The Tale of the Fox

My dear friend, 

In a classical retelling of the Queen’s Gambit, one Beth Harmon attempts to carve a, should I say, far more prestigious future than that offered to a young woman living during the Cold War. But we’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? Still, I see the spirit of Queen Harmon within yourself as you exploit every opportunity that may present itself to you until every drop is sucked dry. It’s admirable, really, the way nothing you obtain is ever wasted. It is with great humility that I reach out to you, as I know you are very busy. However, even in times of such turmoil, I find it is necessary to request a brief moment of your time. If you review the attachment I sent privately, you will see the attached location designated for the meeting. I hope this letter finds you well, dear friend! 

• G

            As she read over the letter, small cursive letters dancing through her vision, a flurry of panic filled her. A rush over to her commuter screen and a few clicks of the mouse confirmed what she had already feared, from the moment she saw the messy, drawn out “Q” in its place on the paper. Finally, and about time, she figured, almost as an afterthought, he had found her. 

Shit. 

                G, 

                Thank you for your letter. I appreciate the effort. As you said, however, I’m very busy, and unfortunately a meeting cannot be worked into my schedule. I’m sure you, of all people, will understand. If there is something incredibly urgent to discuss, please feel free to contact me as you have over the past few months. 

• Q

            The message was quickly sent, and she hunched backward into her plush chair with a sigh. This could be a serious problem. She supposed it was probably her own fault for associating herself with someone like Grayson James. He was a criminal. He was humble. He was smart. All of which were a very dangerous combination for one person to have. 

             Years, fuck, years of hard work, down the drain. All of her power was in the fact that no one knew her. Not the numerous gangs, not the FBI, no one. She was entirely a mystery. Well, not anymore.

             Whatever, she had work to do. Real work. Repetitive, mundane work that included picking up her few articles of clothing from the laundromat and a quick trip to the supermarket that would ensure she wouldn’t starve to death (always a very real possibility). 

              The errand-running was boring as all hell. The washing machine had stopped half way through its cycle (as always), and digging through her extraordinarily cluttered bag was never a fun task. On her way home, the door had taken three tries to open. Not unexpected, sadly, though incredibly annoying if she may say. No, the unexpected part came when she finally opened her door, and settled the outrageous amount of stuff in her arms in a small pile on the floor. She had been just about to make a pack of ramen, because hey, she had just bought it had she not? When she noticed something a bit off.

There was a man. 

Sitting on her couch.

Watching tv. 

She did live alone, right? 

Uh. 

Well, Shit. 

“I was just about to make ramen. You want some?” 

The man startles, as if he hadn’t noticed she was there. Which was completely ridiculous considering he had broken into her apartment. Also, she knew him. 

“Also, I got some new clothes a couple days ago, if you want to borrow those. Since you already seem so comfortable here,” She looks him up and down, “Grayson.” 

            The man had the audacity to laugh, all airy and high, as if this was all just a big misunderstanding, as if he hadn’t just destroyed her decade long hacking career in a matter of minutes. Years ago, when she had been first getting started, she met a member of the FBI. Pretty typical guy, in her opinion. He was smart, innovative, young and passionate, and convinced he could change the world. He said he wanted her help, just a simple drug ring bust. Well, turns out, it had really been a grand plan to catch her, because two weeks later, she discovered three agents of his in her area. She had moved out in a matter of hours, and the guys had never found her. She was a lot smarter than them, even back then. Still, it had been a wake up call. A reminder that she couldn’t slack off, that she always had to assume the worst in people. Like a fox, her mother had always said, able to disappear as quickly as it came. It was frustrating, because she’d been careful, and still in a matter of hours, one man had been able to find her name and location, and had shown up in her apartment. The fact that he could have known this information for days, weeks, months even, while she had no idea sat with her like the spoiled milk in the back of her fridge. She didn’t like being played with.

