Click, Click, Boom - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Even though bank floorplans, vault schematics, and the newest lock technology preoccupied her thoughts, Blake’s life remained remarkably ordinary.  Laundry and dishes wouldn't do themselves, after all.  Shelves needed dusting.  Floors needed vacuuming.  All normal things that normal adults did in their spare time.

In her modest apartment, where shreds of work slipped in via spare locks and various tools unrecognizable to the average person, she could look out the window and hold her head high.  Nothing changed overnight, least of all generations of reinforced inequality, but she could make a difference.  They could make a difference.

With that thought top of mind, she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs.  While traipsing down the stairwell, she pulled out a plain white envelope and tapped it against her leg as she entered the building’s small lobby.  Tarnished bronze mailboxes took up the wall across from the stairwell and, sitting just beneath them in a well-used folding chair, waited an elderly woman with frizzled gray hair, ample laugh lines, and faded green eyes.

“Marie,” Blake greeted the woman, drawing those green eyes to her - or, more specifically - to the envelope in her hands.  “You’re up bright and early.”

“Beautiful Bella…”  Marie accepted the envelope, peeked inside, and smiled.  “One of my favorite tenants,” she added while removing the stack of weathered bills.  “Always on time, and always in cash.”

“You know how I feel about banks.”

“‘Too corrupt to trust.’”  Marie waved off the remark before counting the money.  “You’re looking like a smart young lady after what happened at Vale Savings.”

“Everyone’s talking about that, huh.”

“Of course.  Pretty brazen if you ask me.  Robbing a bank next to a police station?  Takes some big cojones to pull off something like that.”

Blake chuckled while Marie scribbled some numbers and words onto a slip of paper, tore it off, and handed it to her.

“I’ll tell you what though,” Marie added while Blake pocketed the receipt.  “If the White Fang really want to fix this city, they should do something about taxes.  Feels like I can’t go a day without some politician deciding he wants more of my money.”

“So the White Fang should…rob them?”

“Or take ‘em down to the river and dump the body.”  A startled laugh slipped through Blake’s lips as Marie clicked her tongue.  “They’ve got that whole ‘pacifist’ thing though…probably for the best.  Last thing we need around here are more criminals.”

“Exactly.”  Blake turned to leave but paused when one of her neighbors exited the stairwell.  She hardly knew the young woman - they’d passed in the hall several times and that was about all - but she heard the baby crying at night.

Dressed in light pink hospital scrubs, the young woman caught sight of Marie and froze like a deer in headlights.  Then she ducked her head and approached like a toddler about to be scolded.

“Good morning, Marie…”  She mustered a small smile that looked more like a grimace.  “I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.  I’m just running a little behind.  Jamie had an ear infection and then my car needed a new starter…but I picked up extra shifts to catch up.”

“How long?”

“Couple weeks, maybe?”  The young woman glanced at Blake, who decided that now was a great time to check her mail, before shuffling her feet.  “I’m doing my best, I promise.”

Marie sighed as if she’d held in an entire year’s worth of waiting and finally had to get it out.

“Ok,” she eventually said, axing through the lobby’s tension like a knife through hot butter.

“Thank you.”  

Posture relaxing, the young woman bowed her head to Marie and then hurried out the front door.  Blake pulled a stack of flyers from her mailbox and watched her rush off.

“Behind on her rent again…” Marie commented with another sigh and headshake.  “I know she’s got the little one, but there’s only so much I can do.  The owner expects his money, and he expects all of it.”

“At least she’s trying?” Blake offered, but Marie lightly tsked and resituated on her chair.  

“I don’t make the rules.  I just have to follow them.”

Frowning, Blake glanced after the young woman before holding up the mail in her hands.  “Actually, just realized I forgot something.”  

Without more explanation, she hurried back to her apartment.  She dropped the junk mail on the dining table then went to her room, opened the closet, shoved aside the clothes, and unlocked the safe hidden on the floor.  She peeled several more bills off of the stacks inside before carefully locking it and piling the clothing back on top of it.  The money went into another envelope, which she didn’t bother putting into her bag as she left her apartment.  At the door next to hers, she slipped the envelope under the door and then headed back downstairs.

Marie had drawn another tenant into conversation by the time Blake reached the lobby, but she still waved while heading out.  The sun had already thawed any overnight chill, leaving the air comfortable and warm.  Momentarily basking in the warmth, Blake closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released it in a long exhale.  She then set off for her day, though her thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on the lobby of her apartment.

