Theft

1

Alice didn't know why she expected things to be different this time.  It was the same place she always met her clients - dark and greasy, full of people you'd cross the street to avoid.  She usually felt at home here, but today, it was strange.

Her hands instinctively fidgeted with the string of the colorful mask resting on her face.  There was too much illegal activity in places like this for anyone to walk in without some kind of disguise concealing their identity; masks were a favorite of most of the Workers. 

Alice had made her mask by hand when she was first hired.  Black leather starting on her forehead and pointing down the bridge of her nose.  Colorful extensions surrounded her eyes like feathers, contrasting her muddy brown irises.  She had added one of these with each successful job.  At this point, she wouldn't have room for any more by next year.  She was, after all, one of the Industry's best.

Now more than ever, the Industry was being searched for.  The people of the Republic were hungry for justice, the officials said. Everyone with their wits still about them knew that the only reason the Industry still existed was because of that hunger. It was dangerous and illegal to work for it, and Alice relished in that.

In the past, people might've called her a mercenary.  Presently, she was merely referred to as an employee for the world's most in-demand underground organization.  The Industry would get an offer from anyone who wanted business, and after background checking the clients, they would always accept it.  They needed the money, after all.  The amount paid to them would be matched to a Worker with a certain level of skill.  More money meant a better Worker, meaning a better chance of a job well done.  The Workers made money off of tips and bonuses, but the income was usually so generous that none of them had ever needed to do anything else for financial wellbeing.

Alice maintained the same seat at the bar each week, waiting for new clients to be sent her way.  She only chose to meet with each of them once.  Under legal pressure, most clients would give up any information that they had about her, so she preferred to keep things difficult to pin down.  A different pseudonym each week, a new hair color each month, and a new apartment each year.  The only consistency in her life was her work, but it paid her bills and gave her security.  Besides, it could be a hell of a good time.

Alice was the best of the best, and she expected the same from her clients.  Which was why this one was such a surprise.

He entered with complete confidence, despite the menacing atmosphere that he was clearly not familiar with. His mask provided coverage from forehead to chin and was covered in glimmering, translucent gems. A black hoodie was pulled low over his face in a stark contrast to the mask, completely concealing any identifiable characteristics. Clearly he was doing his absolute best to ensure that no one knew who he was. He calmly walked to the stool beside Alice and sat down, turning to her without dropping his guarded posture.

Alice could recognize a the incognito glamour of a wealthy client from a mile away.

His voice was nothing less than generic. Any man between seventeen and forty-five could have adopted its tone at some point. She recognized it easily - the tone of someone eager to negotiate.

"Are you Lois Price?"

He had become acquainted with one of her more formal pseudonyms. This was the Industry's way of letting her know that she had a client with deep pockets and a shallow mind. She chose to respond with the voice of a businesswoman.

"Yes . . . am I correct in assuming that you are, in fact, my client?"

A slight bob of his head told her that she was correct.

"You can call me . . . Eric.  I was directed to you for the completion of a very important job."

"Sure," She took a sip of her drink, fingerless gloves revealing light cuts and scars on her fingers.  "What's the price range?"

"I am willing to pay $6,000 in total."

Alice tried to conceal a smile.  This was the kind of money someone in her position usually had to work a month for.

"And the job?"

He cleared his throat and leaned in, seeming suspicious although his expression was concealed.

"I . . . don't know if I'm comfortable disclosing that here."

Alice rolled her eyes. This was one of the jumpy ones.

"Look," she drawled, resting her hand on the filthy bar with perfect poise, "This place contains all sorts of the worst. Nobody gives two shits about what you're charging me for. I'm the top of the line. They know that I can, quite literally, get any job done with more adequacy than them. They are also quite aware that, should I myself be put in jeopardy due to an information breach, I can dispose of the rat who had the gall to endanger me at a moment's notice. This is your only chance to hire me, Eric. For your sake I hope you don't ruin it."

Talk of missed opportunities always got the rich ones talking. Probably something about not getting what they want. He started babbling immediately.

"Are you aware of the House of Exetyle?"

She nodded. The Exetyle family had reached such a point of economic and social power that they had practically become royalty for the Republic's people to worship. Their wealth put them on another plane of existence, one where everything was diamond-encrusted and you could have as much fun as you wanted because paying bail was barely even a setback.

"Well, I need you to break into their home-"

God, this would be fun.

"And steal a brooch."

Alice stared at him incredulously.

"You want me to steal a brooch."

"You want me to give you money?"

"Point taken."

"As I was saying, you need to steal this brooch and return it to me in this location precisely two weeks from now."

"I'll be here."

"And you might have some . . . competition, Lois. You'd be surprised just how in demand this particular piece of jewelry is."

This was a surprise. Alice had worked countless strange and dangerous jobs in her career, but she had never been pitted against a competitor before.

"Easy."