Uptown Thief (14 page)

As Serena ran from the room, Marisol screamed and threw her arms around Raul.

He seemed startled, then relaxed into the embrace. As he looked down at her, she noticed the softness of his lips. She inhaled the cool, mint, and coffee smell of his breath. He leaned in close—their faces were inches apart.

She tensed.

Raul stepped back. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just so happy. For the clinic.”

He dug his hands into his pockets. “I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me. I didn't volunteer just to hit on you.” He shook his head. “I mean— you know how I feel about you. But that's not what I'm here for.”

“What are you here for, Raul?” Marisol asked, exasperated.

“Since I left the NYPD, I just felt bitter,” Raul said. “And lost. Then Matty invited me to the gala, and I saw you and I saw what you were doing for the community. I just wanna be a part of it.”

“We appreciate your help,” Marisol said again.

“I respect you,” Raul said. “You were happy and you hugged me. I read the moment wrong.”

Marisol shrugged.

“So that's about all the awkwardness I can take.” He chuckled. “I'm gonna go finish out my shift. Congratulations. Again.”

She ached as he walked away, but men were not part of the plan.

As a kid, she had observed her mother with boyfriend after boyfriend. They had all behaved like Raul at first. But once her mother let them move in—things got foul. They started cheating or treated her
mami
like a maid. Some were the yelling type, but just about all were controlling and jealous.

At the clinic in Chelsea, Marisol had had a fling with a Honduran food delivery guy from the German deli. It was sexy for a week. Drama for three months. She hadn't been able to eat sauerkraut since.

Marisol knew how Latino men were. That was why she kept things strictly uptown. Plenty of guys had thick arms and long eyelashes uptown. Guys with no complications, who didn't volunteer in her clinic, and who certainly weren't ex-cops. If only she'd met Raul uptown. She'd sink her teeth into one of those shoulders, tasting him down to the bone.

* * *

As he left the clinic, Raul heard someone calling him. He turned around to see Nalissa waving.

She ran and caught up to him. “A shame it's your last day,” she said.

“It's been great helping out,” Raul said, and the two of them crossed the street.

“You know what's an even bigger shame,” she said. “The way Marisol takes you for granted,
papi
. Like you wouldn't be the best thing to happen to her.”

“Nah,” he said. “We're just friends.”

“You light up when she walks in the room,” Nalissa said.

“I just have so much respect for her,” he said. “For everything she's accomplished.”

Nalissa put her hand on his shoulder as they crossed another street. “Accomplishment won't keep you warm at night.”

Raul shook his head. “This is my building. You be safe getting home, okay?”

He unlocked his front door.

“Let me come in,” Nalissa said, pressing up against him. “If you was with me, I would treat you so good,
papi.
I would make you forget all about Marisol Rivera.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. Raul felt the warmth of her body—the eager openness of the invitation—and kissed her back. He opened the door with one arm and pulled Nalissa inside with the other, his tongue still in her mouth.

Chapter 14

T
he moment after his orgasm, it felt wrong. All wrong. How old was this girl? Twenty-five? Thank God he'd used protection.

They lay on the living room rug. His shoes were off, and his pants were down around his ankles. Her bra was off, and her skirt was hiked around her waist.

He didn't know what to say.

“Looks like I only made you forget her for a few minutes,” she said with a laugh. But then she rolled over, halfway onto him, her full breasts warm against his chest. “It might take a little more time than I thought. Wanna try again sometime soon?”

“Nalissa . . .” he began. He slid out from under her and sat up, the carpet scratching against his bare ass. “You are a beautiful, sexy—”

She cut him off. “Save the awkward speech.” She stood and pulled on her clothes. “My ego's bruised, but I'll recover.”

Yet as she dressed, he could see a bitterness in the line of her mouth. When his front door shut behind her, he sank back down on the carpet. What the fuck had he been thinking?

* * *

“I've been picking up guys in bars again,” Marisol confessed to Eva the following night. They were in a Village sushi restaurant.

Eva stopped mid bite of her tempura appetizer. “And using condoms, right?”

Marisol nodded. “I didn't escape my twenties HIV-negative just to get infected from some recreational fucking.” She didn't mention that he looked like Raul. It would just get Eva started on the open-your-heart bullshit.

“Recreational fucking?”

“I just need to blow off steam,” Marisol said, drinking sake.

“Marisol, I've been noticing something about your sex life,” Eva began.

“Uh-oh,” Marisol said. “Here comes the talk.”

“You've only chosen to have two kinds of sex in your adult life—the kind where you're in total control with a stranger or the kind where you're getting paid with a stranger.”

“Strangers can be sexy,” Marisol said. “Sometimes I just want an uncomplicated fuck, Eva. You wanna send me to a convent?”

“Jews don't do convents,” Eva said. “And why always uptown? Why always immigrants?”

“What's wrong with immigrants?” Marisol asked. “My mother was an immigrant.”