A single mother working doubles and triples at the hospital…no one could argue that she was lazy or entitled.  Her work literally saved lives, yet she ran herself ragged providing a life for herself and her child.  Blake couldn't always help the way she wanted, but she had the means to help this time.  Hopefully, it was enough to fix a string of bad luck and get the young mother back on her feet.

Unfortunately, the story was all too common.  Working hard just to survive…it happened all around her.  The taxi driver leaning against the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette while waiting for a fare, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning, scanning, scanning for work.  The hot dog vendor pushing his cart toward the offices about to let out for the lunch rush, his shoes hardly having soles anymore.  Blake could only eat so many hot dogs or take so many cab rides, so she tried to help in other, bigger ways.

When she turned the next corner and spotted the police car parked beside the road, her heart seized but her steps hardly faltered.  Her gaze swept the interaction happening on the sidewalk up ahead: two police officers speaking to a down-on-his-luck man sitting on the pavement surrounded by his meager belongings while a well-dressed woman twisted her hands nearby.  The officers towered over the man, who never looked up while slowly gathering his bags.

“I just have a business to run,” the woman fretted, proclaiming her innocence as Blake neared.

“We understand, ma’am,” one of the officers replied.  His expression suggested that he knew what every one of them did: the man would move a few blocks down the road, then someone else would call and he would be forced to move again.

Blake shook her head but gave them a wide berth, unwilling to risk entanglement with the law.  Ironically, or perhaps tragically, a homeless shelter sat two blocks away.  Its walls had been covered with graffiti long ago, but the windows remained clean and the entrance sterile but welcoming.  She ducked into the lobby, which remained a unique combination of cluttered yet barren.  Whiteboards displayed the names of staff working that day along with important phone numbers, information, and rules.

Almost everyone, save for the staff, had cleared out already.  What staff remained would be inundated with work to catch up on, but a young woman with long brown hair breezed into the lobby and paused upon seeing Blake.

“Can I help you?”

“Just wanted to make a donation.”  Blake gestured to the locked box bolted to the reception desk, so the young lady brightened.

“Thank you so much for the generosity.  Do you need a receipt?”

“No, thank you.”  

The woman’s brow briefly furrowed, but then she nodded and politely continued her tasks.  While she made copies of several forms, Blake removed the thick envelope from her bag and stuck it through the slit on top of the box.  It squeezed through and thumped when it hit the bottom, but paper shooting out from the copy machine covered the noise.

Blake faintly smiled at the woman before returning outside, taking another deep breath, and carrying on with lighter steps.  Those steps led her to the next intersection, where she had just left the curb only to jump back when a bright blue sports car ran the red light then immediately swerved to the side of the street - narrowly missing her and another pedestrian in the process - and parked halfway in a no-parking zone.  A middle-aged man in a suit hopped out and gave her a challenging look before locking the car and heading into the nearby office.  He nearly knocked over a young woman on his way in but didn’t apologize to her either.

“Asshole…” the young man beside Blake muttered, speaking her thoughts aloud while crossing the street.  Blake, on the other hand, sidled up to the expensive car and glanced at the lock.  

Apparently, the inconsiderate asshole was rich enough to splurge on the car but not rich enough to opt for electronic locks.  After tapping her finger on her thigh for several seconds, she pulled one of the thin lock picks disguised as bobby pins from her hair.  Then she fiddled with it, imagining his face when he saw that his car was gone, or his windows were down, or the radio had been turned up to an ear-shattering volume, before ultimately slipping it back into her hair and walking away.  

Just because she could break into his car didn’t mean that she should.  Sure, it would be satisfying, but it was also an unnecessary risk.  Besides, she had bigger plans in mind.

Those plans drew her back to the inconspicuous office on the other side of town.  Cars packed the sprawling parking lot at this time of day, and several employees bustled in and out of the other suites.  Cash Flow Consultants had few visitors; she preferred to keep it that way.

“Hey Ilia,” she said after walking into the office.  

“Hey, Blake.”  Ilia jumped up and met Blake midway between the entrance and the frosted door leading further inside.  She hardly made it two steps, however, before blushing and adding, “That, uh, shirt looks really nice on you.”

Blake glanced down at her shirt - a standard black button-up that held little significance to her - but still smiled.

“Thanks.  Is anyone else here?”  

She nodded to the frosted wall, encouraging Ilia’s gaze that way.

“Nope.  You’re the first one.”

“Thank god.  Maybe I can actually get some work done.”

“Need anything?  I could grab lunch if you want…”

“I’m good right now, thanks.  Ask me in a couple hours.”

