Celebromancy (22 page)

“They’re in L.A., so when Jane isn’t on location, I see them pretty much every day. It’s been nearly a month since I left.”

There was a
ka-chunk
sound in Ree’s brain as yet another brick fell into place on her wall of responsibility. It read:

#316—GET DANNY BACK TO HIS TOTALLY CUTE FAMILY.

When she turned her attention back to Danny, his phone was gone.

“Then let’s see about wrapping this thing up and getting you back home to your guys. Do you know anything about sneaking into hotels? Like, reverse bodyguarding?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to participate in conspiracy to commit kindapping . . .” Danny said with a smile.

“Of course not. But as a writer, I’m very curious about the bodyguarding business, and I’d love to pick your brain about a hypothetical situation.” Ree put quotey fingers around
hypothetical
, matching Danny’s smile.

Danny sat back down, putting his phone away with a grin. “Ah, of course. Professionally speaking, if I were protecting Rachel MacKenzie, here are the things I’d be worried about . . .”

Chapter Sixteen

Hypothetical Kidnapping Is the Name of My Leverage Cover Band

The Heist. It’s a plot that dates back to the myths of Prometheus and Maui, recurring time and time again. Whether it’s the solo thief or the ensemble, some things remain the same:

1) The Thief — who must test their agility, mental and physical both.

2) The Mark — sometimes unwitting, sometimes armed to the teeth.

3) The Loot — be it MacGuffin, magic, or money, the loot is the ultimate driving force in the heist, something worth staking your life on.

4) The Twist — get in, get thing, get out is too easy. For millennia we’ve been complicating the heist in ways both new and old.

Will humanity ever get tired of the heist plot? Not as long as there are cloisters of power, scarce resources, and the magic alchemy of ambition and courage necessary to cross the threshold into enemy territory.

—
It’s All Been Done: Tracing the Roots of Modern Story Structure
, by Robert C. Lutz, (Grumpy Scandinavian Press, 2011) 117.

Hypothetically speaking, Ree hopped a bus across town, giving her enough time to watch an episode of
Leverage
, during which she focused her attention on the delightfully odd thief, Parker (First name or last name? Yes.), played by the marvelous Beth Riesgraf. She probably would have been fine dialing in to any of the crew, picking up on Elliott’s awesome fight and fight-avoidance skills, Hardison’s hacking (though she lacked a disposable netbook to use his only-on-TV Technomancy), Sophie’s confidence-woman acting skills, or Nate Ford’s mastermind-fu.

But the thieving sounded the most fun. Thanks to a Julie-Newmar-induced crush on Catwoman at the age of six, Ree had always been intrigued by the Cool of the Thief. Her love of the thief had lead to playing dozens of rogues over the years, several perfect-stealth play-throughs of video games, and a special dice bag just for her sneak attack dice, onyx black with metallic red pips. And in the real world, she’d even managed to pick up some lock-picking skills of her own. But Ree hoped that the magic skill from
Leverage
would boost what little tradecraft she had on her own.

Ninja skills, don’t fail me now.

Ree knew from hundreds of heist movies and the magic buzzing in her head that she would have three major hurdles in getting to Rachel MacKenzie.

She adjusted her bag as she turned the corner to approach the first biggest hurdle: the front door. The Pearson Crown Hotel, being the top-end hotel in the city, had doormen at the main entrance, and visitors were marked and classified before they could take three steps inside. If Ree didn’t look the part right away, she’d be pegged as a variable, and they’d have eyes on her the whole time. Plus, if she was ID-ed coming in, then she’d be back on the APB as soon as Rachel called the alarm.

Which meant that she needed an excuse to be inside. Which meant disguise. Therefore, on the way to the hotel, she retrieved the chef’s outfit that she’d worn when she and Sandra took cooking classes together to help Ree learn how to approximate human food and for Sandra to pursue her long-unfulfilled dream of becoming a restaurateur.

Ree didn’t have a hat, but it didn’t seem to matter. After walking down the alley, she found the back entrance and nodded to a couple of workers taking a smoke break there. Kitchen staff had a big turnover, even at a big place like the Crown, and especially on the bottom of the ladder, so she was betting these two wouldn’t care if they didn’t recognize her exactly. And they didn’t.

Ree did her best to walk with confidence while not bringing attention to herself, her shoulders hunched up a bit in the same way she’d seen Parker do a dozen times on the show while trying to unobtrusive her way through a situation. Feeling a twinge of magic, she opened the door and stepped into the steamy, noisy back end of the Pearson Crown Hotel.

