Uno Mas?

She was going to throw up. She was going to stand on the corner between 42nd St and 5th Ave and spew the contents of her stomach into one of the green garbage cans on the corner in the middle of New York City. She'd be that crazy person that would make tourists look at each other with a smirk, shake their heads, and say, 'Only in New York.' They'd laugh and walk off as she puked her breakfast and held her hair back. She leaned against the stoplight next to the garbage, shaky and sweaty. 

She knew this meeting was necessary, but she was terrified of what would happen. She hadn't seen Stef in almost ten years. It had been nine years, eight months, and three days since they pulled their final job and parted ways for what they assumed would be forever. But she felt like that seventeen-year-old girl again on this chilly fall day. The calm, relaxed charm of a mask she'd worked years to build was gone. She was right back to being nervous about everything. But this time, she had no plan to focus her anxious energy. It was all in Stef's hands now. 

Michelle knew she fucked up. She knew the second that she had sold the ring to help pay for her dream wedding to her dream guy, to start the next chapter of her dream life, it would come at a cost. When she walked out of the jeweler's store, Michelle knew something was wrong. But when she looked down at the check, she pushed it off purely as guilt and not a blaring warning siren of danger. Thirty minutes later, she had the cash in hand, her nerves were forgotten, and the daydreams of her future returned.

Simply put, the ring wasn't hers. She hadn't come by it in the proper fashion one would typically get a vintage ring. She definitely didn't come by it legally. It clocked above sixty thousand dollars with a sapphire the size of a fat summer blueberry in a white gold setting of rococo swirls covered in a few dozen diamonds.

It was the one piece she had kept from her sordid past, knowing that one day it would come in handy to get her out of a bind or exponentially push her to the next level of her future. At least, that's what Michelle told herself. But, out of all the pieces she and Stef had stolen from estate sales across the country, this was one she couldn't get herself to part with.

She should have freaking listened to her gut. It had never steered her wrong. It was her superpower; they used to joke. She always knew when there was an unscheduled guard shift change. Or could eerily always tell if there was an alarm they had missed during their initial walk-throughs when casing a space. She could always tell a fake when she saw one, and she had an uncanny knack for finding the best estate sales simply by a person's name, age, and where it was. Michelle was the brain, the planner, the one riddled with anxiety that helped her think of every potential weak point in their plan. She would meticulously pressure test every outcome until it was solid. Michelle always had at least five exit strategies. But this fuck up snuck up on her. She needed Stef to help her think of a way out. 

Stef was the stereotypical cat burglar you see in movies. She was lithe, limber, and could get out of any scramble she came across with effortless charm. She didn't know a Monet from a bathroom wall doodle or a quartz rock in silver from a flawless diamond set in platinum. But she could be in an out of a space carrying everything they had tagged in five minutes without breaking a sweat. She could pick any lock, get into any safe, or start any car by touch. 

They were the perfect team. They had never been caught. And they both had bigger dreams for their lives when they walked away from thieving. 

Michelle wanted to go to school for art and history, work in a museum, get married and have children. And she was so close to that dream. She had gone to Harvard and then popped over to England, where she studied at Oxford and met her now fiance. Thanks to her dirty money, she could afford her education and make her way into the posh side of society she had always dreamed of. She networked, not with false shmoozing, but with genuine interest that helped her get her foot in the door at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. With her educational background, some charm, a little fluffing on her resume, and family history, she was now the Director of Exhibitions. She was weeks away from her wedding to Marcus, an English lit professor and a writer with more than a few works on the New York Times Best Sellers list. Everything was going to plan. Her life was perfect. Until last week.

Stef had dreams of a more nomadic lifestyle. She wanted to travel and capture the world one photograph at a time. And though she had not gone to school for photography, she was constantly winning prizes for her pieces, all submitted anonymously. Stef had visited every bustling city and vacation-worthy paradise on the map, some not on any map. She had slept in desert caves following criminals of war, and she came out of it safely, not only with pictures and permission to publish them but also invitations to return. She'd met and photographed every celebrity, and none would ever give up her name because they all either liked her or respected her. She had a wildly exciting life. Michelle was terrified both of them would have to give it all up. 

