “It will be.”
“Just so you know, if there’s anything I can do, I will.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said.
Steve was confused. And Agent Carlson didn’t like confused. It gave him heartburn. But as far as he could see, either Ackles was planning the biggest heist in recent history or Morgan was telling the truth: the dickwad was going to return a painting.
And his friends were going to help him.
Steve ran down the mental list he’d prepped on Ackles’ group. Save for Padalecki, the rest were a collection of what Steve would like to describe as ‘very able men with diverse interests.’
Steve smirked. The only thing I’ve got to show for this assignment is five pounds. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to work off the Freshman Fifteen all over again.
He peered into his binoculars and spotted Padalecki leaving Ackles’ bedroom. Once again, he wondered what was between those two.
They’re more than just friends, but either they’re both thicker than a stack of bricks or something happened and they’re not doing anything about their feelings.
Steve felt bad for them. Though given half a chance, he’d arrest all of them with no remorse, after witnessing their daily routine for weeks, he’d developed a certain fondness for them.
Steve had been warned of this: that agents develop emotional connection to their targets under certain scenarios. And he’d prepared himself for it. Still, he’d taken a liking to Koenig’s swagger, Kane’s icy-cold efficiency, and Ackles’ astonishing gift of physical grace. The only time Steve had ever seen anyone prove such talent as Ackles’ was on television, when the men’s gymnastics competition was on during the Olympics.
Too bad he never had a chance. He’d been one of the greats if he’d made it to Sydney or Athens.
Padalecki’s bedroom lights went on and the familiar tall shadow flittered by the semi-transparent curtains.
What could I arrest him for? Hanging around with shady characters? Steve sat back and gave it some serious thought and concluded, I got nothing on him.
Somehow that didn’t anger the agent. Steve liked Padalecki and would’ve been proud to call him friend if they didn’t stand on opposite sides of the law. He’d discovered second Padalecki son came with a clean record, exemplary reputation for his kindness to his friends and family. He was also one of the major patrons to three animal shelters in San Antonio and the guy didn’t just throw money at them. He showed up on adoption days, wasn’t above using that famed smile or even more famous abs to ensure that the older Labrador or the shy cat found a home before sunset.
Steve winced as the first onset of heartburn roared out of his guts.
Day One
Jensen paid the kid the agreed upon sum. He then waited until he knew both the boy and his handler were gone before focusing on the little guesthouse.
So, the FBI does know about me.
The panic he’d expected didn’t come. Jensen had suspected they had a shadow for weeks now. But he decided not to voice his concerns as he didn’t know anything.
So, he played it cautiously and had hired a local talent for ferreting out the tail. It had taken the eleven-year-old less than a day to discover that an American was following them, and that the guy was very good at it.
This meant the American was either a pro in their line of work or someone who chased down pros in Jensen’s line of work.
The first time Jensen saw Carlson he thought he had another thief wanting to steal the painting for his gain. However, the boy reported otherwise. On his own initiative, the kid had taken a look inside Carlson’s tiny bedroom and found the FBI identification card and other matching law enforcement personnel documents.
Jensen wanted to call off the job right then, but after some hard thinking he decided otherwise. The FBI agent would’ve moved already if he had anything solid, but the fact that the guy was just trailing after them told Jensen that Carlson had nothing concrete enough to bring to the local law enforcement.
Jensen wondered if Carlson would ever make a move and decided not to give him cause to; he planned to make the switch after the agent was safely tucked in bed. And by the time the unfortunate man woke up, Venice would be minus four American tourists.
I guess I’m going to have to take that early retirement after all, Jensen concluded dryly.
He returned to the apartment and found the rest of the team in serious conversation.
“What is it?”
“Tonight,” Chris said. “The old lady’s going to attend a party. And she’s bringing the Stork and two other guards. That leaves only two other men guarding the entire building.”
“The city is also scheduling a rolling blackout,” Chad said. “And that part of Venice is going to get hit between one and three in the morning.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be tonight, then.” Jensen took a deep breath. “Chad, handle the painting like we’ve discussed. No matter what happens, don’t bring it here.”
“Done, anything else?”
“Wear something less flashy and get your hands coated.”
“Coated?” Jared echoed.
“We can’t walk around in gloves during August heat,” Chad said. “Instead we coat our hands with a type of plastic. Also less chance of leaving DNA residue.”
“I got your bodysuit,” Chris said. He went to his bedroom and returned with a small gym bag. “It’s got shoes, too.”
Jared eyes widened when he realized Chad was Jensen's backup in case things went south. He was tempted to ask about those scenarios, but he didn't think his stomach could hold it together if he got the answers so Jared kept his mouth shut.
Chad took it. “When do we start?”
“One,” Jensen decided. “I want to make sure she’s still out. Three would be too late for someone like Landau.”
“And from the security team’s schedule - the two men who are staying behind are usually on the afternoon shifts,” Chris added. “They’re not going to be functioning too well at one in the morning. They might be professionals but they’re still human and that means their bodies are on schedule. Especially after working such cushy job for years.”
“I’ll see you at one, then.” Chad whirled around and added, “And I will call if things get weird.”
Jared waited until Chad was gone before asking, “What should I do?”
“Get some shut eye,” Jensen said. “And pack your stuff. We might have to leave quickly.”
Jared gave a nervous smile and left. He was halfway done packing when his legs followed good on their threat and gave out. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes.
“Oh fuck it,” he whispered weakly.
Jared then tried to finish packing to find out that somehow, he couldn’t fit all the clothes back into the four bags. He stared bleakly at the heaping mess strewn across his bed.
I didn’t buy anything. What the fuck?!
“You need help?”
Jared jumped and turned around to find Jensen standing at the doorway.
“I thought you might need some hand,” Jensen said, closing the door behind him.
“I’m doing okay,” Jared protested, knowing how helpless he looked.
Jensen smiled but said nothing. Instead, he emptied all the bags. He then began folding the clothes. As Jared watched, Jensen meticulously put away everything until only the necessities remained.
“That’s better,” Jensen said. He looked at Jared. “The panic you’re feeling isn’t because of fear. It’s because everything is coming to an end.”
“Like finals,” Jared said with a small stutter. “But with guns.”
Jensen nodded. “Something like that.”
“This sucks.”
“It’ll suck a lot less tomorrow when you’re back in Texas.”
“Then what?”
Jensen sighed and leaned back onto the wall. “Then we take a big fucking vacation. That includes you, Jared. You really need to decompress.”
“How do I do that?”
“Go to work, meet your friends. Visit your family. The normal things you did before you got embroiled in all this.”
“Hey, this was my shit. I was the one who dragged you into it.”
“But you get the idea, right?”
Jared rubbed his face and wondered how in hell he was going to get any rest even though he felt so tired he didn't think he could make it down the stairs to the lobby.
“Eat something,” Jensen recommended. “Then take a nap. We’re going to move fast once the night falls.”
Jared decided that was a damn good idea. So, he ate his body weight and by doing so was able to fall to an uneasy sleep fueled by fresh bread, cold cuts, and unpasteurized goat cheese.
Part III * Conclusion