This fic is written based on the yet to be canonized theory that Grunkle Stan is actually named Stanley Pines and the real Stanford Pines is the author of the journals, making Stanley the twin's 'deceased' grandpa in disguise. Hope it doesn't get too confusing!
The Shack, as Stanley had affectionately nicknamed the rickety house, was quiet that morning mostly because the two scientists had been up all night working on their machine and were just now dragging themselves out of the depths of the basement into the light of day. "Morning nerds," Stanley yelled from the kitchen.
Fiddleford and Stanford flinched at his yelling, as if suffering from the world's biggest science hang over. "Keep it down," Carla scolded him, carrying out two cups of coffee for them. "How are you two doing?" she asked, handing them the steaming mugs.
"Fine, fine," Fiddleford insisted. "Thanks Carla. I'll never understand how someone like you ended up married to Stanley."
"It wasn't easy," the boisterous man declared, exiting the kitchen with two plates loaded with eggs and toast. "I almost lost her to a hippie hypnotist, but she came back to me in the end."
"He wasn't a hypnotist," she protested. "I can't believe you're still sore about that."
He laughed it off and gave the plates to his twin and Fiddleford. "You two goofs have gotta stop the all night work sessions. That stupid machine isn't going anywhere." Stanford waved him off and dug into his food. Seeing he wasn't going to talk any sense into his twin, Stanley sat in his usual chair and opened the morning paper. Carla retreated into the kitchen to tend to their son Michael. At ten years old the kid was a handful mostly because he liked running around the woods and getting into trouble. He was every bit as troublesome as Stanley had been at his age.
"Did the newspaper run the add we submitted?" Stanford asked. Building a portal to untold knowledge wasn't easy and it wasn't cheap. The blueprints his friend Bill had provided them with called for plenty of custom parts and getting the tech was costing them a lot. His brother had brought his wife and young son to live in Gravity Falls for the summer so he could help raise some extra cash for the endeavor but there was only so much he get off his odd jobs and vacuum sales, so Fiddleford and the twins had decided to publish an article in the local papers asking for someone to back their research. Of course Stanford didn't dare publish the true nature of his research, but claiming to find 'new species' in Gravity Falls seemed true enough to get some attention. Unfortunately, most of the papers refused to run their add no matter how they worded it.
Stanley shrugged his big muscular shoulders. "Nope, another strike out, bro."
"Damn," Stanford spat. "What do we gotta do to get them to run it?"
"Maybe it's just not what the people like to hear about," his twin replied. "Check out this article!" He straightened the paper and read it with a dramatic voice. "A daring robbery. Saturday night, last, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Stags, popular local welding team was burglarized. The Stags had driven over to Morgansville to get new nipple for their acedeline tank. Stolen were the following items: Mr. Stag's WWII discharge button, which was in the lapel of his bankers imitation grey flannel suit, Mrs. Stags entire collection of glass paper weights, including one, when shaken, produces a snow storm falling over a coyote poised to eat a woodpecker, a set of porcelain his and her shavings mugs, and several items of Mrs. Stag's clothing, continued on page 4," he paused and searched for the page. "Here it is—a wetted silk cocktail frock, synthetic camels' hair topcoat, three house dresses, four pairs of shoes and Mrs. Stag's wedding gown. Police chief Bailer states, 'I believe this to be the work of roving transvestites!'" Stanley let out a boisterous laugh. "And people say nothing exciting ever happens in Gravity Falls."
"That's the third robbery this month," Fiddleford commented. "Most unusual."
"Why do you say that?" Stanley challenged. "Back home things get lifted all the time."
"Yeah, usually by you," Stanford added.
Fiddleford spoke up before the hot-blooded twin could respond. "We haven't seen any significant robberies in these parts for almost three years. There was a huge rash of robberies back then, nearly drove everyone crazy."
"What made them stop?" Stanford asked, intrigued.
"The person responsible was run out of town," his assistant replied. Checking his watch he stood up. "And my wife is going to run me out next if I don't get back home soon. Thanks for the breakfast Stan, Carla. See you tomorrow." He took a final swig of coffee ran out of the Shack.
"Bye, Fiddlenerd," Stanley yelled after him.
Carla came back in the room to collect the plates and kicked her husband in the leg. "Be nice."
