Chapter 18 – The Heist

Leon drove them the few blocks to the bank and parked in a nearby alley. As per the plan, he opened the back bay door to reveal nailed vegetable crates. He then sat himself down in the back to smoke a cigarette as if just a regular driver on a break while Barney parked on the sidewalk nearby, leaving his Chicago muscle to take the wheel. There was a sharp, determined energy to Barney’s posture as he disembarked, too immature for it to be mistaken for confidence. It set Cheshire on edge as he fell into step alongside him. A real bank heist—it should have been a thrill, but with Barney leading the charge and him not being allowed to make a show of it, he was finding it hard to work up his usual enthusiasm. There wasn’t anything clever or artful in waving a gun at frightened civilians.

“Don’t forget, these people aren’t like back in Brooklyn,” Barney warned as they approached the entrance to the bank. “They don’t know you well enough not to sell you out, so don’t give yourself away.”

“I remember,” Cheshire reassured him, and they each donned their handkerchief masks. I just have to stay in line for now, and everything will get better.

The second car pulled up to the sidewalk directly in front of the bank entrance, and Jakub and Hannah climbed out with their faces already covered. Jakub hefted his rifle to his shoulder, and his solid, unhurried gait as he headed for the door put Barney to shame. As much as Cheshire had seen him in action, he couldn’t help a little shiver of awe: this was certainly the hardened, skillful criminal he had spent his childhood foolishly idolizing, so easy in his role that Cheshire wished he could have committed it to film.

Jakub entered the bank first and immediately sprayed a line of bullets across the far wall—much too high to risk hitting anyone, but enough to blast the wooden molding off the tops of the line of tellers, casting splinters and one shattered clock onto the terrified employees. Barney shouldered his way in right after, bellowing, “Nobody move! This is a robbery!”

“We’re regular cowboys now, huh?” Cheshire remarked to Hannah as they entered right behind, but she didn’t spare him a glance let alone a response.

“Hands up!” Jakub ordered, making an adorable effort to hide his accent as he herded the bank’s only three customers into a corner next to an overpaid and underprepared security guard. “Don’t try anything. Lie down—keep your heads down and I won’t shoot you.”

Hannah shot her way into the teller booths, and amidst the whimpers and shrieks she cornered the workers back below the countertops. So far so smooth, at least. Cheshire drew his gun just so he would fit in and swept his gaze across the lobby. Just as they’d hoped the number of patrons and staff numbered under a dozen, and the neighborhood was well-off enough that none of them had ever suspected a bank robbery to reach them. No one was inclined to fight back or make a scene.

None except for the security guard, apparently; as Cheshire passed by Jakub and his hostages on his way toward the back, he noticed the aging man in a security uniform reaching for the weapon on his belt. Cheshire leveled his revolver at the man and thumbed back the hammer, though he kept his finger far from the trigger.

“Ah, ah, old-timer,” Cheshire scolded. He crouched down and held out his other hand. “These look like fine people; let’s not make things harder for them, hm?”

The security guard went pale, and without any further hint of resistance he allowed Cheshire to take his gun. His hands shook, and Cheshire felt rotten for it as he straightened up and followed Barney into the back.

By then Barney had cornered the bank manager and what might have been her assistant in a side office. Cheshire could just about see him grinning full through his mask. “Like candy, huh?” he bragged, and he waved Cheshire over. “Keep an eye on these two while I handle the vault.”

Cheshire scrunched his nose as he took Barney’s place opposite the manager and assistant, his gun only loosely aimed in their direction. “Don’t you mean the other way around?” he asked. “Or did our friend here tell you the combination?”

Barney gave a bark of laughter that Cheshire definitely didn’t like as he headed toward the vault. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

The bank vault door was an immense steel square, crouched up against the far wall like a guardian sentinel. Cheshire looked from the turn-handle to the hinges, assessing each for the easiest point to blow, just in case whatever combination the manager had given up didn’t pan out. It took him a few moments to realize that when Barney reached for the dial, it wasn’t to put in any numbers; instead he wedged something into the mechanism, then moved to the other side to do the same at the hinges. Satisfied with whatever he was up to, he then jogged back past Cheshire and pulled out his gun.

It wasn’t a weapon Cheshire had ever seen before, though he recognized the intricate engraving on the revolver’s barrel and grip enough that he didn’t need to guess. Barney thumbed back the hammer with a loud, distinct clink. “Hey,” said Cheshire, turning away from the manager. “You don’t really think that’s—”

Barney fired. In an instant, the short hall leading to the vault became a fireball. Cheshire reared back as several explosions detonated nearly at once, sending a wave of blistering heat and choking smoke screaming at them. He crashed into the manager and her assistant, ears ringing painfully and balance reeling, the revolver falling forgotten from his grip. For several seconds he couldn’t properly see or hear, but he felt the shuddering impact of the vault door against the marble floor, and soon after, scorching heat along his arm and hand.

His glove and jacket sleeve were on fire. Too stunned even to curse, Cheshire frantically patted himself out and finally resorted to ripping both gloves off. His palms burned with a heat they—for once—weren’t the cause of, and his heart pounded against his ribs.

“Shit!” Barney tore his singed cap off and slapped it against his thigh to rid it of embers. He smelled like burnt hair but there was glee in the part of his face Cheshire could see, and together they looked to the vault.

Hallorran’s revolver—or rather, it’s ammunition—had done the job admirably: the vault door had had its lock and hinges blasted apart and lay face down on the ground with its insides embarrassingly exposed. The walls and ceiling were badly charred but the building itself hadn’t caught, leaving only plumes of smoke between the robbers and their prize. Barney let out a triumphant shout at the sight. “Did you fucking see that?” he gloated, and he opened his jacket to reveal two large sacks tied around his midsection. “C’mon, let’s grab the loot and go!”

Cheshire followed dumbly. He blinked at the twisted, jagged hinges as he climbed with Barney over the safe door into the vault. The smoke stung his throat even through his facemask, acrid and unfamiliar to him, and he felt as if his teeth were still rattling from the blast. Were explosions always so jarring when someone else set them off? When Barney tossed one of the sacks to him he followed his lead, shoveling bags of cash and a few heavy-seeming safety deposit boxes inside.

“Hey,” he said as they sinched their full sacks tight. “So I guess that’s the Hallorran revolver I’ve heard so much about? Was that really the right way to do this?”

Barney laughed as he dragged his sack over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?” he taunted, eyes gleaming wickedly. “You didn’t think I’d need you for this, did you?”

The words struck Cheshire hard, and he couldn’t react even when Barney laughed and shouldered past him. His stomach clenched with nausea as he struggled to keep up. Not needed? he thought, and his heart raced all over again. By the time they charged out of the back room, he was sweating. He brought me here just to show me I’m not needed. He clenched his jaw until it ached.

***

Jakub didn’t have any trouble keeping the bank patrons in line. Most of them were either rather young or very old, and after watching the security guard give up so easily, they kept their heads down and their mouths shut. His rifle was intimidating enough even that Hannah was able to take her eyes off the tellers and fill a sack from each of the stations.

The explosion from the back had everyone ducking beneath their hands. Jakub quieted them back down with only a few words, despite a ripple of apprehension up his spine. The explosion sounded different—it smelled different. Cheshire’s magic was so familiar to him that even the vibrations echoing up through the floor felt wrong against the soles of his feet. He wanted to head into the vault to check, but by then Hannah was finishing with her sack and she motioned for him to clear a path to the door. They would have to get a move on if they were going to outrun cops to the waterfront.