While Ilia mentally noted the time, Blake patted her shoulder and headed through the glass doors.  As promised, the rooms beyond were empty - a rare luxury that she intended to take advantage of for as long as possible.  After retrieving her laptop from the innermost sanctuary, she claimed a seat at the meeting table and got to work.

Any successful heist began with a plan, and she excelled at planning.  It was a challenge of wits - her versus the banks, safe manufacturers, and everyone in between.  The prize was a step in the right direction for people like her neighbor - hard workers, vital workers who never seemed to get what they deserved - and an involuntary separation of money from people like the callous man driving the sports car.  Maybe he was a shareholder of Vale Savings.  Maybe he was even an executive there.

Those thoughts floated to the back of her mind as she crouched over the meeting room table, rotating the screen and trying to remember tiny details about the credit union’s floor plan.  The 3D model looked complete, but she would still return several times to double check her dimensions and search for anything she missed.

She also had a growing list of questions that needed answers before they could even consider moving forward.  Some of those had been meticulously set aside under Ilia’s name with the hope of creating a role fit for their least experienced yet most eager member.

Blake’s gaze flitted to Ilia, who was now watching an afternoon talk show nearby.  The sporadic audience laughter provided a pleasant backdrop to Blake’s work, which required a level of focus that would give her a headache if she dove too deeply into it.

That focus shattered when Cinder strode through the door, all high heels and short dress and haughty aura.  Her amber eyes scanned the room before locking onto Blake, and a smirk slipped onto her lips as she sauntered over.

“What’re you working on?”

Blake wanted to shut the laptop but, in the interest of civility, gestured to the screen and said, “The credit union.”  Cinder leaned so close that her overly floral perfume made Blake lean back in search of fresh air.  Cinder’s gaze, meanwhile, scoured the screen like a predator searching for weakness in its prey.

“So this is how the master works,” she concluded, the praise sounding like an insult.  “How long will it take?”

“I already told Adam - a few months.”

“Another night break-in?”

“Yes.”  Blake scowled when Cinder hummed.  “You have a problem with that?”

“Not at all.”  Cinder flashed a pleasant smile before ducking her head and lowering her voice.  “It’s your plan after all.”

Before Blake asked what that meant, Emerald burst through the doors.  Her frantic gaze swept the room before sticking on Blake and Cinder.  She then rushed over and dropped a newspaper on the keyboard.  

“Did you see this??”

Blake’s confusion evaporated when she read the bold headline splashed across the front page: “White Fang Leader Arrested.”  Below it was a photo of Mercury being escorted to a squad car, hands cuffed behind his back.

“Shit.”  Blake grabbed the paper and held it closer as if that would change Mercury’s identity.  

“What is it?” Ilia asked, cautiously approaching them.

“It’s nothing,” Blake assured her.

“‘Nothing?’” Emerald repeated.  “How is Mercury getting arrested ‘nothing?’”

“Mercury was arrested??”

“Ok, just calm down.”  When Emerald snatched the paper and showed it to Ilia, whose eyes widened like saucers, Blake ran a hand through her hair and tried to take her own advice.  “Where’s Adam?”  

She didn’t wait for an answer - she pulled out her phone and called him.

“What?” he snapped on the third ring.

“We have a problem.  You need to get over here.”

Whether it was her tone or he was just in a particularly good mood, he didn’t argue.  He just grumbled, “Be right there,” and hung up.  Blake tossed her phone on the table and ran both hands through her hair before tuning into Emerald and Ilia’s conversation.

“ - that happens, then we’re all screwed.”

“He wouldn't though…” Ilia replied, but Emerald scoffed.

“Why wouldn't he?  He’ll toss us all under the bus to save his skin.  Right, Blake?”

When Emerald turned to her for support, and Ilia for reassurance, Blake said, “What’re you even talking about?”

“Mercury squealing like a bitch.”  Emerald tapped the young man’s picture.  “Cops are probably already on the way.  They’ll break the door down any second.”

“Emerald, just stop, ok?”  Blake glanced at Ilia, the color draining from her cheeks with every passing second, before looking at Cinder, whose smirk suggested amusement at Ilia’s terror.  

“I doubt he’ll talk,” Cinder added, earning Emerald’s full attention.

“How do you know?”

“Because talking would be very bad for him.”  

“It’ll be even worse for us,” Emerald argued while Blake frowned at the thinly veiled threat.  Cinder, however, shrugged and waved one manicured hand through the air as if discussing the weather and not their future prison sentences.

“If you’re so worried, shouldn’t you be on a flight out of Vale right about now?”  When Emerald scoffed, Cinder leaned closer and added, “See?  You aren’t that concerned if you came here to deliver the news instead of saving yourself.”

