Page 3 of For a Price

I check my phone, then check it again. I’ve been sitting at the bus stop across from the Crowne Towers for over forty-five minutes.

JC, Fozzil and Finch are nowhere to be found.

I’m not sure why I’m even halfway surprised—our merry little band of misfit criminals isn’t the most reliable group of people.

No honor among thieves… or however the saying goes.

This wouldn’t be the first time they’d been late for a job.

I sigh and glance down at the uniform I’ve donned.

A utilitarian button-up tunic and elastic band pants. I’ve got my lavender curls stuffed under a logo-less baseball cap, and I’ve put on the rattiest pair of sneakers I could find on short notice. A pair of large, intensely unattractive eyeglasses top off my look.

Bland and boring.

Inconspicuous, like JC had said.

The goal is to get in, get out and get paid.

The actual ransom piece is all Finch. My hands will be wiped clean as soon as we get Mr. Volkova into the back of Fozzil’s car.It’ll be up to him to drive our captive to his twin brother’s house and negotiate terms with the Volkova family.

Just when I’m about to shoot off an angry text cussing JC out, a van screeches as it spins around the street corner.

Half a block later, it slams to a halt, the body of the van rocking back and forth from the abrupt stop. The side door slides open and out hops JC in the same uniform I’m wearing. He’s even done like I have and put on the most unappealing pair of eyeglasses ever.

He juts his chin at me. “Ready to rock and roll, Melissa?”

“Sure, Peter.”

“I don’t want to be Peter. I’m Andy.”

“Let’s get going, Peter,” I say loudly. “You are already late. We’ve got a whole big-ass building to clean.”

We set off across the street. JC strides a couple steps ahead of me to reach the doors first. He’s dug a ring of keys out of his pockets, quickly using it to open the doors.

“Where’d you get those from?”

“Finch knows somebody who works here. She swiped them for him for a grand.”

We slip into the dimly lit lobby that feels so empty and vast it’s almost unnerving. Crossing to the other side feels like a journey in and of itself. We don’t stop ’til we’ve reached another door. This one marked ‘CLEANING’ in neat, capital letters.

“We have a cart,” JC explains, jiggling the loose doorknob. “We’ll take it up to Volkova’s floor, then bide our time. Fozzil’ll be waiting at the back of the building where the freight entrance and exit is—that’s how we’ll get him out of here. Rolled up in a fucking rug or some shit lying around.”

“You lead, Peter. I’m just here to clean.”

“Like hell you are. Everybody knows you’re the real brains.”

He grins and winks at me, nudging the cleaning cart out of the tightly spaced closet.

He’s joking, but also kind of serious.

I’ve led my fair share of jobs. The guys sometimes jest that I’m the real mastermind of the group.

A title I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with, considering it’s the leaders who usually fall first in criminal gangs.

My stomach gives a funny flip as if in warning.

I press on, following JC into the elevator.

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