Barney and Cheshire dashed out from the back moments later. Though they were still masked, even just a glimpse of Cheshire’s pinched, harried eyes convinced Jakub that he had been right, and something had gone wrong. With Barney hollering for retreat there wasn’t anything he could do about it, though, so after firing one more spray down the line of registers, Jakub followed the rest of them out onto the street.

A few people had gathered in the general store opposite them to watch, drawn by the commotion. Police sirens wailed from somewhere down the street, their cars not yet visible but still too close for Jakub’s liking. There wasn’t time to ask Cheshire about the explosion, as he and Barney were already dashing toward the corner, and Hannah was dragging her loot into the back seat of their getaway car. Jakub leapt into the passenger seat and Barney’s goon hit the gas; they tore away from the curb almost before Jakub could get his door closed.

In the back seat, Hannah twisted to watch behind them. “So far, so good,” she said with cautious optimism. “I think we made good time.”

“That explosion didn’t sound right,” said Jakub, “but at least they got the vault open.”

Beside him, their driver laughed. He was one of Barney’s new Chicago friends that Jakub had never bothered introducing himself to, stocky with thick biceps. “You just haven’t been down to the quarry,” he said. “You’d’ve recognized it, if you had.”

Jakub frowned at him; it took him a beat to catch his meaning. “The Hallorran?” His ears rang with the memory of that night on the pier, and the heavy, distinctive clink of the revolver’s unique hammer.

“Of course. How else would you open a vault like that, without an expert cracker?”

Jakub ground his teeth, and he turned to cast Hannah a look. She spared only a brief wince before turning her attention to the street behind them. Jakub settled in his seat once more. This isn’t just a message to Manhattan, then, he  thought, gripping the stock of the rifle crammed in with him. He’s going to sideline Cheshire for good.

Maybe that was what Hannah had been getting at, back at the riverside: maybe she was hoping he’d convince Cheshire to lay low for good, worry about tenants and bureaucracy and leave the real gang work to the family that mattered. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

Luckily, he didn’t have time to dwell on it; as soon as they turned right onto Richmond Terrace, a black and white blew through the light coming from the west and fell in behind them. A moment later its sirens blared to life, and Hannah cursed.

“I said too much,” she muttered, and then she leaned forward to talk to their driver. “Can you lose him?”

“Hold on,” he replied, and they braced themselves as he jerked the wheel suddenly, barely making the turn onto a side street.

Jakub leaned his head out the window to watch the police car screeching past the turn, its front wheels bouncing on the sidewalk. By the time it had backed up and righted its course, their driver had turned again; Jakub had to jerk back inside as they nearly clipped the side of a parked car. “That car wasn’t coming from the bank,” he said as he kept an eye out through the side mirror instead. “That must have been bad luck.”

“We have to lose it before we get to the water,” Hannah cautioned.

The driver grunted. “Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing.”

He made another dangerous left on the narrow, residential streets; Jakub heard a few startled shrieks from bystanders on the sidewalks. The route took them straight back to the waterfront drive they had left, and they continued on at a more leisurely pace, fitting into the flow of traffic for a few minutes before ducking again through the side streets.

“The boss had me learn this area good,” the driver bragged, and though Jakub frowned, he couldn’t dispute it.

They reached the rendezvous point in just under twenty minutes, as planned. Stas was waiting with the boat pulled up close to the shore, its engine running: it was an old fishing boat, twenty footer, with low sides and made from sturdy wood. The second car was already parked on the street; Barney and his driver were wrestling two sacks out of the back.

Jakub climbed out of the car and hefted the rifle to his shoulder. He could still hear police sirens much closer than they should have been, and watching Barney laugh breathlessly as he carried his loot down to the boat made him wonder if they’d had a close call with the coppers, too. If they see us get on this boat, Chesh’s truck decoy won’t be worth much, he thought, turning away from them to watch the street.

The sirens wailed louder than ever, and from around the nearest corner a cop car swerved onto their isolated side street. There was far too little time to think: the cop in the passenger side already had his window down, and he immediately opened fire, the first two bullets shattering glass while another three buried in the head and shoulders of the stocky driver. He was dead before he could draw his gun. Too far to make a run for the shore, Jakub threw himself down next to the car’s wheels and crawled to put as much metal and rubber between him and the gunfire as possible.

Don’t kill cops, Jakub reminded himself as he put his back to the front bumper. Even when a second black and white pulled in behind the first, guns blazing, he carefully lowered himself to the ground and took aim at the cruisers themselves, aiming for their tires and bumpers. If he could just hold them off long enough to make a run for the boat—

The first of the two cruisers erupted in a fireball. Even crouched behind another car Jakub felt the rush of hot air and licking flames, and he had to cover his face with his sleeve. Smoke and ash stuck in his hair and set him coughing. His body ached with the unfamiliarity of the blast, and for several seconds he couldn’t get his bearings while officers hollered for retreat. Then Hannah had him by the arm, dragging him up. He barely managed to keep a tight enough grip on his rifle as he let her drag him down the slope to the river. His feet striking water jolted him fully aware, and with Barney yanking at him from above, he dragged himself into the boat with Hannah close behind.

“Go!” Barney shouted, and the boat lurched clumsily away from the shore. As Stas turned the bow around, the cops on the shore collected themselves; everyone flinched and ducked for cover as several rounds struck the hull. But the boat kept going, and as soon as Barney had his balance he was aiming his revolver again at the shore.

“Wait!” Jakub shouted, snagging hold of his jacket. “You’ll kill them!”

Barney fired anyway, and this time it was his own car that exploded in a plume of fire. The remaining cops on the waterfront dove to the ground as they were showered with red- hot debris. The pause in their gunfire was all that was needed, and with the boat engine roaring, the Kozlow gang made their retreat across the water.

“They’re not getting my car,” said Barney, and then he tugged his handkerchief off and laughed, sharp and a little manic. “Shit. Is anyone hit?”

“They killed Nowak,” said Hannah, sounding largely unconcerned; she was focused on Jakub, patting him down for injuries. “Are you all right?”

Jakub tugged his mask down and was grateful for the fresh breeze off the water as he took in a great gulp of air. “I’m fine,” he said, combing the ashes out of his hair. He turned toward Barney. “Did you kill any cops?”

“I dunno. Maybe.” Barney holstered his revolver and sat down on the side wall of the boat. “Shit, Nowak, huh? In that case I hope I got one or two at least.”

“You should be hoping you didn’t,” Jakub shot back. “This was supposed to be about making a statement, not drawing a whole new burrough down on our heads.”

Barney pulled a face. “What’s a bunch of sleepy Staten Island pigs gonna do to us?”

“They just killed Nowak!” the second driver protested, and Barney at least had the decency to look guilty. He stood and took the man by the shoulders.

“And I got them back for it, did you see?” Barney said, and Jakub had to move toward the rear to get further away from him, for his temper’s sake. “They’re gonna think twice before messing with us again, that’s for sure.”

Jakub leaned his rifle against the side and sat down at the stern of the boat, letting the churning of the engine block out whatever else Barney was saying to the others. Manhattan was always going to retaliate for this, he thought, watching the thick, tarry smoke rising up from the two destroyed cars on the shore. They were already far enough away that the officers moving around them were tiny and hard to make out. But now cops looking to avenge their own? He glanced back to Barney, who was leaning close to Stas as he steered the ship and clapping him on the back. All for Barney ’s ego. This is never going to get any better. Hannah tried to meet his gaze, so he ducked his head and began searching his jacket for a cigarette. It’s only going to get worse, and I never belonged here to begin with.

