The Fleece Job (Olympus Drive Chronicles)

Chapter 7: No rest for the wicked

Jason

Most little boys, they grow up wanting to be a policeman. Or a firefighter. Or an astronaut.

Me?

I always wanted to be a thief.

There was never any other idea. Not from when I could walk. It didn't help that my dad was the most successful grifter in Europe. We lived in a mansion tucked away in the mountains. And my youth was spent running the empty halls, pretending to be a daring thief fleeing with my golden prize.

My father employed a series of increasingly frustrated nannies and au pairs to mind me, and when they failed, a series of boarding schools. He was often away. I didn't mind. When he was home, I had him. And we had our life of crime. I wanted him to teach me everything. More than that, I wanted to be just like him.

"I want to be you. I want to be just like you, dad," I would tell him, "Please teach me."

"You shouldn't be like me."

"But I want to be. Please. Tell me what you think I need to know. I want to learn how to be a man."

"There are rules to being a man, Jay," he said, stroking my hair and inspecting my face. As always, searching for the trace of him in my otherwise foreign features. I don't know if it was ever there. I'm nothing like him. No matter how I want to be.

"Rule number one. Never take what someone can't afford to lose."

"So we steal from the rich?" I asked. We walked by the Thames. A rare expedition from my boarding school in London.

"We steal from those who can afford to lose it. I mean what I said."

"How do I know?"

"You'll know. Rule number two----that do you think that is, Jay?"

"Don't get caught?"

"Au contraire, don't be afraid to be caught."

"Why?"

"The guilty run when no one is chasing them. Criminals are afraid of the police. We are not criminals, Jay. We are merely parasites of a long since broken system. We do not fear the law, we work in conjunction with it. and the fastest way to prove your innocence is to cooperate with law enforcement," he said, stopping to stare at the water.

"But we're thieves," I said, sitting down gratefully. At that age, my little legs were quite tired from the walk.

"We are. We're the bad guys, Jay. But so are the police."

"Then who are the good guys?" I asked, frowning.

"There aren't any. This isn't a fairy tale. There's no knight in shining armor, going to rescue the princess in the tower. There's no right there's no wrong. There just is. We are simply a part of an already mad, mad world. And there aren't any heroes, so don't fancy yourself one. You're not. You're a thief and scholar, but above all that you're an honorable man. But it doesn't make you better than anyone else. In fact, it makes you worse."

"Why?"

"Because one day, you'll make a choice, right or wrong. And that will be the choice that gets you killed. The more honorable of a man you are, the sooner that day will come. Because at the end of the line, no one is coming to save you. Don't look for mercy, you won't get it. When we die we accept our fate with pride, and move on to the next adventure. That's rule number three. Be ready to die."

"And rule number four?" there's four of everything. There always is with my dad. It's his favorite number. He never told me why.

"Never be afraid to walk away from a mark."