Hey Diddle Diddle, the Cat and the Fiddle... Characters: Gambit, Black Cat Location: New York City Content/Summery: A little con artist fluff. Started in Google Docs.
Remy and the store clerk had been arguing for some time, a pile of assorted jewelry lying on the glass counter top. He just wanted to sell his dear departed mother's jewelery, but somehow the man had pegged him for a thief. He drummed his fingers along the glass, giving a heavy sigh. "Look, I take half what it worth, stop arguin' wit' me, is good stuff." "Sir, we don't want your kind in here, and we will not support the thievery of jewelery." "My kind? Look here, I jus' wanna sell ma mamma's jewelery, what am I 'posed ta do wit' it? I ain't no common thief."
Felicia was casing the joint. Dressed in a brown trench dress tied at the waist with a fashionable silver chain belt, she entered the pawn shop. Dark glasses on beneath blond bangs, she made her way to the counter. While standing behind the man currently there, she looked around, spotting cameras and the nice butt in front of her. After waiting more and listening to the argument, she moved to stand at his side and look down at the both of them over the top of her glasses. "Is this going to take much longer?"
Remy head twisted round and he scooped up his assorted jewelery from the counter, taking a step back and waving her ahead, "Have at, Chere. But dey don' seem ta want business here," he said, giving the clerk a pointed glare and shoving his cheap costume jewelery into his pockets, having gleaned several far more valuable items while they fought. "I don' imagine I'll be comin' back, no need ta worry. Dere are others who will happily take ma business."
While the clerk gave Remy a dirty look, Felicia gave him a longer look over now that she could see his front side. Glancing over at the clerk she raised an eyebrow, "Is that so? How unfortunate." She tucked her wallet back in her purse, having only pulled it out part way, and moved closer to the man, "That's a damn shame, not helping you get rid of your mother's jewelry. Does she not want it anymore or did she pass away?" It wasn't asked rudely, more in curious manner a fellow con artist would recognize if they were going to double team a con. Felicia was honestly interested, having never actually done one and liking the idea of trying to pass off bad jewelry for cash. She knew how to spot costume from real.
"Died," Remy said, bowing his head slightly and giving a soft sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Been sick real long, but we didn' have da money for her treatments. Dis all I got left of hers, but I wanna give ma momma a nice funeral, she deserve dat much. Clearly he don' think so," he said, shooting the man a glare, "But his sort are all da same, m'used ta it." He had to fight hard to keep the smile from showing in his eyes, playing up the accent as it worked in well if the poor angle.
Felicia gave him a sympathetic look, hand going to his arm, "Oh you poor thing." She then shot the clerk a pouting frown, "Look at him! How could you think he was a thief! That has to be the cruelest thing I've ever seen anyone do! I'm so blacklisting you." The clerk rolled his eyes, "Yeah. Like I care, lady." "You should," she replied with an air of superiority. "Mr. Fisk will not want his name on anything that treats its customers like this." Felicia pulled out her phone and began pressing buttons. "Mr. Fisk?" The clerk looked worried, not yet believing her but, worried all the same. She distractedly pulled a card out of her purse. Her business card, with her position on it as she continued to scroll through her phone's entertainment apps. The clerk paled a bit and waved to Remy, "Let me look those over again. I might be able to get you something. For the funeral."
The Cajun flashed Felicia a grateful smile, fishing the jewelry back out of his pocket, careful to leave the pieces he'd just finished stealing safely hidden in his coat. A double score, this was unexpected. He wondered how much of a cut this stranger would want. Laying the jewelry back out on the counter with a clatter he smiled earnestly at the man, rubbing at his wedding band, now back on his finger, it always earned him more sympathy. "You dunno wat dis' mean ta me, sir. She were a good woman. Work hard all her life, and never asked for nothin' from nobody. I don' got much, but I wan' her ta have dis one thin'."
Felicia smiled brightly and shut her phone off, tucking it away and watching the transaction as the clerk re-evaluated the pool of junk. She let her hand drift down to Remy's and gave it a squeeze, thumb rubbing over the wedding band even as she continued her vapid socialite act, "I hope you have a wonderful service mister. I'm Felicia. Felicia Hardy."
"Remy," he said in turn, giving a nod of his head, squeezing back. He smiled kindly at the man as he paid out. "God bless, sir," he said, accepting the money and tucking it safely away. "Felicia, my angel, thank ya again," he said, giving a short bow and exiting the shop, making it as far as the alley before stopping to wait for her, leaning against the brick wall and patting down his jacket for his smokes. Some people would fall for anything. Bleeding hearts.