He grumbled something under his breath but kept quiet. When she left again he saw his twin was leaning forward, deep in thought. He didn't need to ask what had him worried. "Don't sweat the newspaper thing," Stanley insisted. "I'm sure you'll find a way to get what you need."
"It's not just the parts I'm worried about," he said. "Fiddleford could make a nuclear reactor from a car engine if he needed too. No, I'm really worried about the fuel still."
Stanley cast a glance towards the kitchen, but his wife was busy with their son and didn't appear to hear them. The Mystery Trio had agreed to not tell her any details about the portal, especially not the part about it needing nuclear waste as a power source. Some things were best left unknown. "Well, maybe you could get old Fiddlesticks to make that reactor from a car engine. Then we could have all the waste we needed," he joked.
His twin laughed but there was no mirth in it. "Yeah, right." He stood up and rubbed his eyes behind his wire glasses. "Well, better get some shut eye before I get back to it."
Before his twin could persuade him to take it easy for the day there was a knock at the door. "I got it," Stanford said.
He opened the door and looked at the small woman before him with some confusion. "Can I help you?"
She smiled up at him, tan skin and dark hair marking her as someone of Latin decent. Her suit and tight bun spoke professionalism, but there was a secret sparkle to her eyes. "Nansi Rodrigez, Oregon Gazette," she announced extending her hand. "Are you Stanford Pines?"
"I am," he said, taking it.
"So nice to meet you." She looked at his six-fingered handshake with a raised brow.
He withdrew his hand and shoved them in the pockets of his lab coat with a nervous laugh. "I'm polydactyl, it takes some getting used to."
"Most intriguing," she replied politely. "I'm here about that article you submitted several months ago."
The tall man lit up instantly and forgot his lack of sleep in his excitement. "Really? I mean of course, come in, come in." He ushered her inside. "Stanley, we finally got someone."
He grunted in response, a bit suspicious of the timing. Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm, the short woman smiled. "Oh, are you two twins?"
"Yup," Stanley responded, giving her a look that just dared her to make some lousy twin joke.
She caught the acidic look and cleared her throat. "I was just coming by because we are extremely interested in running that article you submitted and I just wanted to ask you a few more questions."
"Of course. What do you want to know?" Stanford ushered her into a chair and sat across from her. Stanley remained standing, muscular arms crossed.
The reporter pulled out a notebook. "What class of species have you discovered here? I'm afraid the descriptions were a bit vague."
"Oh, right. Well, there are quite a few." Reaching into his lab coat, Stanford pulled out his second journal, barely a few months old but already showing signs of wear. "Let's see here."
At the sight of the journal, Nansi's eyes lit up behind her rectangle glasses. "Oh, is that where you keep all your research?" she asked.
Stanley didn't like the way she was looking at the journal. He knew that look because he had made the same eyes to things he wanted but couldn't have. It was the look of someone with a mean 5 finger discount.
"Oh yeah, I keep careful notes on everything," Stanford responded, not as shrewd as his twin and oblivious of the way the reporter was ogling his journal.
"May I see?" she asked, holding out a manicured hand.
Before Stanley could protest, the door flew open and Fiddleford came running in. "I forgot my coat," he explained. He spotted the reporter and stopped. "Jewels?" he asked.
The woman tensed, her eyes wide and professional air evaporating. She stood up quickly and smoothed out her blouse. "Fiddleford, how nice to see you," she said with a strained smile.
"What do you think you're doing here?" he demanded.
"You two know each other?" Stanford asked, standing and pocketing his journal.
Fiddleford gave her a look that could kill. "Oh, I know her alright!"
"I was just leaving," she insisted.
"She's the no good thief we ran out of town three years ago. You've got some nerve showing your face around here after all the trouble you gave us."
She sighed heavily. "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying." She turned to Stanford with a sly smile. "It looks like our interview is over. Oh well, it was nice to meet you." She drew close and pecked him on the cheek, evoking a bright red blush from the shy bachelor. Pleased with his reaction, she turned heel and left. "I'll just see myself out."
"I better not see you around here again or I'll call the police," Fiddleford yelled after her. The door closed and he shook his head. "The nerve of that woman."
"Yeah, real touchy ain't she?" Stanley jeered, jabbing his brother in the ribs. "Barely with the woman for five minutes and she can't keep her hands off you."