“Mine, too,” Eva said. “I just wonder if it makes you feel more in control because you're a citizen and they're not.”

“Look,” Marisol said. “Puerto Rico is a third world colony. We've all got American citizenship whether we like it or not.”

“Fine,” Eva said. “You fuck any Puerto Ricans?”

Marisol laughed. “It's not like I ask to see their passports. You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Fine,” Eva said. “I counsel sex workers all day, plenty of them Puerto Rican, but I don't know shit about Latina women who have control issues in bed.”

“You make me sound like a cliché,” Marisol said. “I was abused and chose to be a sex worker, and now I have issues.”

“No, Marisol. Other sex workers can have sex with people they trust,” Eva said. “Look at Kim and Jody. They have sex with guys for money, and then they have sex with each other for love. You don't trust anybody in bed.”

“Well, I might be fucking somebody else I don't trust,” Marisol said. “VanDyke says he wants me to do the call, personally.”

“Out of the question,” Eva said. “Tell him to kiss your Puerto Rican ass.”

“He offered seventy-five thousand dollars.”

“No shit?” Eva asked. “Are you still attracted to him?”

“I don't know,” Marisol said. “Half the attraction was the glamour of being with somebody that rich. Being seen with him or having our names linked in the press. This way he's just a client, and it's confidential.”

“Have you talked to Tyesha about it?” Eva asked. “Or Jody or Kim?”

Marisol shook her head.

Eva set down her chopsticks. “Here's what I think,” she said. “If you wanted to do this, you'd have told Tyesha. Then she would have high-fived you and said, ‘Yeah, my girl got a seventy-five-thousand-dollar solid-gold pussy!'”

Marisol laughed, nearly choking on her sake. “That's exactly what she would say. But solid gold is a hundred thousand. Two hundred fifty thousand is platinum.”

“Tyesha would cosign you having sex with him. But I cosign setting your own limits. And you didn't go to Tyesha, you came to me.”

Marisol shrugged. “I just haven't had time to talk to them.”

“Bullshit me all you want,” Eva said. “But don't bullshit yourself.”

“It's not that deep,” Marisol said.

“So I'm giving you permission,” Eva said. “You can say no to seventy-five thousand if you don't want to have sex with him.”

“I did wanna have sex with him,” Marisol said. “Until he wanted to pay me. Even though I need the money.”

“Your choice,” Eva said.

“I know,” Marisol said. “I'm only going to do it if we can figure out how to solicit an
additional donation
.”

“What?” Eva asked. She lowered her voice. “You would try to heist VanDyke? That's a suicide mission. How is it gonna save the clinic for you to be in prison?”

“I think I could pull it off,” Marisol said.

“One of the world's biggest stereotypes is that all sex workers are thieves,” Eva said. “You think you won't be the first one he suspects?”

“I have a plan for that—” Marisol said.

“Which I don't want to hear about.” Eva gulped some sake. “VanDyke is a notorious security fanatic. A heist is way too dangerous.”

“He's also obsessed with his privacy, so he'll turn off the cameras if a sex worker is coming over.”

“Cameras are the least of it,” Eva said. “He has so much money, he could record the DNA of everyone who walks through his door. You're never gonna heist him and get away with it. Just take the seventy-five thousand.”

“If we play it right, he could be our biggest donor ever,” Marisol said. “We could pay off all the real estate debt. I can get it up for that.”

“Marisol, this is going way too far,” Eva said. “When you started the escort service, I agreed, because I know as an attorney that it's a legal gray area. But I never approved of the heists. You've hit nearly all the Ivy Alpha guys. Let's quit while we're ahead.”

“But we're not ahead,” Marisol said. “And we keep getting away with it.”

“We haven't gotten away with it yet,” Eva said. “Let's see how the IRS likes all this unexplained cash next tax season.”

“I have a plan for that, too,” Marisol said.

“Listen to yourself,” Eva said. “
I
have a plan.
I
have a plan.
We
are supposed to be partners.
We
had a plan. To rob a couple of the assholes from the Ivy Alpha scandal because Kim's guy took her to parties there. You said you could use the same safe MO until that big grant comes through in the spring.”

“And what about next year?” Marisol asked. “If
we
can see a chance to set the clinic up for life,
we
should take it. So I am.
Punto
.”

Marisol's phone rang. She motioned for Eva to wait and picked it up.

She listened to Thug Woofer's manager for a minute, then told him to put the rapper on the phone.

Woof came on the line and asked, “What's her price?”

“She doesn't want to see you again,” Marisol said.

“Tell her I apologize for being rude,” he said. “Ask if that changes anything.”

“Mr. Johnson,” Marisol said. “This is an escort service, not a game of telephone. You had your shot. You blew it, so move on. Candi will be moving on, as well. She's not a sex worker full-time. In fact, she's getting her master's degree.”

“For real?” he asked.

“See?” Marisol said. “Unlike your lyrics, not all women are hoes, and even hoes aren't hoes all the time. So if you'll excuse me—”

“Wait,” Woof said. “Ask if she wanna come to the Oscars as my date.”