               And honestly, she’d liked Grayson. Not trusted him, no, she didn’t trust anyone, but still. He was polite and funny. He respected her. Those were rare to come by in this industry. She found the flash of betrayal she felt to be quite annoying. 

               Grayson appears completely unbothered, or else unaware (though she doubted it) of her current dilemma. The tv show continues to play in the background, some home renovation show, as he crosses the room to lean heavily on the entryway to the kitchen. After a moment, she begins unpacking her groceries, allowing him to speak first. 

“Sorry about,” he made a vague gesture, “this. But I said I wanted to meet.”

              She does not spare him a glance, making a point to focus her whole attention on unloading eight packs of ramen into her meager cabinet. When it becomes clear she does not plan to reply, he speaks again. 

“That’s quite a bit of ramen, isn’t it?” She looks at him now, and he’s eyeing her cabinet, a glint of amusement in his eye. She shrugs. 

“I have to eat something. And ramen’s cheap,” she explains. 

“I’d have thought you’d have plenty of money, considering all the jobs you’ve done,” Grayson says thoughtfully. She simply shrugs again. 

“Look, Quinn—”

“Grayson.” 

           She turns to him fully now, another flare of anger coursing through her veins at hearing him call her by her first name. They aren’t friends. He stole her name and broke into her apartment because he wanted to talk, and so she’ll talk. But she wasn’t going to let him call her by her name like he knows the first thing about her. 

            She meets Grayson James’ eye for the first time since she’s been home. His face is open and honest but unwavering. He stands his ground and does not deflate under her tone. He’s always been incredibly strong willed. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he says. “I really am.” After a beat, Quinn raises an eyebrow, a prompt for him to continue. 

“I want you to help me,” he says. He does not say need, she notices, because Grayson is smart. He does not need anyone or anything, because that is weakness. When you’re that far into the world of crime, backup plans for backup plans are a necessity. Quinn herself does not need anyone either, though at times she does miss her college days, when computer science wasn’t quite so lonely. Perhaps that is what keeps her from interrupting him. Or perhaps it’s just her own curiosity. She doesn’t really care. 

“We’ve been in contact for months now,” he continues. “I actually wanted to say thank you, for everything. You’ve been a great help,” he says, and Quinn thinks he genuinely means it. But he’s also a great liar, so. 

“Just, yeah. Thank you. But also, I have an offer.” And okay. That’s got her attention. She almost asks him to elaborate, before she remembers the far more pressing question she has for him. She allows her eyes to narrow a bit at the reminder. 

“How did you find me?” 

Grayson looks at her carefully, betraying nothing in his gaze. Still, she guesses he’s been expecting the question.

“Chex,” is all he says. And of course it was. She had never wanted to work with Chex Desir in the first place, but he was a big name and it was nearly unavoidable. Working with him had always felt too personal, like she was a glass window and he could look straight through her and know things. He’d always made her uncomfortable. It made sense that he’d be the cause of her demise. 

“Of course it was,” she sighed, shoulders hunching. She went back to stocking her shelves. 

After a moment of silence, she turned back to Grayson. 

“So what do you want?” 

“I want,” his gaze was fiery, “you.” 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Okay…” she began, “that’s not much of an offer.”

Grayson laughed softly. 

“I know,” he said. “But you asked what I wanted. My offer is that you come work with me. You know a lot of people, and I could use a good dealer on my side that I can trust. And of course, you’d get a hefty sum of money,” he added, “and significant protection.” 

          She considered him for a moment. On one hand, she liked the sound of money. She had been in this industry long enough to know that joining a gang didn’t just mean money, it meant a house, food, protection, and family. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to her family. She missed other people. 

           However, on the other hand, it was joining a gang. Like a real one, where people had guns and drugs and were dangerous. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have experience in those fields, she’d worked with more than her fair share of them, which is why she knew that joining a gang was a lifetime commitment. She could never go back. 