"H-hardly," he stammered, trying to compose himself. "I better get some sleep."
"Right. Sweet dreams, lover boy," Stanley yelled after him.
It was only an hour later when Stanley was startled by a yell from his brother's room. He went to the stairs to see what was up, glad Carla was out with their son or they would have been startled too. "Bro? You ok?" he yelled.
His twin came running up the stairs, hair a mess and glasses askew. "It's gone! She took it!"
"What? What're you talkin about?"
"The journal, Stan," his twin cried. "That no good thief took my journal!"
"Well that explains the kiss," Stanley replied.
"Stan, this isn't funny. We need to get that journal back. Most of my important notes are in code, but that doesn't mean she can't do some serious damage with it. It has a third of the plans and my latest algorithms and, and—"
"Hey, calm down," his brother said, putting his meaty hands on his twins' shoulders. "We'll get it back, don't worry. Call Fiddleford and we'll find out where she's at, ok?"
Swallowing hard, Stanford nodded. "Yeah, ok."
Fiddleford had a fit himself when he got the call and tracked down the con woman with little trouble. After all, Gravity Falls only had one hotel. The twins pulled up in the Stanley Mobile to the Twin Peaks Hotel on the edge of town, where Fiddleford was pacing on the sidewalk. "I already asked the owner, she's here alright," he informed them as they exited the car. "Didn't even bother to hide it either, she used her real name when she checked in."
"Seems to me she wants to be found," Stanley said, stroking his perpetual five o'clock shadow. "Better get the brass knuckles."
Fiddleford protested, mostly because anytime Stanley thought the occasion called for brass knuckles it ended with him getting attacked or chased by some monster. But there was no arguing with him once his mind was made up. They got the room number from the front desk and ascended to the third floor where Jewels Moreno, notorious jewel thief and con woman was checked in. They stood outside, staring at the brass 313 on the door. "Should we knock?" Stanford asked.
"Nah, let's just break it down," Stanley replied, raising a brass knuckled fist.
"It's open," a voice called from inside.
The Mystery Trio exchanged a look of confusion and then eased the door open. Jewels sat on the edge of the bed, filing her nails and displaying no interest in them. Her reporter disguise was gone, as were the glasses, and her long black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she wore simple dark clothing, perfect for lifting valuables in the dark. "Close the door behind you, I don't want to be over heard," she ordered. "I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly, though. I'm Jewels Moreno, also known as 'La Columbiana', for obvious reasons."
"I'm Stanford Pines, this is my twin Stanley and you seem to already know my assistant Fiddleford McGuckett. You seem to know all of us actually." Stanford stepped forward, attempting to look intimidating. "You did a poor job of hiding."
"Who said I was hiding?"
"I ought to call the cops on you," he continued.
"Oh no, not the cops," she cried in mock terror. "If you did that, you wouldn't get this back," Jewels produced the journal out of thin air. "It's what you came for, isn't it?"
"Yes," Stanford replied, stepping towards her. She stood up and shook her head.
"Watch your tone or I'll keep this one too." Once again she produced another journal out of thin air, this one marked with a one on the gold six-fingered hand.
Stanford patted his jacket in alarm to find she had taken it right out of his jacket with out his noticing. "How did you do that?" he sputtered.
"And where was she keeping them?" Stanley added, giving her a suspicious once over.
"Eyes forward, soldier, you're a married man," his twin grumbled.
Stanley shrugged his shoulders. "Just asking."
"What do you want with the journals?" Fiddleford demanded. "You're a jewel thief, not a scientist."
Jewels relaxed against the edge of the bed. "That I am, but I was looking for some light reading." She opened the second journal to the page with the portal schematics. "There's some really interesting stuff in here, especially the bit about the machine."
"Give that back," Stanford cried, lurching forward.
With the smooth reflexes of a trained killer, she pulled out the gun strapped to her boot and held it between his eyes, stopping Stanford in his tracks. "Let's not get too excited now," she warned, meeting his gaze for the first time. Her dark eyes had a hint of steel to them, the look of someone who had spilt a lot of blood.
Stanford held up his hands in a peaceful gesture and backed away, shaking a little at the sight of the loaded gun.