Felicia was cold to the clerk after Remy left, conducting her business - buying a reclaimed diamond watch she'd seen go through inventory two weeks prior while going over the reports on Fisk's desk - and then leaving in a huff. New watch around her wrist as she strutted down the street and looked around. She didn't know the protocol for collusion and it was entirely likely the man had run out and left her cold with his money. She kind of hoped he hadn't. She liked his butt and wanted to get another look at it.
A whistle sound from the alleyway as she walked past, and he pushed off from the wall, letting his cigarette hang from his lips as he pulled the wad of money from his pocket, counting out a reasonable share. "Ain't had a partner in crime for a while, Chere, you did good," he said with a cheeky grin, "Been doin' dis long?" he asked.
She held up her hand, refusing the money, and just smiled at him, "No. But my employer pissed me off and I thought it'd be fun." Felicia glanced down at his ring, "You really married or is that a ploy too?"
Remy gave a small laugh, glancing at the golden band and hesitating a moment before answering, blowing a long stream of blue smoke. "...Technically, yeah. But I ain't seen her in six years or so, since our weddin' day. Nice touch though, ain't it?" he said, lips curling into a grin.
"It is," she laughed, putting her arm through his and began to drag him out of the alley and down the street. "You can owe me lunch, Mr. Remy. I like fine Italian or Spanish. Not Mexican. Indian works too. So is this something you do for a living or just for fun like me?" Felicia gave him a bright smile and a laugh.
He chuckled, "Who says it ain't both?" he teased, not objected to the lunch, "S'pose I don' need ta do it no more, but m'da best a da best, wouldn' be right ta retire jus' yet. You not gonna rat me out or nothin', non?" he asked, arching a dark eyebrow playfully, "Send da police after da strange red eyed Remy."
"Not at all, Mr. Remy," she returned, in the same teasing manner as he. "That was very exciting, actually. Getting away with something like that in public. And Mr. Fisk won't care about a few pieces of colored glass. His subsidairies make enough to afford the occasional mistake in accounting. Especially when I don't get the employee discount." Felicia adjusted her glasses and tucked herself closer to him, hand drifting from his arm to behind his back where she gave him a good pat down, "Besides, I like the perks."
The glanced back, giving an amused hum. Oh he liked her. "Where to den' Chere? Only da best for ma partner a da day."
"Only the best? Well in that case, let's hit the Russian Tea Room," She said, only half joking. "I haven't been there in weeks. Are you in town for a while or just rolling through? Have you been doing this long? Oh... this is just so..." She squeezed his arm, squeaking a little, "exciting! I probably sound silly to you. That's okay though. I don't get much excitement in my everyday life."
"I live here a lot a da time. Ma new boss is here a lot. An' I ain't supposed ta be back home," he said with a shrug, giving a small laugh at her enthusiasm, "An I been doin' this since I were a kid. Learned from somma da best. How long you been doin' it, eh?"
"Just a few weeks," she admitted. "About a month total I guess. Start of October or so. It's hard to get any of it in with the job I do. But the little thrills are the best." She adjusted her glasses again as they came to a stop light and looked him over. "Do you have anything nicer? No offense, but you look a bit scruffy. So what do you do for your new boss, if you don't mind me asking? What kind of 'day job' do you have?"
He looked down at himself, giving a small frown. He didn't think it was so bad. Why was everyone always harping on him for his clothes. "Yeah, I got stuff back at ma place." "Day job?" he repeated with a laugh, "Dis is it. I don' think I eva had a real job. Not one dat weren't a cover for a con."
"Just a tie, I think. The Tea Room has dress standards," her fingers moved to straighten the collar of his shirt. "Jacket and tie for men. Never had a real job? Do you make good money at this then? Is it really all that lucrative? Most of the stories I've heard say it's not very stable. My father warned me about taking short cuts to success like this. But as I'm already successful, I figure a little fun on the side is fine. Haven't been caught yet. Which is nice. Obviously."
He smirked, showing his teeth, "Chere, I could walk in ta any building on da strip an' buy it if I wanted. Not dat most people are willin' ta believe me. An' it ain't no short cut, I worked hard for it."
She raised her eyebrows, impressed, "Well now. That is an impressive fortune Mr. Remy. Why haven't I heard of you before now? Millionaires always seem to want to be famous."
"Thieves don' strive for mainstream notoriety," Remy pointed out.
"Wouldn't a good thief be able to hide how he got his money if he wanted to?" She didn't seem to understand the complexities of hiding that kind of thing. Well, she had no reason to. Mr. Fisk had enough people working under him and cooking books that he could get away with something a lone agent couldn't.