Vaughn clapped Riggs on the back when his friend showed up at the hotel bar, both of them in tuxes, wearing their signature black stone cufflinks. He handed him a black masquerade mask, ones Portia Conway left at the concierge; with instructions to wear the disguise the second they walked in the ballroom. He didn’t much care for the tiny sequins framing the outside of the mask, but hey…paid gig.
Client always gets what they want.
“You think this Conway woman would mind if I ripped these sparkly things off?” Riggs smirked.
“I think they help distract people from your ugly mug a little more.”
“If I keep drinking, then yours might end up looking better than mine.” He brushed his hair off his forehead.
“You’re not paid to be an ass.”
He motioned to the bartender for a shot of whiskey. “I’m not on duty until I walk into that room.”
Vaughn asked for one as well. Just something to help loosen him up for a night of dancing with a bunch of wealthy elitists. Although, he preferred Latin dancing, tonight was probably going to be a bunch of foxtrotting, waltzing, and maybe the occasional swing. He could manage all of them. He anticipated a bunch of stiff backs, and straying hands.
“Take it easy on those drinks, guys.” Dorian strolled up, hands in his pockets, looking dark and menacing with a five o’clock shadow nearly as dark as his black tux. “You’ll need your wits about you with this crowd.”
Riggs laughed, and they bumped fists.
Vaughn smiled. “Thought you said you were out?”
His old buddy shook his hand. “I can’t say no to a friend who needs a wingman.”
“Or two.” Riggs winked.
“Besides…” D smirked and rested his elbow on the bar. “I figured you may need an alibi if someone accuses you of another theft.”
Vaughn smirked back. “Dick.”
“Jackass.”
“You’ll need a mask.”
Dorian pulled one from his pocket. “Picked it up at concierge.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Don’t make it a thing. I’m mainly here for the money.” He slipped on his mask, and his brown eyes became darker behind the black facade.
Riggs downed his shot, and cleared his throat. “We ready for this, ladies?”
She adjusted her sports bra, making sure everything was comfortable and secure. “We ready for this, ladies?” Tonight, she wore a black tank top, with a few hidden pockets she’d sewn in herself. Cora donned her trusty long-sleeve runner’s jacket made of waxed cotton, with several utility pockets carrying her essentials.
Her tools were in place. Any bystanders would think she was out for a nightly run with her black cotton running pants and shoes. Everything was tight against her body so it wouldn’t catch on anything as she slipped in and out of tiny places.
The earpiece crackled when she stuck it in her ear. “Comms check.”
“Copy,” Tom answered. “Adjust your zipper cam. I can see up your nose.”
She flipped down the slider. “Better?”
“It smells like shit down here. I hate on-site jobs.”
“Breathe through your mouth.”
“Doesn’t help.”
“Are you patched in yet?”
“Yeah, yeah…hold your bra.”
Cora climbed out of her car and locked it behind her.
Portia Conway’s townhouse sat a block over, where Tom squatted in the electrical closet that housed the main connections for the six units in her complex. He’d snuck in thereabout twenty minutes earlier.
The air had turned a bit muggy from yesterday’s brief rain, but at least it was fresh. Compared to the stagnant, putrid air her associate sat in.
Any high-tech system was only as effective as the security around their electrical panels. Trace a system back far enough, and Tom could get in. Still far too exposed for his liking. His preference was from the comfort of his own ergonomic chair in his cocoon.
“Patched in.” He sighed. “Dragon lady is on her way out, with her personal assistant and new chauffeur.”
“Let me know when they clear the doorway.” She tightened her ponytail, and started walking the other direction. She’d circle back when Conway was out of sight.
“She’s in a green dress, with a cleavage less-than-tasteful for her age. Green feathers coming out of her mask. If you miss her, you’re blind.”
Cora quickened her steps into an easy jog, and turned a corner. Around the next block, she spotted the tell-tale green feathers sprouting from the woman’s mask. They dipped into a black car, and the red brake lights lit up the street. She ducked her head to keep her face hidden. The car drove off, and she kept jogging.
After a full circle around the block, Tom’s voice chimed in. “I’ve got control over her alarm and cameras. Ready when you are.”
A deep breath filtered into her lungs, and she focused on keeping her heart rhythm steady. Her cheeks felt warm, but her hands were steady when she pulled out her lock picking tool, and approached Conway’s back door. “Time to kick this woman where it really hurts,” she whispered.