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"I don't think this is a good idea," Butters had said from the front of the limo.
Blue couldn't help but chuckle as she glanced away from the window. They sat outside the apartment complex—Russel Herrick's—suspect numero uno's apartment complex. It had not been hard to tail professional FBI agents. Comically easy, really, Blue thought, even as she admitted they probably had other things on their minds and hadn't thought she would follow them.
Originally, she had made Butters follow Nash and his partner, though they kept a safe and steady pace behind them. Not that they were looking at the limo in the rear-view mirror, she chuckled. Plus, Blue had instructed Butters to park down a side street from the main parking lot. She hoped the commotion forming at the front doors would be enough of a distraction so they didn't look around.
"I believe you've said the same thing to me before," she replied with a cocked eyebrow and a snicker on her lips.
"I meant it that time, too." He looked through the rear-view mirror, meeting Blue's gaze.
She waved a hand—a dismissive gesture, before replying. "I want to make sure this isn't some sort of trap. Cruz was not happy when I left his hotel room. Who knows what cockamamie plan he dreamed up? I still can't believe, after all these years, he is pulling this shit. We'll stay for a bit, until Nash walks back out."
While she watched and waited, Blue didn't mind that Butters didn't deem it necessary to respond. There would be nothing he could say anyway to make her leave this spot, she murmured to herself. Just like the time before.
*****
BUTTERS POINTED TO two vans sitting a half a block away. "He said they are waiting, watching him. The shop has been pretending to be a legitimate business, trying to keep the feds from storming the place," he argued, pleading his case for why they should leave and forget about fencing the ring.
The 'He' Butters was talking about was Fergus Archer. Fergus was an old, grumpy Scotsman who ran the pawnshop, but it was not the pawn shop the cops hung around for. No, the reason they surveilled the storefront was because Blue was sitting outside. Fergus was the best fence in all of Las Vegas. There wasn't much that Fergus couldn't move, or couldn't gather—like information on other jobs or treasures waiting to be rescued.
"What we need is a distraction," Blue said more to herself as she scanned the surrounding street.
Luckily, they didn't have to wait long. About 45 minutes later, Blue spotted a small group of tourists. Moms or older female friends having a girls' trip, chatting and unaware of their surroundings. One woman carried bulging plastic bags which smacked off her legs as she walked. A particular purchase at the bottom of the pile was splitting open, the merchandise dangling out of the rip.
It's almost too easy, Blue thought to herself, shaking her head at the way some people were completely unaware of their environment.
"Flag down one of those gang members." Blue ordered as she took a scarf, draping the silky blue fabric over her hair. This concealed her blondeness with the article of cloth wrapped around her neck and tucked into the ends of her suit jacket.
The scarf along with enormous glasses, and an oversize coat would disguise her long enough to sneak inside and give Fergus the Oppenheimer Blue. It also gave her the sexy vintage look that she so dearly loved.
No one said you couldn't look good while you committed a felony, she spoke to herself again. And she needed to get it out of her possession before Special Agent Nash came back.
Butters craned to look, sneering. "This will never work." Clearly, he had some idea what she was planning and found the idea lacking.
"We only need a moment. I'm sure with enough incentive..." Looking at the thugs again, she decided. "Maybe not a whole lot of incentive. They will steal the packages from those women. When they run, the police in the vans will have to give chase."
"You’re insane," Butters mumbled.
Blue chuckled and handed Butters a wad of cash. Grumbling, he hoisted himself up and out of the car.
At first, the men all took steps back or surged around whom Blue assumed was their leader, creating a semicircle of protection around him. They puffed up, whether in wariness or as an intimidation factor, against this massive man that came inside their territory. Some openly assessed him, while others hid behind glasses and strategically blank faces.
Blue couldn't hear the words volleying back and forth, but negotiating with them was a quick process. The leader tucked the money into his pocket and waddled off with his group—hands holding up sagging pants and chains swinging on each side. He and his cronies crossed the street, darting in between oncoming traffic until they were right on top of their prey.
Finesse was not part of their repertoire.
Hands flew in some sort of signal that only they understood. Together they rushed the group like battering rams. The biggest of the lot bursting through the party like a bowling ball looking for a strike.
This sent the women falling, shrieking and throwing garments and bags into the air as they lost their balance. His little stumpy friend was quick to follow him, scooping as he went, leaving the remains to be plucked up by the stragglers. They hooted and called out over the woman's screams and cries for help, all the while skipping backwards in order to taunt their victims.
They halted all their lively chatter as agents threw the van doors open, metal crashing against metal. Police emptied from the vehicle, dark, wind-breakered clowns with weapons drawn and authoritative voices booming. Of course, the gang bangers didn't stay to be arrested, scattering to the four corners of the wind, each with at least one officer hot on their tail.
As soon as they gave chase, Blue wasted no more time. The end to the disaster she created was of no interest to her. She, herself, had to nip through the fast moving traffic, the same they had just navigated, before ducking into the alley. She still didn't want to take the chance the FBI had left one eagle-eyed agent behind. A secret knock and whispered words—the Oppenheimer Blue was off to its new home.
*****
IT WAS THE EXPLOSION which had drawn Blue out of her trip down memory lane, her body jerking at the unexpected sound.
The loud boom vibrated off the surrounding buildings and the puff of smoke and fire that belched out of the building sent the crowd running, some toward the scene. Others scattered down the street, civilians, employees and reporters—even though they tried to aim their cameras toward the blackened hole while jogging backwards and away.
Butters, thankfully, familiar with how her mind worked, sprinted out the car door and tore into the horde as she shouted, "Go get him!" She sat pressed to the window, torn between running into the structure herself and not wanting to be caught by the hundreds of cops that were already inside.