The con woman continued on in a casual tone as if they were discussing the weather and she held people at gunpoint everyday, which she did. "I don't pretend to know all the science in the world, but it looks like you're building quite a doozy here. I'm especially interested in how you plan to power it."
"Hey, there's no need for a gun," Stanley snapped.
Jewels looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. It was something he was used to. People always were more interested in his brainy brother and didn't ever seem to give him a second thought until he said or did something drastic. But whatever Jewels saw in him she appeared to like because she smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess you're right." She made to lower the gun, but then raised it again, pulling the trigger. "BANG!"
"Hey, wait," Stanley yelled, jumping in front of Stanford and Fiddleford.
But instead of the biting pain of a bullet, all he felt was the cold splash of water. He turned to find Jewels cackling with laughter. "I got you. I totally got you." She squirted him a few more times before he became irritated and took a swipe at her.
"You think that was funny?" he cried.
She dodged his punch with ease and spun the painted squirt gun on her finger. "It was pretty funny. You three are so easy to fool. I just keep this on me in case I'm searched." She snorted in laughter. "You should have seen your faces!"
Stanford put his hand on his twin's shoulder, pulling him back before he attacked her again. "How did you know about the power source?" he asked, diverting attention back to the real problem.
"I once knew a cryptologist in New York who taught me all he knew," Jewels explained. "Poor guy didn't know I stole his inheritance until I was halfway to France. Trust me, these codes weren't that hard to crack." She closed the book with a snap and tossed Journal one to him. "I let you find me because I have a business proposition for you three."
"What makes you think we would do business with you?" Fiddleford asked with a scowl. Stanford carefully placed the first journal back in his jacket, determined to do a better job of keeping it away from Jewel's sticky fingers. She was worse than Stanley.
Jewels shrugged. "Why wouldn't you do business with me? You need about 6 tons of nuclear waste and I need help with a 'personal project'. You three help me lift a certain artifact from a certain local family and I'll get you all the nuclear waste you could ever want, signed packaged and delivered to your doorstep with no trail leading back to you."
"We don't need your help," Fiddleford insisted.
The woman scoffed. "En serio? What, do you plan to just ask the government to sell it to you? Or maybe you want them to just give it away. I don't see any way you're getting that stuff without going to more extreme measures."
Fiddelford made to protest, but Stanford silenced him with hand on his shoulder. "Will you give us a minute?" he asked.
"Of course."
The three men stepped outside and stood in a circle. Fiddleford was shaking his head, flustered by the whole thing. "I don't trust her, not one bit and neither should you Stanford. I trust that woman about as far as I can throw her."
"Got weak arms, eh Fiddleford?" Stanley teased.
"Oh, shut up."
Stanford crossed his arms and stroked his cleft chin in thought. "She's right though. We're not going to get that stuff any other way. We certainly can't ask for it."
"She wants us to steal from someone," Fiddleford hissed.
Stanley waved his protest away like he was swatting a fly. "Come on, Fiddlenerd, I steal from people on a daily basis selling those vacuums."
"Your dedication to your integrity is astounding," Fiddleford replied with an acidic tone.
"We have to take the deal," Stanford said. "I can't lose that journal. We just help her on this one gig and it will all be worth it. Unlimited knowledge is worth one tiny robbery."
"You don't know this woman," his assistant protested. "I'm sure this job will be anything but tiny."
The twins exchanged a silent glance, already aware of what the other was thinking. "We vote on it," Stanford declared. "Those for the trade with Jewels say 'aye', those against 'nay'. For?" He and his twin called aye in unison. "Against?"
"Nay," Fiddleford cried in futile protest. "I want it on the record that I was against this."
Stanley rolled his eyes. "Right, I'll just file it under the million other things you were against and we did anyways."
Stepping back into the hotel room, they found Jewels filing her nails again. "It's a deal," Stanford declared. "Now, the other journal." He held out his polydactyl hand with expectancy.
She shook it instead, grinning up at him with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "You got the first journal back as a sign of good will, nerd boy. You get the other one back when you fulfill your end of the bargain."
He scowled, but there was no choice in the matter. "Fine."
"Que bueno," she said with a smile. "Well, let's get to work." She went over to her suitcase and pulled out a large scroll. Rolling it out on the floor, she held it down with a few of her stiletto heels.