            When she was four, she had wanted to own a bakery. She’d always loved cooking, and something about the sweet scent of bread and the wonderfully bitter tang of coffee in the air had enticed her young mind. Her mother had been quick to remind her that women couldn’t own businesses, and that if it was that difficult for her father she would never succeed. After her father’s business closed, she thought, fine, and at ten years old, she taught herself how to use a computer. By the time she turned eighteen, she knew the ins and outs of the internet, of the very device itself. She knew how to manipulate it to do the things she wanted. Her newfound technological abilities alongside her now twisted passion for business led her to becoming the most wanted, and most feared, hacker in the world. She knew there was probably a technical term, but she’d always found “hacker” to be more universal. She liked having people know her, even when in truth no one really did. She liked feeling in control. 

                Still, it had been nearly a decade. Joining a gang would make it so that she could never turn back, but could she now? The answer was no, plain and simple. And certainly now that someone knew her, that was out of the question. Though she had always liked Grayson, he was a powerful, dangerous crime lord, and there was no telling what he would do should she refuse. Quite honestly, the decision seemed rather clear. 

“I’ll do it,” she said. Grayson looked startled, the first emotion he had shown that wasn’t carefully crafted. 

“Really?” He asked 

“Yes,” she replied, fiddling with the handle of her bag. “I’ve got nothing to lose, and it sounds like a pretty safe bet,” she shrugged.

             Grayson looked at her for a moment with an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be considering something. 

“You can say no,” he said after a moment. “You say no and I’ll leave you alone.”

              Though the evidence seemed to say otherwise (see: breaking into her home) she found that she actually believed him, at least somewhat. He was a good liar, in the time she’d known him, he’d never lied to her. 

“I don’t believe you,” is what she said, however, because that was the smart thing to say. In this industry, in this business, you always went with the smart choice, because that was the one that would keep you alive. 

             Grayson looked at her for a moment. She had to admit, she had no idea what he was thinking. Then, he smiled, leaned back against the wall. 

“Well, fair enough,” he said. “ I mean, you really have no reason to, right?”

“Right…” Quinn began. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. 

His eyes glittered with mischief. 

“Right. But what if..” here he paused, and she was left in total disbelief because no way was he actually pausing for dramatic effect? And then he said “I could prove it to you.”

She raised a brow at him. 

“Prove it?”

“Yes, I can prove it.” 

He looked at her lazily, and she thought that perhaps he was really the fox here. Well, shit, now she’s interested. 

“Alright, bet,” she said, “how are you going to do that?”

           Grayson pulls out a crumpled up… napkin? From his pocket and hands it to her. She takes it, slowly, still confused, but when she opens it, she can’t help her shock. 

“Peter Bentley?” She says, disbelievingly. “You’re Peter Bentley?” 

          Grayson’s smirk grows, joy alighting in his eyes, and finally meeting him in person tells her exactly why he joined this business in the first place. He shrugs, but it reads as a yes, and there is no mystery behind it. 

          Though she was distracted by the name and therefore did not read the rest of the note, years of searching for small details had allowed her to subconsciously pick up bits and pieces of the note. It was a letter, sent to Peter Bentley, by someone named Harlem Thomas. It seemed that money was owed to the former that was yet to be paid. In all honesty, she was surprised that in her months of working alongside James, and therefore researching him extensively, she had never found a connection between him and Bentley. Apparently, there was a lot to him she didn’t know about. 

             She was so curious. For so long, her job, her talent, had been knowing. She knew everything about everyone, and she liked it that way. It gave her an advantage. There was something about Grayson, something more than the money or safety he offered that drew her to him. It was so clear that, despite what she thought, there was so much she didn’t know. He was a mystery, a challenge, and shit she wanted to learn more. 

Fuck.

She was doing this. 

She had to. 

She needed to know. 

“You want my help,” she looked him in the eye, and he met her with equal and opposite force, just like Newton’s Law, “then shit. Let’s do this.” 

He grinned. 

“Let’s.”