Emerald scowled at the insinuation, but Cinder straightened up and laughed.  Before Emerald retorted - because Emerald always snapped back - the door opened one last time.  

Blake could never say that she was particularly ‘relieved’ to see Adam, but his arrival meant that they could figure out what to do next rather than panic over what might happen.

“What is it?” he demanded upon finding the four of them gathered around the table.  Cinder grabbed the paper and offered it to him.

“Your little fence got tagged,” she almost gleefully explained while Adam frowned at the article.  “I told you he couldn’t offload that much cash.”

“Oh, shit.  How much did he have on him?” Emerald asked.  “Twenty grand?”

“Something like that…”  Blake couldn't remember exactly how much Mercury pulled out of the safe, but it couldn't have been more than that much.  “The money doesn’t matter though.  Number one priority is protecting our identities -”

“You mean saving our asses.”

“Should we be changing our names o-or something?”

“Everyone shut up.”

The room fell silent and turned to Adam, who tossed the newspaper on the table in disgust.  

“Mercury knew the risks.  His failure changes nothing.”

“What about us though?” Emerald reiterated, this time with Ilia nodding beside her.

“We’ll be fine.”

Emerald rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering to herself, but Adam squinted at Blake as if he could read her thoughts.  Blake hated that look, mostly because it usually preceded an idea that she hated.  His gaze slipped away for a moment, combing the room as if searching for clues, before the corner of his mouth twitched with a smirk.

“The detective…” he began, his eyes boring through her now.  “Was she serious?”

After a brief moment of confusion, Yang’s earnest expression jumped into Blake’s thoughts.  Rather than answer, however, she narrowed her eyes and asked, “Why?”

“Because you should call her.”

For a second, Blake knew that she heard Adam wrong.  When his expression remained unchanged, however, she scoffed and said, “Excuse me?”

“You should call her,” he calmly repeated.  The solution drew Emerald back to the conversation, her gaze flitting between them as if waiting for a cage match to start.  Blake was also preparing for a cage match because nowhere in her list of possible solutions had that idea even begun to register.

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?”  Blake nodded until Adam stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him.  “You go out with her.  Get close to her.  Then, if he talks, we have a heads up.”

“You’re assuming she doesn’t immediately figure out who I am,” Blake retorted.  “She’s a detective, Adam.  What about that suggests ‘imbecile’ to you?”  

“Years of work done by detectives just like her.”

“Burn,” Emerald remarked, her red eyes gleaming.  Blake clenched her jaw at the unwanted audience and crossed her arms over her chest.

“We should put a lot more thought into something like this.  You’re asking me to put my identity at risk.  To spend time with the person most capable of figuring out who I am, all for the slim chance that she’ll tell me what Mercury says before she traces it all back to us.”

“I’m not asking.”

Cinder smirked at the blunt response, Ilia’s eyes widened, and Emerald couldn't even find words - she just looked back and forth while Blake clenched her fists and stared Adam down as hard as he stared at her.  She hated when he used his physical presence for intimidation just as much as she hated when he challenged her in front of other people.

“This isn’t the way we do things,” she got through gritted teeth, but his scowl deepened.

“But this is a way to figure out if Mercury talks.  Or would you rather find out when SWAT’s breaking down the door?”

“You just said he won’t talk -”

“And you said that our number one priority is protecting our identities.  What better way than by getting inside information?”

Pulse rising in tandem with her anger, Blake disregarded several strongly worded responses.  In private, she would have let them fly, but with Cinder, Emerald, and Ilia watching, she didn’t want to give him any reason to lash out.

“Why don’t you just try it once and see how it goes?” Emerald finally suggested, partially deflating the growing bubble of tension.  “If she finds you out in one dinner, you’re a shit liar.  If she doesn’t, she’s a shit detective.”

Based on their one and only conversation, Yang didn’t seem to be ‘shit’ at her job.  But with Adam not backing down and Emerald offering a vaguely acceptable compromise, Blake’s resistance relented.  One dinner.  Figure out a way to get Yang talking about the White Fang.  See if Mercury ‘squealed.’

“What am I even supposed to tell her I do for a living?” she griped.

“Use your alias.”

“She’s a detective,” she pointed out again, this time shooting Emerald an annoyed glare.  “I don’t have an alias built for that.”

“Then tell her the truth,” Adam calmly replied.

“You mean…give her my real name?”  

When he nodded, she regretted bringing the run-in with Yang up at all.  She thought that they would all share a laugh and then forget it ever happened.  But this…this was much, much worse.