One hurdle down. Let’s hope it stays this easy.

Continuing her purposeful walk, she passed the main kitchen, where cooks, dishwashers, servers, and an angry chef carried out a culinary cacophony, with rattling pots, gouts of flame, plumes of steam, orders called at Mr. MicroMachine speed. A cluster of smells hit her nose: fresh pasta, seared meat, and soapy water.

The kitchen staff used curses and insults like they were an integral part of restauranteering grammar (and perhaps they were). Ree stopped to listen to them, a small grin breaking her poker face.

“Get me a goddamned steak frites, for fuck’s sake, or I will drag your ass out to the front so you can explain to the city councilman why a fry cook with ten years of experience can’t figure out how to dunk slices of potato in hot oil when pimple-covered teenagers with their hands down their pants manage to do it in three minutes or less every fucking day!”

The chaotic sounds spiked a bit higher, and Ree heard a guy with a Ecuadorian accent invite the first speaker and Councilman Thompson to blow a Chupacabra in Hell (in Spanish, natch). Ree made a note to of the line to use sometime later, then continued down the hall, having acquired the gossip she needed.

Ree found a room that was unlocked, then snuck into the tremendously useful closet. It was filled with cleaning supplies, a carton of cigarettes hidden in the corner, and a vent.

Oh, vents. Lovely, marvelous vents.
But this wasn’t the vent she needed. That would come with outfit number three. Ree unbuttoned the chef’s coat and stuffed it into her bag, then pulled out outfit number two: an evening gown borrowed out of Jane’s closet.

It was a newer dress, from when Jane had gone to the VMAs despite being a walking wreck and twenty pounds underweight. But Jane down twenty pounds put her at just about Ree’s build. It was still a bit wide in the waist, but Ree hoped that the Push-Up Bra of Thundering Cleavage would cover for the imperfect fit. Said bra had cost her a complete collection of King’s Quest floppies and many, many, many odd stares at Midnight Market.
Let’s hope it does the trick.

Ree pulled a quick change, then produced her makeup kit, unfolded the compact on a shelf, and set about putting on a Pearson Escort look. Pearson wasn’t as upscale as L.A. or N.Y.C., so she went for classy but not too ostentatious. The bra would do most of the talking, anyway.

Several minutes later, she checked the look in the mirror one more time to check her hair. She gave a slight tug, and let one curl of hair fall in front of her right eye, just so.

In a normal world, there’s no way Ree would have been able to put on a red-carpet-ready look in a hotel basement closet. But thanks to the wonders of
Leverage
magic, she’d done just that in five minutes. Ree made note of the fact that of the cast, only Sophie would have been able to do that quick makeup job, and resolved to use ensemble shows more often for the versatility.

Ree took a picture with her camera (for posterity, because why not). She checked the picture and went over the elements of her outfit one more time:

Red awards-show gown with bustling to highlight the magic bra; Christina Hendricks–level cleavage thanks to said magic bra; full-face makeup with just-that-side-of-gaudy eyeshadow, just-this-side-of-gaudy blush; bloodred earrings (again borrowed from Jane); a black suede purse; and hopefully-not-too-out-of-date Christian Louboutin heels.

She stuffed her phone, lightsaber, emergency deck, and the bag containing the accessories for outfit number three in her thank-God-they’re-in-style massive purse, then wiped the room for prints and left the cloth, stuffing outfit number one in the bag.

Time for the second hurdle.

•   •   •

Her disguise plus a bit more
Leverage
-fu got Ree out of the basement without incident, and she made it as far as the rear elevator hallway before someone stopped her. It was a taller Asian woman in a conservative black dress, her hair back and up with a swanky jade clip, who challenged Ree with a “Can I help you?”

Ree turned and smiled, tapping again into the magic, remembering the part in the episode when Parker had to channel Sophie, demure and charming. “Oh, sorry. I got a little lost. I’m supposed to meet Councilman Thompson tonight?” Ree took a long breath, trying to say more with less . . . and to let the magic bra do its thing. “He said I was supposed to be discreet—you know how these men can be.”

Ree mentally crossed her fingers that the woman was high enough on the Kinsey scale for the bra to have been worth the bother. For a moment, Ree couldn’t breathe as she watched for the woman’s response.

At first, the woman looked skeptical, but after a brief but signifigant gaze at Ree’s chest, she said, “Of course. The councilman is in room 719. Do you need me to let you in?”