"That's—that's Northwest Manor," Stanley cried.
"Very good, Stan. You could be an architect." She then frowned and looked between the two identical men, as if something had just occurred to her.
"What?" Stanley asked.
Jewels frowned. "So if you're Stanford and he's Stanley, am I just supposed to call you both 'Stan'?"
"That's what we do," they replied in unison.
She shook her head. "Sounds like it gets confusing real fast."
"Not at all," Fiddleford replied. "It's all about the tone. If you say Stan politely, it means you want to speak to Stanford and if you said Stan in an irritated tone it means you want to talk to Stanley."
Stanley grabbed his shoulder and squeezed tightly. "I'm gonna get you for that later, egg head."
Despite himself, Stanford laughed at Fiddleford's comment. "Actually that's pretty much how it goes."
Jewels shook her head. "Ugh, this is going to be a long heist." Turning back to the job at hand, she cleared her throat. "Now, as I'm sure you know, tomorrow night is the annual summer party at Northwest Manor."
"But only the fancy folk get invited to that," Fiddleford protested. "What makes you think they'll let us in?"
"Because they won't know we're us. It's the only night they won't notice someone roaming the mansion unchecked and if we play our cards right, we'll get away with this." She held out a newspaper clipping featuring Mr. Northwest holding what looked like a piece of Chinese cabbage.
The Mystery Trio gathered around it for a closer look. After a long moment, Stanley gave Jewel's a withering look. "You want us to steal a vegetable?"
"Stan, put on your glasses," his twin snapped. "It's a statue."
"Ok, so you want us to steal a statue of a vegetable? That's a strange fetish you got there lady."
Jewel's tucked the clipping away. "The Jade Cabbage is a priceless artifact, the only one of its kind carved from a unique piece of jade. It goes for millions on the black market and I have a client who wants it."
"Dare I ask who this client is?" Stanford asked with a sigh.
"An important member of the Chinese syndicate who wishes to go unnamed," Jewels explained, twirling her long hair between her fingers. "He wants it back in his country where it belongs but Mr. Northwest, who obtained it through his own questionable means, refuses to part with it."
"Right, and you're just a concerned citizen looking to do the right thing by stealing it back," Fiddleford said with a roll of his eyes.
"Exactly," the con woman replied with a grin, ignoring his sarcasm. "Now, what's going to happen is Stanley and I are going to go in disguise—I already have the tickets and outfits so no worries there—then Stanford, you and McGuckett are going to use some special tech to help us disable the security system."
"Wait a second, why do I have to go as the fancy party guest?" Stanley protested. "Make one of the nerds here do it."
"They can't because McGuckett knows tech better than either of you and Stanford's hand condition will make him easier to spot as an imposter." She glanced at Stanford. "No offense."
"None taken," he lied, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Jewels continued on to explain the details of the security system and what they would need to disable it. After an hour or so of arguing the details with Fiddleford, they settled on a plan. The Columbian woman smiled and leaned forward to give the three men a hug. "I have a good feeling about tomorrow, caballeros. We're going to do some great work together."
"Right," Stanford replied, already regretting his decision.
Later that night, after Carla and the kid had gone to bed, the two Stan twins sat up watching TV and drinking beer like they usually did. Stanford was quieter than usual and stared at the old movie with glazed eyes. His cigarette glowed bright red in the dim light as he puffed on it lazily. "Maybe we voted wrong, Stan," he said, blowing the smoke out.
"What do ya mean?" his twin replied, uncapping another beer.
"Making that deal with Jewels. Something just doesn't sit right."
Rolling his eyes, Stanley took a long swig of beer. "Spare me another one of your lectures on morality."
"No, it's more than just the robbery." He ran his polydactyl hands through his messy hair. "It's like…almost like she knew we needed that nuclear waste before she took the journal."
"Then why would she take it?" Stanley asked, happy to play devil's advocate.
"To confirm her information, maybe? To lure us to the hotel? To make sure we made that deal?" Shaking his head, the scientist rubbed his eyes, heavy from a lack of sleep. "I don't know, the whole thing reminds me of Bill." He gave a slight shudder at the memory of her cold eyes. If that had been a real gun he had no doubt she would have shot them. "Except she doesn't seem quite as polite as him."
