I learned in both my lives that a heist was never really about the day you actually pulled it off.
It was about all the days, weeks, months, and, amusingly enough, sometimes even years that came beforehand.
Anyone who had ever watched a heist movie knew this. No matter how enormous or spectacular the robbery appeared, it was never simply a matter of smashing your way in and grabbing something.
Every detail needed to be planned down to the T; from movements, to the guest list, to security, and when I was actually planning to get away with it, even traffic.
One mistake somewhere along the chain of production—or chain of redirection—and we’d all end up in prison or worse.
There was considerably less on the line for freelance supervillains, but the principle remained the same.
I collected Glacia the following day beneath the doorman’s usual look of disapproval and drove past the Metropolitan Museum of Art to scope out the location and work on the heist a little.
"Never go in blind," I told her as we drove downtown and through the crowded traffic. "Even if you’ve been there before, you always need to examine the location before you plan anything.
Maintenance might have closed off parts of the building. Renovations might have changed up the layout. Anything that might alter your plans you need to know about. Rushing in half cocked will only get you injured at best, or killed at worst."
"I see," Glacia said, nodding as she scribbled in her notebook.
"And it’s always a good idea to plan not only your entrance, but also your exit," I added as the museum came closer. "Ideally you go out the way you came in, but that’s not always an option.
So you need to keep in mind alternatives. Every villain needs an escape plan. Ideally two. Remember, our job isn’t to win. It’s to live to fight another day."
"Of course, sir," Glacia said, nodding firmly. "I will not let you down."
I certainly hoped she wouldn’t.
Failing me on that particular point would probably get her killed, which would be a damn shame. But I knew better than most how frequently freelance villains ended up dead.
It wasn’t a profession suited to careless people.
I glanced toward Glacia and found myself wondering whether being a managed arch was really the career she should have chosen. But there was nothing I could say about it.
It was her decision, and I genuinely thought she could make a decent one. So anything I could do to help her along the way, I’d do.
We arrived not long afterward, the museum occupying one of those enormous structures inspired by grey Greek architecture. The signs of activity were impossible to miss.
Banners were being stretched between the pillars outside, advertising the diamond’s upcoming display. Sections of the area in front of the building were being closed off while spotlights were wheeled into position.
I slowed the car, cruising past at a leisurely pace. Yeah. Everything looked good. I’d worked a couple of jobs at the museum before.
Razer purchased plenty of abstract art for ridiculous sums, which was merely a convenient method of disguising our payment, meaning many of these museums were willing participants, provided any damage was covered by whichever super agency they happened to be working with.
I parked in front of the building, got out with Glacia, and climbed the stairs.
Several security guards met us, but I noticed Julia standing near the entrance and gave her a wave. The secretary immediately hurried over.
"There you are! They’re with me, gentlemen," Julia said, smiling at the two guards, who instantly let us pass. "Right this way," she said, leading us towards the main doors. "Miss Lacey is getting everything sorted for the big event! I’m sure you’ll be pleased."
"We’ll see," I said guardedly.
The museum’s reception hall was a huge open space, its centerpiece a circular desk crowned by a gigantic metal globe with an integrated clock.
Nearby stood a large sculpture of an angel possessing a comically tiny penis, while neogothic arches gave the entire interior something of a church’s atmosphere.
Workers hurried back and forth, but it was already apparent that the primary event was being assembled in the central foyer.
The platform intended for the diamond had already been constructed, complete with a large display case sitting on a podium, a pillow waiting beneath it and a glass dome meant to cover the diamond.
Lacey was there, and this time she’d actually dressed in a suit, complete with a sinfully high skirt and a jacket that left very little to the imagination.
And with a body like Lacey’s, there was plenty for the imagination to work with. I actually watched a couple of workmen stare at her so intently that they walked straight into a pillar.
She stood beside the podium, studying several documents and issuing instructions to the museum’s curator, Waldorf Stevenson.
A stuffy elderly man, with a balding scalp possessing little more than scattered tufts of white hair and rheumy eyes hidden behind his glasses.
He’d managed to survive the past few years of upheaval, when most artistic institutions had been replacing their older caretakers with young preppies, but there was a very good reason he remained: he was an old hand at this game.
I knew I could trust him to relocate all the genuinely valuable exhibits, leaving behind nothing but plaster replicas like the micropenis angel to suffer suitably dramatic damage.
The moment Lacey noticed me approaching, her expression brightened. She snapped the folder she’d been examining shut and passed it to several suited hangers-on, who immediately scurried off.
"Miles! So glad you could make it," Lacey said, then to her secretary. "Thank you, Julia. I can take it from here."
"Ma’am," Julia said, already wandering off to deal with another part of the preparations.
"Now," Lacey said, her mirrored lenses shining like silver discs beneath the lights. "What do you think?"