Ree gave her best Big Smile. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

•   •   •

Ree closed the door of room 719 behind her and exhaled slowly. The
Leverage
magic was nearly gone, so she wouldn’t have much time to get past hurdle number three: the bodyguards.

Rachel’s room was two floors up, so she’d need every bit of magic to navigate the ducts up those two floors to even get to the bodyguards. Ree kicked off the heels and put her “cook” shoes back on, then spotted the air duct she needed.

Any other time, Ree would have taken a few moments to enjoy the lavish furniture, the stupidly large bouquet on the table, and the doubtless-expensive bottle of Champagne by the bed. Someone was going to have one hell of a night, but it wasn’t her.

Ree reached around to her back, hopped a couple of times as she tried to reach the zipper, then opened up the back of her dress. Ree let the gown drop to the floor and removed the Bra of Thundering Cleavage. She’d have to try it again sometime soon in a less felonious situation. Maybe with Jane, once this was all over and done.

She took the tool kit she’d hidden in the ample space, set it on a chair, then pulled up the top half of the bodysuit (aka outfit number three) hidden under the bottom half of the gown. As she stuffed the bra, the fancy purse, her borrowed shoes and accessories, and the awards dress inside, all she could think was,
Oh, the crimes I am committing against fashion
.

After situating everything in the bag, Ree pulled the cushy chair over to the wall, made sure it was steady, then climbed up to the wall vent. She grabbed the tool kit and opened the vent in a hurry, using some of the remaining
Leverage
mojo.

Ree threw the duffel into the crawl space, then shimmied into the vent feetfirst so she could fix it back into place (not perfectly, but well enough that if the councilman came back before she’d made her escape, he wouldn’t be likely to notice). Not that he’d be likely to notice anyway because who actually looks at vents when it isn’t too hot or too cold?

Once the vent was on, Ree pulled out her phone again, which involved quite a bit of squirming and sliding (should have done that first!). She cued up the same episode of
Leverage
again for one more power boost.

She got about five minutes in before she heard someone at the door. They were noisy, clumsy. Probably the councilman. And even if he didn’t look at the vent, if he heard the show or saw the light, she’d be made in a drunkard’s second.

Ree clicked the phone off and slid away from the vent. She looped the duffel strap over her leg because she knew that at some point . . .

There. The duffel tipped off the ledge and started to fall down a hole. Ree curled her leg up and pulled it back onto the vent.

Two floors up, then Rachel’s room should be just down the hall. You can do this
, she told herself.

Ree grabbed the duffel with both legs, then steered it back over the hole and deposited it over on the other side of the vent. After one last careful nudge, Ree scooted herself back and let her legs feed down the hole.

Here was where the magic really came in handy. Ree looped the duffel around her front again and positioned herself in the vent.

In defiance of practicality, Ree started to climb up, her hands and knees pressed against the opposite side. This could be done in the normal world, but Ree didn’t want to think about how much harder it would be. And she definitely didn’t want to think about how far down the vent went, or how tremendously dead she’d be if the magic gave out before she got to the ninth floor.

Wouldn’t that be a helluva teaser for a procedural cop show
, Ree thought.
Mangled body shows up in the bottom of an access vent, with a $7,000 dress in a duffel bag, expensive earrings, and a black bodysuit. Good luck, Beckett and Castle.

The vertical shimmy got her up one flight, but the energy buzzing in her head was nearly empty. She only had to get another ten feet up and onto the ledge. From there, she could recharge and keep going.

Ree pushed down on the side of the vent, trying to speed herself up the shaft. Her confidence was fading foot by foot, and when she was half a flight from her destination, the energy fizzed out.

Fuuuuck
, Ree thought as she strained against the sides of the vent, keeping herself steady as the universe reset from magic-enabled Heist Movie Easy Mode to Hard. There’s no way she could safely recharge, nor could she reach for any of her other artifacts or tools.

Ree took a long breath and tried to talk herself up.
You’re almost there. You can do this. Just a few more feet. It’s like a ropes course, you can do this yourself.

But then panic came a-knocking on the green room of her mind.
The fuck it’s like a ropes course! You’re at least a hundred feet up a tiny shaft, and it doesn’t fucking matter which cute or dashing or rugged detective finds you and tries to solve the case, you’ll still be dead!

She took another moment to breathe, the air in the vent still with the scent of sweat, then looked up and focused on her destination. It was almost within reach. She just had to push one, maybe two more times up the shaft. Ree pressed with her right foot and slid her right hand up the wall, maintaining pressure. It was far slower than what she’d been doing with the magic, but slow and steady would win the race of not dying in a ventilation shaft.