"I don't know, that floating nacho gives me the creeps," Stanley replied, holding out his hand for the cigarette.
"Hey, lay off the little guy." Stanford passed it to him. His twin took a long drag and then handed it back.
Leaning back in his chair, Stanley blew out a ring of smoke. "I know you're friends with him and all, but compared to the willies Bill gives me, Jewels is nothing." They sat in a long silence, filled with the sound of the television. "I kind of like her actually," Stanley added. "She and I think alike."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stanford asked.
"I dunno, it's her style I guess. Stealing the journal to make us come to her, kind of reminds me of when we were kids. Like that time I wouldn't let your end of the teeter totter down until you promised to go to the Wacky Shack with me."
"I still hate you for that," his studious twin grumbled. The memory of the creepy fun house still gave him the shivers. "I guess there's no use in second guessing it now. We're locked in for better or for worse." Shaking his head, Stanford turned off the television and put out his cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray. "What are you going to tell Carla?"
Holding up his big hands in an innocent gesture, Stanley sighed. "As far as she's concerned, this is just another late night monster hunt. No need to get her involved." Stanley tossed the beer can at the garbage and missed.
"Right," Stanford agreed, tossing his at the garbage as well, but his went in.
Sulking a bit, Stanley grumbled, "Lucky shot."
"Glasses," his twin replied, tapping his spectacles. "They do wonders for your aim."
"Aw, lay off. I'm going to bed. Good night Stan."
"Good night Stan."
It didn't need to be said but they both felt uneasy about tomorrow but for different reasons. Stanley felt a nervous kind of excitement, kind of like the moment before you lay down your cards in poker to find out if you won or not. Stanford felt a guilty sort of nervous, like when you cheat on a test and get away with it. Neither twin slept well that night.
They met up at Jewels' hotel room late the next afternoon. Fiddleford dragged a large box of machinery up the stairs, complaining about how he wasn't meant to work on such a tight schedule and declaring he refused to let his scientific contributions be used in criminal activities. The Stan twins let him complain and helped him bring the box up the stairs. Knocking on the door this time, they were greeted by the same voice, but when they opened the door, Jewels had made such a complete transformation they almost didn't recognize her.
Her bangs and long hair were expertly twisted up in a mess of curls and her long evening gown made her look like some sort of movie star. But despite her high class dress and jewelry, no doubt stolen from some unsuspecting victim, her tone was all business. "You're late," she declared, snapping her hand fan.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Stanley asked, closing the door.
"Monica Rodriguez, star of the telenovelas," she declared, spinning around to show off her new look.
"Tell a know what?" he asked in confusion.
Fiddleford rolled his eyes. "Honestly Stan, Spanish soap operas."
"Oh. I knew that." He grunted as Jewels shoved a suit into his hands, wrapped in plastic wrap from its trip to the cleaners.
"Your disguise, señor," she announced. "Get dressed."
He stepped into the bathroom, still not thrilled about his role in the heist while Fiddleford laid out his latest invention. "Very nice work," Jewels commented, turning it over in her gloved hands. "You certainly work fast."
"He works great under pressure," Stanford said with a smile, clapping his assistant on the shoulder.
Fiddleford's cheeks turned pink from all the praise. "Well, I do the best I can."
"Do you remember your positions?" she asked, replacing the device in the box.
"Yup, outside the rear gate, 9 o'clock sharp. Then to the main display room."
"Perfect."
The bathroom door opened and Stanley stepped out, pulling at his collar. "Ugh, it's like this collar is strangling me. Who am I supposed to impress with this stuff?"
"Um, everyone," Jewels replied, reaching up to straighten his bow tie. "Sit in that chair, you're too tall for me to reach."
The con woman barely came to mid chest on him and he chuckled at her struggle. "Are we too tall for you, sweetheart?"
"Sit down or I'll get your nose the same way I got your brother's," she growled.
Stanley hastily sat down without further protest. Jewels produced a pin from her purse and stuck it to his lapel before addressing his hair. Spotting the pin, Fiddleford gasped. "A WWII discharge pin. So you were the one who robbed the Stags."
"Guilty as charged," Jewels replied. "Where else was I supposed to get a disguise?"
"I don't know, the store?" Stanford offered.