Jakub tucked the cigarette between his lips, but as he resumed his search this time for matches, he felt something wet lap against his ankle. He glanced down, thinking that his soaked pants had just shifted uncomfortably, only to realize there was a puddle a few inches deep at the stern of the boat. And it was growing.

“Hey!” he called, cigarette falling from his mouth. “Hannah!”

***

Cheshire and Leon didn’t have any trouble crossing the bridge into New Jersey. It was nearly a straight shot from the bank across the river, and there was just no way the cops had time to prepare a defense on either side of the bridge so quickly. Halfway across Cheshire had thrown his jacket and cap off the side, taking his only pleasure of the evening so far in watching them flutter off to get ruined on the shore somewhere. Good riddance.

Now dressed in a purple vest, his hair down and combed, he felt as if the weight of anonymity had been lifted, even if he wished he’d thought to bring an extra pair of gloves. But he still didn’t feel right, not by a long shot.

“That big gun of Barney’s is really something, huh?” he rambled, leaning back in his seat as Leon drove them onto the boulevard. “Makes a great big boom, and I know a thing or two about booms, believe me. You ever see that thing go off?”

“Yeah, plenty,” replied Leon guardedly. “He’s been practicing.”

He looked just as uncomfortable as Cheshire felt, but that didn’t stop the stream of nonsense coming out of Cheshire’s mouth. “Hallorran really outdid herself,” he continued. “Big ol’ fireball like that. Nearly singed my eyebrows off! I could’a done it just as easily, mind, and with a bit more finesse. Would have spared my gloves!” He laughed, even though Leon giving him a side-eye made his humor curdle in his stomach. “But yeah, he sure is proud of the damn thing. And it did the job, can’t argue with that.”

“You sound jealous,” said Leon, and if only he had managed to inject some teasing into his voice, Cheshire could have easily laughed it off. As it was, it sounded like a warning, and it made Cheshire’s already anxious stomach clench and harden.

“It’s not like that,” Cheshire insisted. He knew that saying more would only make things worse, but he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t care if he wants to use his fancy gun to blow things up—I can do that on my own time whenever I want! What difference does it make who pulls the trigger as long as it works? And it did.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just seems like a waste, is all. He’s gonna run out of those fancy bullets eventually, but this well never runs dry.”

He waved his hand at Leon, only to remember a beat too late that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. Leon glanced over, and his brow furrowed. Had he seen the brand carved into Cheshire’s palm? Whether he had or not, Cheshire had only one method of recourse: he just kept talking. “Unless he thinks he can just rob Hallorran again, but she’s on to him now, and Jake and I won’t help him a second time.”

Leon continued to eye him warily. “You speak for Jakub, now?”

“Huh?” There wasn’t any reason to panic over a question like that; everyone knew that Jakub had every reason to leave Hallorran the hell alone. Explaining that should have been a few simple words, but after the confrontations that morning, and the sudden thought that Leon of all people would be extra eager to rat him out to Barney, Cheshire couldn’t put his thoughts in proper order. “Uh, no. Of course not. But Jakub, you know, he has history with Hallorran. He was real mad about the last one—I’m sure he’s not keen on a round two. I mean, I really think.”

“Right,” Leon said slowly, and Cheshire could just feel Jakub’s icy stare from across the distance between them, and he finally stopped talking.

Their trip through Jersey was surprisingly uneventful, to the point that Cheshire started to worry. A heavy truck speeding through the city, across bridges and countryside, should have drawn some concern. He wasn’t much of a decoy if no one took notice. It was even a relief when they entered Jersey City and began to see black and whites throughout the downtown, but they still didn’t encounter any real resistance until falling in line for the tunnel to Manhattan. By then Cheshire had his window rolled down and was leaning against the door, eager to be spotted by someone, and he was rewarded with several officers parked alongside the toll booths pointing to him as they shared furious whispers.

“It’s about time,” Cheshire muttered as one of the police cars started flashing their lights. The officers motioned for Leon to pull over, which he did.

“You didn’t put anything in the van, right?” Leon asked, looking a little pale as four police officers headed toward them, and one of the patrol cars maneuvered in front of them to prevent them from speeding off. “You’re sure it all went in the cars?”

“I’m sure, Leon,” said Cheshire, cracking his knuckles. “It’s just veggies back there. Let me do the talking.”

The officers spread out, two on each side, and the highest ranking of them—a middle-aged woman Cheshire had no hope of charming with good humor—stopped just beyond the passenger side door. She was already unsnapping her gun holster. “Good evening, sir. Heading into Manhattan?”

“Ma’am,” Cheshire greeted in return. Now that the game was on he felt much more like himself, and he settled on a restrained but definitely cheeky smirk. “Just passing through. We’re on our way to Brooklyn.”

“Are you.” She had a suspicious gleam in her eyes that made it clear she didn’t need any extra hints to know exactly who he was. Without any loot on him, Cheshire found it easy to enjoy the infamy free of worry. “What’s in the truck?”

“Vegetables! Potatoes and onions mostly. There’s a little diner down on Bedford that makes a mean vegetable soup.” Cheshire gestured as he spoke out of habit, though he forced himself to stop when her sharp gaze reminded him again about his bare palms. “I’m a friend of Edith, the owner. Got her a deal on produce from out in Long Valley.”

The officer did not look one inch convinced. “Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Not at all!”

Cheshire swung his door open, and the officers each stepped back, eyeing him warily as he climbed down from the cab. Leon disembarked as well, hands half raised as if unsure what to do with them. Cheshire tried to make up for his lack of confidence by doing a little turn to show off his lack of weapon. “You can search me, too, while you’re at it,” he invited. “I’ve got nothing on me.”

The woman stayed back, a hand on her gun, while one of the other officers took him up on it. Finding nothing, they herded him toward the second police car parked at the back of the truck. He stayed still and obedient, smiling pleasantly at his apparent guard dog while the others opened up the rear.

As promised, only wooden crates labeled for produce lay inside. It was only then that Cheshire realized he had no idea where Barney had gotten the goods from to begin with, and he couldn’t help but hold his breath as the first was pried open. An officer reached inside and pulled out a large cabbage.

“You said potatoes and onions,” the woman officer said, eyeing Cheshire.

“Mostly,” he corrected her.

“Long Valley, hm?” the woman prodded as her compatriots continued to root through the truck’s contents. “Dreary out there, isn’t it?”

Cheshire shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“Which farm did you say you picked up from?”

You think you’re gonna catch me like this? Cheshire thought, unable to help a smirk. “If you have to ask, you haven’t been out there,” he said breezily. “You could just read the label on the crates.”

She returned his humor with icy irritation. “Excuse me. I just didn’t expect to finally meet the famous Cheshire Bloom hauling turnips like a common workhorse.”

Cheshire shrugged again. “Potatoes and onions. Mostly.”

The woman glared at him, but she was interrupted by one of the toll booth operators jogging toward them. He tipped his cap and offered the officer a slip of paper. “Excuse me, ma’am, but we heard back from the Staten—”

The woman cut him off with a hard look as she accepted the paper. After a quick scan her eyebrows rose; Cheshire pretended only polite curiosity when she looked to him.

“Well, Mr. Bloom?” she asked. “Would you like to hear the latest from Staten Island Police?”

Cheshire’s natural instincts guided his mouth into a barely interested half smile. “Why? Is there competition out there I haven’t heard about yet?”

“See for yourself,” she replied, and she handed over the paper.

Whatever this says, don’t you dare make a face, Cheshire

told himself firmly as he accepted. The toll booth agent’s handwriting was barely legible in the fading light, and he held it close to his face, hoping that by squinting he could help cover up any reaction to the hastily scrawled words: Robbers running by boat, 1 killed, 2 cops, boat hit.