Michelle looked at the dirty sidewalk and the pile of trash in the garbage can, now covered in a colorful mosaic that was her breakfast. She looked up at the New York Public library and braced herself to meet Stef at the tables. She planned to quietly tell her what happened, and they'd figure out what to do next. 

Gathering her resolve, she started up the sidewalk and then the steps. Once inside and seated at a table furthest from anyone else, she closed her eyes and played back the last few weeks in her head. 

She had gone to Boston to sell the ring to a jeweler she knew didn't ask many questions. She was sure she had checked every millimeter of the ring and was sure it was clean. There hadn't been a marker or serial number that could be tracked to the crime or back to them. Or so she thought. She went in with the same fake ID and credentials he had seen before that showed she lived in the Berkshires and made a meager salary. Her story was simple, a grandmother died and left it to her, and she was selling it to repair her cabin. She even came with photos and designs of the plans this ring would pay for. Lying always came easy when she was using a fake identity, and she was good at remembering the details of each lie. It was so easy to disappear into a role. Her voice intuitively changed to the character she had developed, her stature and gait became different, and memories were easily conjured. Adding minor changes to her appearance ensured even if they did catch her on camera, she was unrecognizable. Or, at the very least, unmemorable.

She'd walked out with a check. Pocketing it along with her fear and guilt, she assured herself it was purely because she had sold the last bit of her past. It was her final goodbye to that life and Stef, or so she thought.

The following week she found a blank envelope on her desk at the museum. She opened it, assuming it was a note from a colleague or assistant, only to see no note. Just a few newspaper clippings. 

One was the advert from years ago about the estate sale and a listing with pictures of the big items. The sapphire ring was in the middle of the advert and circled in red marker. The second clipping was from the local paper in Georgia. With a statement from the police saying they had no viable leads as to who robbed the estate safe the night before the auction. Though, it continued, they believed it to be the same thieves who had been hitting estate sales for the past 2 years around the country. Due to the damned signature Stef just had to leave at every site. 

She shook her head but smiled, remembering the night they had concocted their first plan while smoking weed in her car in front of a Walmart. To seal the deal, Stef grabbed Michelle's cherry red lipstick and wrote on the window, 'Love, Bonnie, and Bonnie,' They swiped on some lipstick and kissed just below their sign-off. 

Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered that night. She couldn't stop the thought she had pushed down for almost ten years; Michelle missed her friend. Her partner. 

The third clipping was from a Boston newspaper. It said a jeweler in the city found a ring stolen from an estate sale ten years ago. The article stated that the jeweler found a small three-digit number lasered into one of the small diamonds. With some research, he found that this number was connected to an appraisal the estate did just before the sale. And police in Georgia were reopening the Bonnie and Bonnie estate robbery case with the new evidence they found on the ring. Michelle instantly became ill when she read on; They had a few leads thanks to this additional information and camera grabs from the jeweler. That clip was from the day before she received the envelope.

While sitting at her desk, she had gone still. Her brain stopped working, and she could only think of calling Stef. This was difficult since neither of them ever kept in touch and had removed all forms of contact, so they couldn't be traced back to one another. But they had planned to email the inbox they had made as teens if anything ever happened. They both had access to it and checked it monthly, just in case. The note would ask to have a sleepover and leave the number of a burner phone for the other to call.

Michelle followed the steps, purchased a burner phone, went to a library, and sent the self-addressed email to the inbox. That had been Wednesday evening. The burner phone rang on Friday at 7am, and Michelle grabbed it, almost spilling her morning coffee. Marcus was in the shower but knew this had to be quick. Before she could get anything she had planned to say, she heard Stef's familiar gravely voice. She was instantly terrified and calmed at the same time.

"New York Public Library, Tuesday, 9:30am." And she hung up.

Michelle gawked, the phone still buzzing in her ear. But she felt she finally had something to do. She stepped into action and started preparing for her trip. Fed a story to Marcus that she'd be leaving Sunday evening to look at a new exhibit in New York. No, he couldn't come as it would be jam-packed with meetings and dry colleague connections, and she'd be back before he knew it. She knew he had a deadline for his latest work and used that to her advantage. She found a familiar calm as she packed and prepped for any situation that might come up. From simply acknowledging they'd covered their tracks well enough, and they didn't have to worry, to Stef potentially trying to kill her. She'd always been a wild card.