Jewels laughed. "Right, you're funny." She scowled at his twin. "Stan, stop moving." Pulling the comb through his hair, she parted it carefully. "I can see what you meant about the tone thing, McGuckett. It really does differentiate them."
"I heard that," Stanley snapped.
Stanford watched her work, his eyes drawn to the low cut on her sleeveless gown with an even lower back. Feeling his gaze, Jewels smirked. "Stanford, you're either looking for another kiss or a smack, and I'll give you one guess which it'll be," she sang without looking up from her work.
He jumped and averted his gaze. "I wasn't—I mean I don't—sorry."
Stanley cackled at his brother's embarrassment. "Simmer down, bro, she's a no good thief, remember?"
"Yeah, well so are you," he muttered, but he was careful to not stare at Jewels anymore.
After a few hours of make-up and final briefing about their roles, they split up. Jewels and Stanley took a rented, or possibly stolen, Mercedes to Northwest Manor while Stanford and Fiddleford were to follow soon after. "Remember," Jewels reminded him as they pulled up. "I'm Monica and you're William Blake, my cousin's decorated war-hero husband." She had added grey streaks to his hair and a bit of theatre make up to age him just enough to pass for a war veteran.
"I don't see why I have to be the old guy," he protested.
"You're going to be the old guy for real some day, consider this practice," she replied, checking her make-up in her compact.
He snorted. "You're going to be old some day too, lady."
"No I won't," Jewels sang with a confident smile. "I plan to stay young forever."
"Right, and I want to make a bunch of easy money and retire early. We don't always get what we want."
They pulled up to the mansion and Jewels put on a thick Mexican accent, explaining their driver was ill and that's why they drove themselves. Mr. Northwest declared it an absolute embarrassment and insisted they borrow a butler for the ride home. Jewels refused and Stanley did his best to not gag with all the fancy talk around him. They had a bit of time before the next phase went into action so they hovered around the food table, enjoying the wide spread of treats.
"You know, Stan," Jewels said, dropping the accent. "You have a good criminal instinct."
"Yeah, a whole lotta good that's done me," he scoffed.
"No, I'm serious. You knew I was after that journal before your brother did. He may be book smart, but you know people."
"That's what I'm always saying," Stanley cried. "Finally, someone gets it. I always say Stanford's the wrong kind of smart. Book smart, not people smart. He's real easy to trick." As if realizing just who he was revealing this too, Stanley became quiet. "I mean, you know, as much as any other guy."
Jewels took a long sip of cider and smiled. "If you're interested, I can get you some work after this. If all goes well."
"What, you mean doing what you do? Ripping people off?" He shook his head. "No thanks, I've got a family to think off."
"You could make a quick fortune and get out, easy peasy." Putting down the cup, she looked at the time. "Phase two is about to start." She placed a hand on his arm and winked up at him. "Think about it."
Taking off to attend to her part of the plan, Stanley watched her go, an uneasy feeling deep in his stomach. Something told him to refuse her offer, but some other part told him some day he may have no choice. Carla and him only wanted the best for their son, but Stanley wasn't the most talented guy on the block and he knew it. Nothing like his poindexter brother who could get hired at any research facility in the world. Shaking off his insecurities, he took off to fulfill his end of the plan: cause a distraction.
If there was anything he was good at, it was making a scene.
Stanford and Fiddleford hovered near the back gate, hidden behind a clump of trees. Jewels appeared from inside the mansion and threw the gate open. "You boys come here often?" she asked.
"Not anymore," Stanford replied. "You're late."
The well-dressed woman waved off his complaint. "I had to dodge a few servants on the way here. Keep your shirt on nerd boy, I'm the brains of this operation."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, following her into the mansion.
Jewels rolled her eyes. "Well, it's obvious you're used to calling the shots with your brother and McGuckett over there. But this time you're taking a back seat to me." Stanford scowled but had no come back. There was no arguing with the truth.
She led them through the mansion, dodging servants and other vagrant guests on their way. There was a crash from the main hall and Fiddleford almost dropped the box of machinery in surprise. "What was that?"
"Stanley's distraction no doubt," she replied.
Stanford frowned. "Yeah, he's real good at those. If anyone has an incredible talent for jumping up and down and making annoying noises to get attention, it's my brother."