Marisol paused. “I'll get back to you if the answer is yes. Otherwise, please don't call again.”

She hung up and turned to Eva. “Thug Woofer said to tell Tyesha he wants to take her to the Oscars? I'm no answering service. I should have told Tyesha no from the start. ‘No, I don't know any good escort gigs. Keep waitressing and I'll hire you at the clinic after you graduate. '”

“Bullshit,” Eva said. “Tyesha was determined to make some fast cash from sex work. If you had let her go work for somebody else, you'd be putting in just as much time backseat driving.”

“No, I wouldn't,” Marisol said.

“I can see you now,” Eva said. “ ‘Tyesha! Tyesha! Did they show you the guy's picture for approval? Did they check the bad trick list? Did they give you a panic alarm?'”

Marisol laughed.

“You'd be doing all the work and someone else would be getting the commission,” Eva said. “No one is gonna guarantee that girl's safety like you.”

“But now she's interested in dating a client,” Marisol said. “At worst it's unsafe. At best it's a big pain in my ass.”

“Dating a client is always a bad idea,” Eva said. “But you're considering servicing a client, even after you quit. Tyesha's smart and stubborn, just like you. Frankly, I think this VanDyke job is gonna be the ruin of us.”

* * *

VanDyke's offer looped in Marisol's mind. Seventy-five thousand could cover several mortgage payments and months of payroll. She just needed to eat a nice dinner and fuck a guy. Couldn't she spare a fuck for Jeremy VanDyke? Best of all, he would write a check she could declare on her taxes, not add to the pile of cash to be laundered.

She used “PCD” as a code for “private cash donation” on her internal spreadsheets to track the heist money. She had to establish a paper trail for the IRS that could explain all the stolen cash she'd been using to pay the mortgage for the past several months.

* * *

Late Sunday night, Marisol met with the team in her office.

“We need to plan the VanDyke job,” Marisol said. “I haven't set up the escort call yet, because it might not be feasible.”

“So which one of us is fucking the billionaire?” Jody asked.

“Unfortunately,” Marisol said. “I'll be fucking the billionaire.”

“He didn't like any of us?” Kim asked.

“He's a billionaire,” Jody said. “They get off on buying things that aren't for sale.”

“And hopefully he's predictable in other ways,” Marisol said. “I've researched his business model. Rumor has it that when he's trying to gain control over a company, he offers a million in cash to avoid a hostile takeover. And VanDyke doesn't report it to the IRS, so the competitor can keep it free and clear of taxes. But where does he store the cash? Apparently, he doesn't trust his employees enough to have an office safe.”

“Isn't his apartment connected to his corporate headquarters?” Kim asked.

“With a skywalk,” Marisol said. “And he covers both with a private security army.”

“You think the cash is in the home office?” Tyesha asked.

“How else could he manage it?” Marisol asked. “And I confirmed that his offices overseas used Superlative safes.”

“So that's probably what he uses at home,” Jody said.

“Here's the setup,” Marisol said. “VanDyke is notoriously reclusive in his love life. The press never knows who he's dating until she sells her story to the tabloids.”

“You'll probably go to his place?” Kim said.

“Yeah, but it's like a fortress,” Marisol said. “VanDyke has higher security than anything we've seen.”

She turned her laptop around so the other three could see the Superlative safe specs. “We're only gonna get one shot at this,” she said. “We can't use our usual two-visit MO.”

“You'll do the job while you're doing VanDyke?” Tyesha asked.

“No,” Marisol said. “I'll do VanDyke and still be there when you three hold us up at gunpoint.”

“Gunpoint sounds good,” Jody said.

“So he won't put you together with us,” Kim said.

“I'll do the scared damsel act,” Marisol said. “And you'll wear bodysuits to look like men.”

“Bodysuits?” Kim asked.

“Muscle suits that zip up,” Marisol said. “Broad shoulders. Thick arms. You'll have to bind your breasts down.”

“I suppose we can't tell VanDyke that he's fucking a brilliant criminal mastermind?” Tyesha said.

“Probably not,” Marisol said, and they bumped fists.

“But this plan graduates us from grand larceny to armed robbery,” Marisol said.

“I like guns,” Jody said.

“Guns change everything,” Marisol said. “Getting caught means mandatory minimum sentences and maximum-security consequences.”

“I hate jail,” Kim said. “Can't we just use a little of that fund-raiser money?”

“Not from the endowment,” Tyesha said. “If Marisol embezzled those funds, alarms would go off.”

“We're just scraping by,” Marisol said. “I've maxed out my own credit cards, and borrowed from donors. The debt is racking up, and the escort income isn't consistent. Even the burglary cash just barely makes ends meet. I've done payroll late a couple of times to make sure we wouldn't miss a mortgage payment. If we trigger foreclosure proceedings, we're fucked. We'd have to close our doors.”