Cheshire handed it back. He was pretty confident the officer wouldn’t be able to glean any panic in his expression; he was less sure she wouldn’t hear his pulse thumping out of his ears. “By boat!” he declared. “That’s a new one—wish I’d thought of it. Do they think it’s Lucky?”

“No,” the officer retorted, losing some of her patience. “No, they don’t.” She glared at him a moment longer, waiting for a proper reaction, only to scowl. “You’re a real piece of work, Mr. Bloom.”

“I get that all the time,” Cheshire replied automatically, though his mind was spinning. If the boat’s been made already, there’s  no  point  in  us  wasting  our  time  here.  He  swallowed. It can’t be Jakub. He’s fine. “Well then, if you’re done rifling through our cabbages, we’ll be on our way.”

“No.” The woman waved to the officers in the back of the truck, who were each keeping one eye on the goings on outside. “Keep opening up those crates—I want to see inside each one.”

“You don’t have a warrant for that,” said Cheshire, and though his smile remained in place, the humor behind it sloughed off. He raised his voice so the rest of her officers would be sure to hear. “So unless you have a real good reason for having pulled us over, we’d like to go now.”

“There’s been a robbery,” the officer insisted, “and you, in your entirety, are probable cause enough.” She poked him in the chest while still keeping one hand on her gun. “And you’re going to stand right there until every one of these crates has been checked.”

Cheshire held up his hands in surrender and promised to do just that. He glanced to Leon, who could only stare back, confused and anxious. Even if we could break through the tolls, we can’t do them any good if we get trapped in the tunnel. We just have to wait. He leaned back against the patrol car and tried to look passably casual. Jakub can handle it.

***

Jakub heaved another bucketful of water overboard, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good. They’d already tossed as much weight as they could bear, save for the heist loot and a few life preservers, which Stas had insisted on seeing as he couldn’t swim. Jakub didn’t say anything on that but he wasn’t all that confident about his chances, either—he hadn’t been in water over his head since he was a young boy.

I was supposed to be driving the car back, he thought, emptying yet another bucket. The water kept leaking in, every inch submerged allowing for more of the bullet holes in their hull to take on the river. It wouldn’t be long before the engine flooded completely. “Barney! We have to make for land!”

“We are!” Barney snapped back. He’d finally lost that smug grin of his at least, and he turned to Stas. “Why aren’t you heading east? We need land!”

Stas, already wearing one of the preservers around his neck, wiped sweat from his brow. “You said not to! If we get too close to Governors Island there could be military—you said so!” Barney cursed and looked to the island—they all did.

The lines of soldiers barracks were only barely visible from the water, but there definitely were lights flicking on along the pier, and it didn’t take much imagination to paint figures on the shore as war-deprived soldiers willing to take up vengeance for murdered cops. Lights on the water to the west and southwest proved there were plenty of police themselves on their tail, and way too much distance between them and their port. Even if they were able to continue up the river as planned, too many people knew how they’d made their escape, and soon every pier along the shore would be occupied.

“Then the closet land is Manhattan,” said Hannah, voicing the conclusion each of them had hoped to avoid. “We make for Battery Park and risk the rest on foot.”

The jagged Manhattan skyline had never looked quite so foreboding. Lucky will have heard about the heist by now, Jakub thought. She’ll know it’s us. He ached for a cigarette. “She’s right. We won’t make it if we have to circle Governor’s Island.”

Barney scrubbed his fist across his mouth. “Fuck, you’re right.” He slapped Stas on the back. “Get to the park. We can land where the ferry does.”

“O-Okay!”

The rest of them went back to bailing out the boat as best they could, using buckets and oars and hands. The boat continued to sink. Stas pushed it as fast as it would go, but they were still almost thirty feet from shore when the motor gave out with a pathetic sputter. By then Barney had at least had the good idea to tie as many of the life jackets together as he could, making a decent raft for them to load the bank loot along with Jakub’s rifle. Stas refused to give up his.

“You’ll be fine,” Barney reassured him impatiently as they floated the makeshift raft out over the back end of the boat, which was almost completely submerged by then. “Just hold on to the money and keep kicking. It’s not hard.”

Jakub shuddered as the water sloshed up to his thighs. There was nothing to do but continue forward, and he tried to keep his prosthetic gripped to his rifle and out of the water as the boat fell away beneath his feet. I wonder if Cheshire can swim, he thought, focusing on that idle curiosity to hold back the panic that threatened to bite its way up his spine the higher the water climbed. Probably. He can  do  whatever he sets his mind to.

“You okay?” asked Hannah, staying close at his side as they began the slow kick to shore. Jakub nodded but didn’t want to open his mouth so close to the river surface. If we get out of this, I’m taking Cheshire’s bathrobe, he promised himself.

By the time they reached the shore a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the spectacle of their boat gurgling beneath the water. Two men had even jumped the railing along the park shore and were waiting with arms outstretched to “rescue” them from the river. Stas reached them first, thanking the strangers over and over as they pulled him onto the concrete promenade, then Hannah and the driver of the second car. As Jakub reached the shore, however, he didn’t have much choice but to pass his rifle up to Hannah, which their savoirs took clear notice of.

“Getting late for a swim,” a middle aged man teased, but cautiously, as he offered Jakub his hand. “What happened to your boat?”

“None of your business,” Barney retorted, though he then had to shove the revolver between his teeth to keep it dry as he passed up one of the money bags.

Jakub allowed the man to haul him up onto solid ground. Once his feet were planted he felt steadier, though not any less anxious; the strangers were looking to each other, and the telltale whine of approaching police sirens seemed to alert them to the situation they’d stumbled into. He could feel his nerves beginning to unravel, and determined not to be caught off guard again, he grabbed his rifle from Hannah and leveled it at the small group of bystanders.

“Up against the railing, now,” he ordered, prodding the older man who had helped him up with the barrel. “Get down on your knees and keep your hands on the top rung.”

“What the hell is going on?” the man protested, but another, harder poke shut him up, and he and the others nervously complied.

Barney and his two men continued pulling up the money while Hannah moved deeper into the park. “We have to go,” she called back to them, the blaring of sirens drawing ever closer. “If we have to leave one—”

“No!” Barney insisted, and he finally dragged the last sack over the rail. “We’ve got it—let’s go.”

They made a run for the parking lot. It was still early enough that several cars were about, their owners spread out across the park. They bolted to the nearest, an older Ford with a push ignition that couldn’t have been easier to steal. Jakub wondered if it belonged to one of the men they’d accosted as they piled inside and tore out onto the street.

As soon as they had turned a corner and were out of sight on the park, Hannah slowed to a much more leisurely pace. “We can’t keep going like this,” she said, slapping long strands of wet hair out of her face. “There’s no way they won’t shut down the bridge before we can get there.”

“There’s nowhere safe for us in Manhattan,” said Jakub, crammed in the back seat with Stas and the Chicago driver. He had to struggle to position his rifle in the tight space. “If the cops don’t find us, Lucky will.”

“But we can’t go to the bridge,” Hannah insisted. “Cops are dead—they’ll shoot us on sight.”

But Masterson won’t? Jakub thought. He honestly wasn’t sure. “Then let’s go north, as far as we can. We’ll stay away from the rivers and find somewhere to hole up.”

“Harlem,” said Barney, snapping his fingers as if it were a brilliant idea. “We’ll head north into Harlem. Cops won’t think of that!”

Jakub started to protest, though again he couldn’t immediately think of whether it was a decent idea or a terrible one. “That’s Big Mitt’s territory, and they’ve thrown in with Lucky. What if they rat us out?”