With that thought, while seated at the tables, Michelle lightly tapped her waistband, hip, and forearm. Checking that her plastic weapons that didn't make the security scanners go off were still there. And easy to access. Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared for what was to come. Opening her eyes, they widened, and she almost jumped out of her chair. 

In all her sultry dark glory was Stef, all in black and wearing a leather biker jacket. She was clearly hungover from whatever party she was at the night before. She smelled like liquor and heavy perfume. She was sitting across from Michelle, arms crossed and smiling that wicked crooked smile she always had. Leaning forward, resting her head on her hands and leaning into her elbows.

"Hiya, Mickey." She said, and Michelle just stared. And when she didn't say anything, Stef leaned back into her chair.

"Oh, I'm good, thanks for asking." Shrugging, she went on. "Nope, still single, happily so. Just came back from Berlin, actually. Have you been? I bet you and Marcus are more into Munich than Berlin." Smiling and pausing, waiting for Michelle to say anything.

"Alright, look, here's the deal." She leaned back onto the table and crooked her finger towards Michelle. Her body went into auto-pilot, and Michelle leaned in as well. Stef looked over her face as if trying to remember every new detail that time had changed her friend. Nodding with approval, she leaned in a little closer, and Michelle could smell that she had been on a tequila kick last night.

"I sent you that envelope. I went to the jeweler right after you. While he looked it over, I struck up a conversation and told a little story about my poor neighbor. Her ring, among other treasures, had been stolen ten years ago. And how odd it was that it so resembled her ring. It even had a chipped diamond next to the prongs like hers had. And I remembered my neighbor mentioned that the chip had three small digits lasered into it just before the sale so it could be appraised properly. But not so obviously placed in case someone tried to steal and sell it." Her smile grew.

"You missed that one, didn't you?" Biting her bottom lip, she was thrilled that her friend had missed a detail she had seen while looking over their nabbed treasure.

"Getting lazy, Mick." Looking down at Michelle's lips, she saw the slight quiver of her friend's mouth and the color leave her cheeks.

"When he confirmed the number and the appraisal records, though he didn't want to, I asked to bring in the cops to discuss this potential stolen piece. He was out sixty big ones. You sure cashed that check fast." Winking at Michelle, she leaned back into her chair.

"But I charmed him into making the right calls. You see, I have gotten better at fake identities and building personas." Cocking her head to the side, she had that casual smirk. Michelle remembered Stef's odd aversion to lying when they were younger. She was wild but not a liar, Stef always said. 

"It helps when everyone you're talking about is dead, and it can't be traced back to anyone. Except for me, who's fake." With a deep happy sigh, Stef watched the dots connect in Michelle's mind. Leaning further back and putting her hands behind her head, Stef went on. 

"I also sent an envelope to the Savannah Police department with a snapshot of you from the store. Which has conveniently been added to every social media announcement of the investigation for Boston and Georgia. Hashtags are amazing!"

Michelle, who had gone icy, now flared with rage.

"What the fuck Stef?" Was all she could manage.

"Oh, and.." Stef giggled, "I let the NYPD know that a woman who fits the description was seen walking into this library 15 minutes ago." Leaning back and smiling, Stef looked at her friend.

Michelle fisted her hands on the table and could only utter one word.

"Why?" She said, staring Stef in the eyes.

Pouting, Stef looked at her old partner in crime.

"I missed you." She raised a hand before Michelle found her bearings and let loose that temper she'd so beautifully hidden from her posh English life.

"And I need you." Leaning closer to Michelle, Stef went on in a whisper. 

"For one more job, then I can make this all disappear. You'll come out with a nice chunk of change and can continue your perfect little life without me." Michelle swore she saw sadness in Stef's eyes as she said those last few words. 

Michelle was speechless, but a small fire was thrillingly starting in her stomach, and she knew it wasn't anger.

Stef leaned forward, and Michelle noticed she was wearing the cherry red lipstick from their signature.

"Whaddya say, Mick? Uno mas?" Smirking and knowing even after these ten long years, she had her. 

Taking a deep breath and looking at her hands, she attempted to logically argue her way out of it, but with a mental nod, she looked up at her friend, Bonnie. Michelle knew she didn't need to think about it.

"Uno mas."