Yang was in charge of arresting them - something that Blake hadn’t taken seriously until just now.  She understood Adam’s logic - if this worked, she would know whether they were safe or needed to go into hiding - but this was an underdeveloped, hastily formed plan that put her in an incredibly risky situation.  This wasn’t how she did things.

One dinner.  One chance to see if she could stem this issue at the source.  One chance to see just how concerned they should be about Mercury.  Admittedly, having a clear answer on Mercury’s situation would be a relief - the last thing she wanted was to be looking over her shoulder for the next few months.

“Fine.”  

Adam didn’t bother even looking pleased by her acquiescence, so she pulled out her phone and brushed past him.  She had, ironically, saved Yang’s number as ‘Detective Don’t Call,’ yet that was exactly what she did.  As the phone began ringing, she frowned at her unwelcome audience.  

“Are you just going to stand there?” she hissed, but Emerald flashed a cheeky smile and thumbs up while Adam remained forebodingly impassive and Cinder smirked.  Ilia was the only one with the decency to look concerned about the whole ordeal, wringing her hands as if unsure what else to do with herself.

“Hello?” 

The voice on the other end of the line forced Blake to focus on the matter at hand rather than her audience, so she turned her back to them and walked over to the small kitchen for a shred of privacy.

“Hey,” she began, her heart racing already.  “This is, uh, Brunette Beauty, I guess.  We met at Sapphire Bank the other day?”

“Holy shit, you actually called,” Yang said before laughing.  “I was wondering how many times I’d have to go back hoping to run into you again.”

“I guess I saved you some time.”  Blake chuckled - it sounded nervous to her ears, but hopefully Yang remained none the wiser.  “I was just thinking…if your offer still stands, dinner sounds nice.”

“Absolutely.  Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

“Why don’t you choose a place?”  Adam mouthed ‘tonight,’ but Blake made a face and turned away.  “And, uh, I’m free tonight if you are.  Around seven?”

“You’re giving me three hours to pick a place, make a reservation, and figure out what to wear?”  While Blake grappled with how borderline desperate that sounded, Yang laughed at the rhetorical question.  “Challenge accepted.  I’ll text you the address.  Oh, and aren’t you forgetting something?”

Blake’s brow furrowed until she remembered the promise that she had never intended to fulfill.

“It’s Blake.”

Yang blew out a breath on the other side of the line.

“Of course you have a hot girl’s name.”  The comment roused Blake’s heart, but Yang chuckled to herself and added, “Alright, Blake.  I’ll see you tonight.  Looking forward to it already.”

“Me too,” Blake replied before ending the call and staring at the screen.  Despite her many reservations, that had been almost alarmingly easy.  If Yang held any suspicions regarding their meeting, surely she would have expressed hesitation over getting dinner.  Instead, she seemed…excited.  Blake might also be excited were she not being forced to participate and observed by some of her least favorite people in the world.

“Happy now?” she asked, glowering at Adam.

“Blake’s got a dateeee,” Emerald said in a sing-song voice, so Blake rolled her eyes and unlocked the door leading into the main portion of the office.  

“Start packing,” Adam ordered.  “We need a new safehouse.”

That earned Emerald’s grumbles, but she knew better than to argue.  Adam, meanwhile, stalked Blake into the innermost layer of their office.

“About the detective -”  Blake rolled her eyes again, but he grabbed her elbow and squeezed.  “Take this seriously,” he growled.  “Convince her you’re interested.  That might require some…action…on your part.”

“I’m not your whore, Adam,” she hissed back, jerking her arm free.  

“No need to get testy.  Weren’t you just saying we need to reduce risks?  Well, this is a way.”

“I think you’re seriously overestimating how much we’d get from me fucking a cop.”

“I think you’re seriously underestimating it,” Adam quipped before straightening to his full height and looking down at her.  “At least have some fun for once.  Maybe it’ll help you loosen up.”

“I’m only doing this to figure out what Mercury’s said,” she got out through gritted teeth.  “Once I know we’re in the clear, I’m out of there.”

“Whatever you say…”   He sighed as if speaking to her taxed him as much as dealing with a toddler, yet still found it in him to lighten with a smirk.  “Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”

One day, she would lose her sense of civility and slap him.  Today, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the building.  Ilia looked like she wanted to say something but, fortunately, clamped her mouth shut when Blake caught the questioning look and shook her head.

Yesterday, everyone - herself included - determined that her going on a date with Yang was a laughable idea.  Today, she wished that was still the case.  She would rather help pack.  Instead, she was hurrying home to get dressed for history’s most ill-advised date which could realistically end with her in handcuffs…and not the enjoyable kind.