“They’ll have to find us first,” replied Barney. “And if that fucker Masterson comes sniffing around, we’ll play it like Mitts let us in. Shake them up.”

That would only work if we had Cheshire, Jakub thought, biting down hard on the impulse to say as much. He can talk his way out of anything.

His doubt must have been radiating, though, as Hannah cleared her throat. “I don’t see we have much other choice, rather than break into some building at random. Cops will be watching the shores—we need to get off the streets, and no one will expect us north.”

“Fine,” said Jakub, and he and the others hunkered down in their seats as best they could, hoping not to attract any attention.

It was slow going through the city. Hannah was an excellent driver, her ears ever vigilant for the sound of distant or approaching sirens, and she maneuvered the streets with perfect caution that was nevertheless agonizing. Crammed down in his seat with his rifle wedged in beside him, Jakub was sore and buzzing with anxiety by the time they reached Harlem. Hannah drew them to a halt along the side of the street and twisted her door open. “Everyone stay quiet,” she hissed, and they piled out. She had brought them to a large public park, its entrance bordered by tall trees, a short, wrought-iron fence separating the street from a squat municipal building. By then it was late enough in the evening for the facility to be closed, but not so late that it would seem unusual for employees to be working, or for park visitors to be lingering inside the grounds. The five of them crept up to the municipal building; Jakub made sure to reach the door first before anyone could suggest blowing through the lock. After working his metal fingers a few times to get an idea of the necessary force, he closed his fist around the door knob until the metal contorted, and he was able to shear the assembly off.

“Beats having to pick it, huh?” Barney whispered, patting Jakub on the back. “Good work.”

Jakub pursed his lips. “Sure,” he said, and he led the way inside.

The interior was dark. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as they moved down the entry hall. There were only a few offices in the building, two large supply closets, and at the far end an activities room that doubled as a cafeteria. After making sure all the curtains were drawn, they all sprawled out on the floor of the large room to catch their breath and let their nerves unwind.

“As long as no one saw us come in, we should be safe for a while,” said Hannah. She pulled a chair close to the double door entrance and sat down with a long sigh. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Barney agreed, but now that they were in relative safety, he couldn’t keep from grinning. “We made it, though.”

“We haven’t ‘made it’ until we’re back in Brooklyn,” Jakub scolded him. He shrugged out of his soaked jacket and was tempted to take off his shoes, but that seemed like tempting fate one step too far. “This was really stupid.”

“It wouldn’t have been stupid if it had worked,” Barney retorted. “And it would have worked if the fucking pigs hadn’t shot through the boat.”

“We’re not going to argue over what went wrong,”

Hannah interrupted. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re not doing anything like it again, ever.” She fixed Barney with a hard eye. “Boss’s orders.”

Barney rolled his eyes, but his hand shook as he slicked his hair back. Maybe he had some inkling of how close the call had been after all. “Yeah, I know, but at least we got the loot. There’s got to be a million dollars in here!”

“A million?” Stas repeated, perking up. “Honest?”

“Honest! You can help count it when we get back.”

Barney grinned wickedly. “And we did it all ourselves.”

We’re not back  yet, Jakub wanted to say again, but he busied himself with spying through one of the windows outward. It seemed quiet, but there was a building full of apartments across the street, and there was no telling who might have been looking out of the dozens of windows there. We’re not home free by a long shot.

There wasn’t anything to do but wait, so Jakub checked his rifle to make sure it hadn’t been water damaged and settled in.

***

“This is a bad idea,” said Leon, yet again, as he buckled himself into the truck’s passenger seat. “We should be at the bridge.”

“If they made it to the east shore, they’re home free,” reasoned Cheshire, his tone level despite all ten fingers drumming the steering wheel. “If they didn’t, we can’t help them until we figure out where they are, and we’re not going to do that driving around aimlessly in a vegetable truck.”

“Then shouldn’t we be following the cops?” Leon persisted. “They were the ones tailing the boat in the first place.”

Cheshire shook his head, though he kept his attention locked on the hotel they were parked across from. “We won’t know if the coppers we choose to follow are heading toward the others or toward another roadblock until it’s too late.” He stopped fidgeting to instead grip the wheel tight. “But Masterson isn’t going anywhere until he knows where. If he steps out of that building, we’ll know Barney and the others have been made.”

Leon continued to squirm. “And if he spots us?”

“Then I guess I’ll just blow him up!” Cheshire replied, and he laughed. “Leon, calm down. You’re safer with me than anyone else, and you know that.” He glared up at the Four Thrones; his palms already felt hot and itchy, and he wasn’t sure if it was dread or anticipation hopping him up. “I can handle Masterson.”

“Okay…”

They waited unspeaking for another fifteen minutes, watching as traffic gradually thinned into a sparser than usual night time crowd. A few cars pulled up to the Four Thrones that emptied familiar-looking thugs, though Cheshire couldn’t be sure if they were moving any faster than usual. Jakub’s fine, he told himself over and over as he went back to drumming his fingers. He’s fine, he’s always fine. You’d know  by now if he wasn’t. Somehow. He swallowed. He said we should talk, and it seemed important, so no way  he’s  letting  himself  get  killed before then.

At last the main doors opened, and out strolled Herb himself, Camilla on his arm and a posse at his back. As they split up to their vehicles Cheshire started the truck up. “Don’t worry,” Cheshire told Leon preemptively. “I’ll only follow close enough that we don’t lose them.” His lips quirked. “I’m sure even if he does spot us, he’ll let us tag along. He’ll want to give me an earful for this.”

“That’s not encouraging,” said Leon, but he had no choice other than to hold on as Cheshire pulled onto the street behind the Manhattan entourage.

***

Jakub and his compatriots waited in the municipal building for over an hour, watching the occasional car drive by. A police car made a pass at one point, and Jakub held his breath, but it moved on without raising any alarm. Still, his tension never unwound, and even as the others took a few minutes of sleep where they could, he remained strictly vigilant.

“I think they’ve made us,” he said, taking up his rifle.

Hannah joined him cautiously at the window and peered out. He pointed her toward two tall men leaning against the wall of the apartment building opposite them, next to an open window. Both were standing close together and chatting inaudibly as they passed a cigarette back and forth. It didn’t seem that either was paying much attention to the park, but that only made Jakub more concerned. It would have been more natural if they did look over occasionally.

“How long have they been there?” Hannah asked. “One came out not long after we got here. The other

almost half an hour ago.” Jakub chewed his lip. “I don’t like it.” As they watched, a third figure climbed out of the open window to join them: a burly woman wearing a holster. The man currently holding the cigarette offered her a puff, and they continued to cluster together. She cast only one look at their car parked across the street and then turned her back.

“I don’t know,” Hannah said, squinting at them. “It’s hard to tell.”

“They know we’re here,” Jakub insisted. “We should go.”

Without waiting for Hannah to agree, Jakub began moving around the room, urging the rest of their companions up. “Barney, we have to go,” he said, pushing the money bags toward him. “We’ll come out the other side of the park—there has to be a closed business we can break into or something.”

“You’re sure?” Barney asked, screwing his cap into place.

Jakub was spared from having to answer when Hannah cursed, and she hurried to help Jakub rouse the others. As Jakub struggled into his still-wet coat, he risked a glance across the street: a car had pulled up to the curb behind theirs, and the three figures from across the street were headed toward it. One held open the rear door and out climbed Big Mitts.

With his own curses Jakub made for the kitchen, everyone quickly following. As he’d hoped there was an outside door, and they all rushed through it, keeping as close to the building as possible to avoid being seen as they circled around back. What sounded like a shout of recognition spurred Jakub faster, and before anyone could consider standing their ground he charged ahead deeper into the park.

“Don’t even think about firing on Mitts,” he demanded of Barney as he led the group off the normal path. There were very few trees or other obstacles to provide cover—they could only hope to reach the other side and find another building as shelter. “We’ll never survive a shootout.”

“I got it, I got it,” Barney wheezed, all out of bravado and gripping one of the loot bags tight.

More shouts chased them down the length of the park. “We know it’s you, Kozlow!” Mitts themself hollered, but Jakub didn’t stop running, so no one else did, either. At the very least Harlem would demand a portion of their take, and he hated to think of how Barney would respond with the Hallorran still at his hip.

The other end of the park came into view: a parking lot, a fence, and open streets beyond. There was a chance they could split up among the buildings, lose Mitts’ gang long enough to each find their own hole-up for the rest of the night; Jakub felt that chance immediately crumble as he watched three cars pull into the lot. Each had barely parked before a collection of familiar Manhattan thugs piled out brandishing guns, Herb and Camila among them.

Jakub headed for the nearest tree and pressed himself against its trunk. We’re fucked, he thought, holding his rifle at the ready with no idea who to aim at, if anyone. Barney stumbled into him a moment later, and his wild eyes said the same. There was no hope of them staying hidden and they were outgunned on both sides. “Barney,” Jakub hissed, “you’ve got to give them the money.”

Barney shook his head, so preemptively Jakub snatched his wrist, just in case he was thinking of drawing the Hallorran. “Don’t.”

“I know.” Barney huddled closer as the rest of them took cover along the path, both enemy gangs closing in on either side.

“Hey, Barney!” shouted Herb as he strolled up to the cobblestone sidewalk at the edge of the park. Camila hung on his elbow, dolled up in a fur coat as usual, both of them confident in their surveyal of the situation. Their loyal soldiers stopped, fanned out to prevent their quarry from sneaking past. With Mitts and their crew handling the rear, Kozlow was trapped. “The fuck are you doing hiding in the bushes like that? You’re breaking my heart, here.”

“You’re the ones with guns out!” Barney retorted, and Jakub couldn’t help but hold his breath, fearful of every word out of his mouth. “We’re supposed to be allies!”

“Well, yeah, I thought so, too!” Herb waved impatiently for them to come forward. “Quit skulking around back there and let me see that ugly mug of yours, we’ve got—”

He was interrupted by a crunch of metal, and he turned about, just as baffled as all of them to see the tail lights of a tall delivery truck. It had backed into the lot and kept going, straight into the rear of Herb’s car and rocking its front wheels onto the curb. Everyone stared in blank confusion and a few guns went up.

“Sorry!” a voice called from the open driver’s side window, and a hand reached out to wave. Jakub thought he might faint at the familiar, sing-song apology. “Sorry, that was my mistake!”

“Wha…” Herb turned fully to stare as Cheshire roared the truck forward again; the car rocked back with a heavy rattle. He was so caught off guard it took him a while to settle on a reaction, and he gestured angrily. “Bloom! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry!” Cheshire called again, and with the truck a safe distance and finally stopped—blocking the entrance to the lot from the street—he stepped down from the cab. He left his door open as he headed toward the group with hands raised in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that—I got distracted.”

“What the fuck is he doing?” Barney hissed, but Jakub had no idea and could only gape.

“You owe me for that,” Herb said. “Do you know how much that car cost?” He didn’t seem to know what to make of Cheshire, either, and he visibly struggled to bring himself back on script.

Cheshire laughed, not a care in the world as he strolled up to the line of Manhattan thugs. Each gave him a wary look, and even Herb was on guard, but no one tried to stop him. “Of course!” he said. “I’ll buy you a whole new one if you want. You know I’m good for it, Pal.

He stopped right among the line, and everyone stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Jakub was half convinced of the same, but he had no idea what to do, palm sweating around the grip of his rifle. He leaned out from around the tree just enough to hopefully gain Cheshire’s attention.

“Right now you’re a good-for-nothing,” Herb retorted, swiftly regaining his characteristically grating charm. “Look at this mess you’re in!” He waved his arm at the standoff. “Are we staging a reenactment or something? Because I could have sworn you and I have done this dance before.”

Cheshire glanced into the park, unperturbed. When he spotted Jakub, a relieved smile showed briefly in his face before he could settle back into unconcerned amusement. He gave Jakub a wink and turned back to Herb.

“What can I say?” he teased. “It’s hard to find a better partner.”

Jakub settled himself with a deep breath. When he looked again, he realized that Leon had slipped out the other side of the truck and was leaning close to the rear door, waiting. “He has a plan,” Jakub whispered to Barney. “Whatever happens, just follow his lead.”

“Like hell,” Barney muttered, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Mr. Bloom,” said Camila, and the park was so quiet even her gentle voice carried perfectly. “Please call your people into the open. They’re being rude.”

“Yeah!” Herb motioned for him to continue to the inside of their circle. “Get out there too—I want you where I can see you.”

Cheshire moved to the fore, putting a good twenty feet between them though still maddeningly calm. “How about here?” he goaded. “Can you see me? ‘Cause if so we should get started with the negotiation, I suppose.”

“Call your people into the open,” Camila repeated.

Jakub readied himself, but before he could even begin to move Cheshire shook his head. “Naw,” Cheshire said easily. “They’re fine there, and this is between you and me, anyway. Right?”

Herb gave a loud scoff, and when Cheshire held his ground, he started to laugh. “Yeah.” His smirk grew vicious and Jakub’s skin crawled. “Yeah, of course it is. You’re the one who broke his word, after all.”

Jakub held his breath as he lowered himself onto one knee. He had no idea how well Herb’s or Mitts’ people could see him, but he didn’t care; he put Herb squarely in his rifle sights. Cheshire had left him a clear shot and he knew he could sweep half their line in a matter of seconds if he had to. If Mitts shot him in the back…at least Cheshire might have time to make a run for it. He was so busy focusing, a hundred scenarios in his head, that he didn’t notice Barney moving until the sack of cash dropped next to him.

“This is fucking stupid,” Barney muttered, and he shoved the Hallorran into the back of his belt as he stomped out of hiding.

“Barney—” Jakub was far too late to grab him; he had no choice but to reposition his shot, curses in his throat. If we get out of this, he thought, teeth grinding, I might just kill them both.

***

Maybe I should just let Herb kill him, Cheshire thought, sweating through his good shirt as Barney stalked up beside him. Flying by the seat of one’s pants was hard enough without a passenger, let alone one as volatile as Barney.

“Enough of the bullshit, Masterson,” Barney snarled, looking rather ridiculous in his soaked clothing and a bandana still hanging off his neck. “We all know you’re not going to shoot us dead, so get to the point.”

“Oh, we know that, do we?” Herb said, eyebrows raised. Barney’s arrival had all the guns back up; even if Herb didn’t give the order himself, it wouldn’t take much to start a nasty shootout with them smack in the middle. “You just decided that, huh?”

Cheshire shrugged. His attention  isn’t  on  Barney,  it’s on you, he thought. “He’s an ass, but he’s right,” he said. “Everyone knows we didn’t want to be here. It’s bad luck, that’s all. Nothing to go to war over.”

“War?” Herb repeated, and he scoffed some more. “My friends here putting a few bullets in Kozlow’s boss and their biggest gun isn’t ‘going to’ war, that’s ‘finishing’ one. And you’ve given us every reason to do it.”

“And a vault’s worth of reasons not to,” Cheshire insisted. “Don’t be—”

“You’re not getting this take,” Barney talked over him. “We worked hard for it and it’s ours, so give us some terms we can agree on before the cops find us here.”

Cheshire tried not to wince; if Barney was determined to call Herb’s bluff, there wasn’t much he could do but put up a confident front, too. It even seemed like it might work, for a moment: Herb looked to Camila, and though he said a few joking words about “the gall” of it all, he was clearly seeking her authority. Camila considered for a long moment, staring at them from over the collar of her thick fur coat, and finally she motioned for her soldiers to lower their weapons. That they complied was reassuring until she spoke.

“I want Bloom,” she said.

Cheshire felt the air rush out of the park. All eyes had been on him all along and he’d welcomed them, but suddenly each was a knifepoint, none more so than Barney’s beside him. Instinct wrung a laugh out of him, but panic crushed it thin. “Oh. My. I’m flattered, but—”

“Like we talked about,” Camila went on, and Herb’s smug grin had him burning all over. “You’ll come over to Manhattan and work for me from now on. Then we take fifty percent of tonight’s take and everyone goes home.”

“We didn’t talk about anything,” Cheshire tried to protest, but he hadn’t prepared for this and the humor leaving his tone was far too obvious. He turned to Barney. “Barney, I didn’t—”

“Were you in on this?” Barney demanded, glaring at him with every ounce of the bitter distrust he’d distilled over the years. “Did you fucking tip them off?”

“Of course not! She’s messing with you.” Cheshire looked back to Camila, but she was deadpan and Herb triumphant. “Lucky, come on, what I told you was that I’m not interested. Just take your fifty percent like we agreed at the Thrones and get this nonsense over with.”

“You don’t speak for us,” Barney snapped, “and they’re not getting any of this take!” He gestured angrily at the truck. “You show up right behind them and expect me to believe you’re not on their side?”

“I had to follow them to find you at all! I’m not—” Cheshire shook his head, nearly at a loss. All the Manhattan goons were watching him with snarling amusement now, Herb most of all. “Herb, friend, tell him.”

Herb shrugged, insufferable. “You’ve been my good buddy since day one and everyone knows it.”

Is this the play? Cheshire thought, his pulse frantic and downright jittering as he tried to make sense of the situation. Play  along until Jakub  is  safe and then turn  on them? He could feel Barney glaring holes into his face and knew, with nauseating certainty, that even if he pretended to turncoat he could never go back. Everything he had built with Kozlow would be over. They didn’t need him and he would lose everything.

No, Cheshire thought as the full consequences of that pounded through his chest. No, Barney ’s wrong—they need me. Jakub needs me. “Oh yeah?” he said, desperate and downright manic as he lifted his hands. “If I was really working for Lucky, would I do this?”

It wasn’t difficult to imagine the fire. Cheshire turned his focus on the parking lot and all three of the cars Manhattan had arrived in exploded in a trio of brilliant orange and coiling black. The blast echoed like canonfire, shocking the line of goons so badly that some dropped to their hands and knees while others whirled in panic. Even Herb stumbled, buffeted by the rush of hot wind and shielding Camila from the debris. His face was blank with shock.

Don’t stop. Cheshire shoved Barney to the ground and spun. With the light from the burning cars he could easily make out Mitts and their crew, struggling to regain their wits and their weapons. Don’t let any of them shoot. His stomach lurched, and at the last second he turned his focus away from the figures and to the iron fencing that stretched down the path: one by one the rods shattered, chasing the Harlem gangsters away from the fiery scene. A trashcan showering them in blazing garbage sent them scattering.

“Manhattan does not own Brooklyn!” Cheshire shouted as he turned back to Lucky’s crew, and a frightened laugh rippled out of him at the blazing, unholy spectacle. “And it sure as hell doesn’t own Cheshire Bloom!”

Well you  can’t  fucking  stop  now, said his conscience. He zeroed in a few off-color bricks making up the park’s stone path—they cast gravel and dust into the air when they burst like land mines, a rough smoke screen shielding him from the still struggling gangsters. He could feel tiny, edged pebbles pelt his legs like shrapnel, and Barney cursed as he covered his face. With that reminder Cheshire hauled him up again.

“Get to the truck!” he ordered, pushing Barney on. He turned back to look for Jakub and spotted him rounding the same tree he’d been at earlier, but his rifle was raised and his finger squeezing the trigger.

Even then, Cheshire startled at the report of the gun. He turned and was stunned to see Herb reeling back, a gun in his hand and blood soaking his chest. Camila reached for him, stricken, but she had no hope of supporting his weight and they tumbled to the ground.

For almost a full minute, Cheshire stood frozen. He blinked around the glowing park at the chaos he’d raised and couldn’t for the life of him remember why it had seemed like a good idea seconds ago—or if it had at all. Black smoke billowed from flaming wreckage in all directions like a vision of Hell, and the air burned to breathe. Most of their enemies were in full, terrified retreat, while Jakub and Hannah fled from hiding with Kozlow boys in tow. He should have been running, right? Instead he stared at Herb, who was gripping the gunshot wound in his chest as Camila tried to staunch the bleeding. Maybe he was always meant to die by a bullet and Cheshire should have let him bleed out in his car a year ago.

But it was too hard to think about that then, when Herb stared up at him with all his arrogance and childish humor gone. He’d learned his lesson too late and he deserved a witty taunt into the grave, a “you wanted to see my magic” remark, but the hollow fear in his eyes replaced any satisfaction Cheshire might have felt with a cold and piercing shame.

“You’ll burn in hell,” Camilla told him, shaking but fierce, and Cheshire gulped, believing her.

“Cheshire!” Jakub called, and at last Cheshire fought back to his senses. As he turned to run he caught glimpses of metal barrels reflecting the firelight, and he blew up the first revolver he was able to make out; the holder let out a terrible scream that rattled Cheshire’s nerves, and thankfully it was enough to discourage any others from taking aim against him as he dashed for the truck.

Jakub was standing in the open back of the truck; it lurched forward, and he had to grab at the door to keep from being thrown. Even so he kept his eyes on Cheshire and waved him on; Cheshire reached the vehicle just before it turned out onto the street, and Jakub helped to haul him in so they could close the doors behind him.

“Holy moly,” said Cheshire, still gripping Jakub’s arm as they tried to settle among the vegetable crates. The police hadn’t bothered to re-cover all those they’d opened, leaving box lids and even a few cabbages strewn about. The interior reeked of smoke and without any light it was difficult to get his bearings. “Did everyone make it?”

He was met with only a shift of boxes as the truck rumbled on. He squinted into the dark, trying to determine just how many of them had crowded in, but having gone from painfully-bright to no light at all, he couldn’t get his eyes to adjust. All he could be sure of was Jakub’s metal hand clenched tightly in his vest. “Is everyone all right?” he tried again. “Leon?”

Leon coughed, closer than Cheshire had expected due to the tight confines. “I’m okay.”

“Oh, phew.” Cheshire relaxed and even let out a quiet chuckle. “Sorry if I singed you there; I really didn’t mean for it to get that hot. What about the others?”

“Hannah’s driving the truck,” said Jakub, and even just the sound of his voice helped loosen Cheshire’s wound-up guts. “I think she has Stas with her up there.”

Cheshire was almost afraid to ask. “Barney…?”

“I’m right fucking here,” Barney muttered, and Cheshire couldn’t help but startle. “Gorski, too.”

“Not sure I know who that is, but good.” Sitting seemed like too much trouble given the circumstances, so Cheshire braced his free hand to the truck’s side and welcomed Jakub closer for stability. “Hell, though, cops said they got one of us…?”

“Nowak,” said Jakub. “That was at the river, though.”

“Cops said?” Barney prompted.

He didn’t sound like his usual, berating self—in fact he was uncommonly quiet, and it put Cheshire on edge again. “It’s a long story,” Cheshire said, and when that didn’t ease any tension, he added, “Ask Leon.”

Whether Leon was about to back him up didn’t end up mattering. “It’s fine,” Barney said.

He didn’t offer more than that. No one did, and as the silence dragged out Cheshire began to sweat all over again. With the rush of the standoff in the past, his thinning adrenaline made everything a little clearer, and a little frightening. He wound his fingers in Jakub’s coat. “Thanks for covering me. I didn’t even see that asshole had a gun until he went down! You’re a lifesaver, literally!”

“I had a good shot,” said Jakub.

Silence again. Cheshire gulped. Barney ’s never this quiet, he thought, bracing himself for whenever the angry shouting and accusations would begin. That was…probably too much, even for me. So  why isn’t  he all  over my ass?  “Uh, sorry it got a little out of hand, there,” he tried yet again. “I knew you guys needed some backup but we didn’t really have a plan for… well, any of this? But we made it out and they didn’t, so that’s a win, right?”

Cheshire laughed, hoping to provoke at least some kind of reaction, but all he could make out were uneasy figures in the dark. “No one’s going to mess with Kozlow after all that, right?” he carried on. “Pow, pow! A bank vault in the bag and Masterson is probably out of the picture. That’s not bad at all. As long as—”

“Bloom,” Jakub interrupted, and Cheshire shut up. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Oh, sure.” Cheshire couldn’t make out Jakub’s face in the dark, and the steel in his tone wasn’t much help. How mad is he? he thought unhelpfully. He forced his fingers to unwind and instinctively smoothed out the fabric he had wrinkled by clinging to it. “Sorry.”

Jakub scratched lightly against Cheshire’s back, which he hoped was a good sign. But he kept his mouth shut.

***

No one spoke the rest of the trip, until Hannah stopped the truck almost thirty minutes later. They could hear bells and sirens in the distance, and Jakub held his breath as someone opened the back of the truck. It was only Hannah, thankfully, and she only cracked the door enough to see in.

“Everyone all right?” she whispered.

“We’re fine,” Jakub spoke for the group. “Where are we?”

“Grocery store.” Hannah opened the door a bit more so

Jakub could get a look at the darkened building she’d parked behind. “Least conspicuous place I could think of for a delivery truck.”

“Ahh, good thinking!” said Cheshire, but he buttoned up when Jakub gave him a nudge. Hannah already looked worn thin and nothing out of Cheshire’s mouth was about to help.

“Is the coast clear?” Jakub asked.

“No.” Hannah cast a quick glance behind her. “Still a few hours before dawn, but there are police everywhere. I think we should hole up for as long as we can before making a plan to get home.”

“Keep that door open for a minute,” said Barney. “Can’t fucking see in here.”

They rearranged the crates in the back as best they could, so that at least no nails were exposed and each had some kind of lid. Though it was still stifling and crammed, each picked their spot to hunker down for the remainder of the night. Everyone looked exhausted and Jakub was faring no better; he still felt as if he were vibrating in his skin, alert for every squeal of tires or police siren. His hair smelled like smoke and magic and it kept his heart pounding. Even if he couldn’t get any sleep, he welcomed the opportunity to try.

Once the others were settled, however, Cheshire suddenly pushed Hannah out of the way and climbed out of the back of the truck. “I need some air,” he said, ignoring Hannah’s attempts to draw him back.

“I’ve got it,” Jakub said quickly, hopping out of the truck. “Just stay in the cab and we’ll get out of here at dawn.” Hannah didn’t look convinced, but she headed to the front of the truck.

Thankfully, Cheshire didn’t go far; only a few paces from the truck was an employee entrance, and he paused there to catch his breath. It wasn’t like him to show his discomfort so openly, and Jakub continued to buzz with frustration as he hurried over. “Chesh? You okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Cheshire winced and rubbed his face. “I mean, not really, but yeah. Are you okay?” He reached for Jakub and then hesitated. “I really am sorry, I didn’t—”

“Shh,” Jakub hushed him quickly, paranoid that they were still very much in the open; any passing car could see them, and Barney in the truck would hear every word if they weren’t careful. Seeing Cheshire’s mouth clap shut again made him feel rotten, though, so he rushed to reassure him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re fine—just keep it down, okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Cheshire took his glasses off so he could rake his hair back. “I know that was bad, I just didn’t know what else to do. Barney was never going to believe me unless I did something to prove it.”

“It’s not your fault, that…” Jakub stopped as Cheshire’s words fully registered, and he stared hard into his face. “Wait, what?”

“I thought about going along with it,” Cheshire continued to whisper, his expression so earnest that Jakub didn’t know whether he wanted to slap it off his face or drag him into his arms. “I could play nice with Herb but it’s not like Kozlow would ever take me back after that, right? I had to do something.” He replaced his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe my head’s just full’a smoke, I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Jakub stared, a tremor in his chest and at a loss. “You had a dozen guns on you,” he said, emotion forcing his voice out louder than he meant for. “They could have shot you full of holes and you’re worried about that?”

“Well…yeah!” Cheshire checked himself before he could get swept up in Jakub’s volume. “Of course I am—what do you think I’ve been doing all this time? I’m tired of putting you in the middle of this.” He scraped the back of his palm across his mouth anxiously. “I have to make it work somehow,” he said. “I have to—I know what Kozlow means to you and I don’t want to lose you over all this.”

Jakub’s stomach dropped, and for a long moment he could only stare. Have I really never told him? he thought. Barely an hour ago he had watched Cheshire stand up to Manhattan’s worst and raise hell, almost getting himself killed in the process—he couldn’t quite shake the thrill of panic he’d felt, watching Herb level his gun. All for his sake, so he wouldn’t have to choose between his “family” and his lover. Jakub’s guilt and outrage collided with hours of anxiety, and without thinking he gave Cheshire a push that shoved his back to the door.

“You won’t,” he hissed, furious with himself for never managing to say it sooner. “You can’t—I’m not going anywhere.”

Cheshire blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Stop worrying about what Barney thinks,” Jakub tried again, shaking with the effort of keeping his voice down when the words were so important. “He doesn’t matter—none of them do.” He gripped Cheshire’s soot-stained vest and couldn’t stop the rest from tumbling out. “You’re the only one who matters to me, understand? You’re more important to me than anything else. So don’t do anything that stupid for them ever again.”

“Oh.” Cheshire continued to stare back at him as gradually the words seemed to sink in. A slow, hopeful smile crept across his face. “I am?”

Jakub gulped. “Yeah,” he said, and the relief that beamed through Cheshire’s grin had his stomach back in knots. “Of course you are—what do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

“I have no idea,” Cheshire admitted, and Jakub desperately wished they had more privacy to prove it to him.

The truck’s back door creaked, but for once Jakub didn’t pull away immediately. “We’ll get out of this together, all right?” he said quietly, and he waited until Cheshire nodded to finally let him go.

“Jakub?” Barney called as quietly as he could manage. “You all right?”

Jakub led the pair of them back to the truck, but he let Cheshire climb in first. Barney watched, and with the streetlights on him, Jakub could finally make out the genuine fear buried in his suspicion. “Thanks,” Barney whispered to him, but Jakub just shook his head as he climbed in after Cheshire. Whatever Barney thought they had been talking about, it didn’t matter.

None of them mattered and he and Cheshire would be free of them soon enough.