"His useless talent finally came in handy I guess," Fiddleford said with a sigh.
The first step of distraction was knowing what would get people's attention. The second step was knowing how far to go without getting in serious trouble. Fancy folk were worried about scenes and messes, but their real fear was robbery. Having so many expensive things dripping off them made for enough paranoia to make his twin look reckless. So, the first thing to do was distract them from the real, major robbery going on upstairs and get them to focus on a faked, petty theft front and center.
He took the WWII discharge pin off his lapel and twirled it between his large fingers. Glancing around he picked out the most vulnerable guy there, some rich guy with a nose that made Stan's look normal sized. Sliding up behind him he tapped the table just enough to knock over a few cups of cider. The man jumped back and ran right into Stan. "Oh, my apologies sir," he cried.
"No problem at all," Stanley replied, slipping the pin into the man's coat pocket while he pretended to pat him reassuringly. Stepping away he let the servants make a fuss over the spilled drink and watched the clock until five minutes passed. Then he pretended to be alarmed and patted the front of his jacket in a feigned search for his 'missing' WWII pin. "It's gone," he cried. "Help! I've been robbed! Oh the horror!"
Mr. Northwest appeared at his side. "What's gone?"
"My precious WWII discharge pin, the most prized possession I own, it's been stolen," Stanley cried with dramatic sorrow.
"I'm sure it just fell off," Mr. Northwest insisted. "I'll have the mansion searched at once."
"No, I know who it was," Stanley insisted. "It was that guy." He pointed at the guy with the big snoz who gaped at him with terror.
"M-me?" he stammered. "Not at all. You're mistaken."
Stanley stomped over to him. "You bumped into me earlier, you little thief."
"No, no! I'm innocent," the man cried.
Mr. Northwest, looking to settle the matter quickly, slid between them. "Well this is a simple matter, good sirs. If you're innocent, just turn out your pockets."
Stanley almost couldn't suppress a grin of delight when they guy emptied his pocket and produced the 'missing' pin. "I don't know how that got there," he cried. "I've been framed."
"Likely story," Stanley cried. He sent the guy flying back into the ice sculpture with his left hook. Maybe starting a fight was going a bit overboard, but it had been a hard day and Stanley needed some stress relief.
Jewels and the two scientists approached the display room, finding the hallways empty. "You keep watch," she ordered Stanford. He stayed back a little ways peering around the corner, praying whatever his twin was doing in the dining hall was enough to keep people's attention away from this end of the mansion. Fiddleford produced the rectangular device he had made over night and placed it over the keypad next to the door. The screen on the front lit up and it began to cycle through combinations to find the right one.
"The Northwest's are rich freaks but they're also rich paranoid freaks," Jewels explained, "Kind of like you three, minus the rich."
Stanford looked back, her paranoid comment striking a cord. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She ignored him and continued. "Which is why it's so hard to steal from them. Usually with keypads you just have to look for the most worn buttons, but Mr. Northwest wears gloves when he opens it, preventing any residue build up. Plus if the buttons start to look worn he gets it replaced and a whole new code set up."
"It seems like an awful lot of trouble for one statue," Fiddleford remarked.
The machine bleeped and there was a click from the lock of the door. Jewel smirked and pushed the door open. "It's not just one statue, McGuckett," she assured him. The two scientists gaped at the display hall, stuffed full of art and jewels and whatever other expensive junk a billionaire could think to collect.
"It's a good thing Stan isn't here or he would have a fit of kleptomania," Stanford whispered.
"I'm about to have one myself," Jewels replied, removing her evening gloves. She swapped them out for the black ones in her clutch, made for lifting valuables and leaving no trace. The silk jacket also came off so she could move with ease. Stanford did a double take when he saw a bullet wound on her left shoulder highlighted by a tattoo of a red, cross hair. She caught his look and glanced at the bullet wound as well. "This is what happens when things don't go according to plan," she explained.
"Is that why you added the tattoo?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I figured it would be a reminder. In this business, getting shot is inevitable." She led the way to the far end of the room. On a pedestal stood the Jade Cabbage, protected under a glass bell jar rigged to trigger an alarm if removed. "Batter up," she whispered to Fiddleford. He pulled out another device and placed it at the base of the pedestal. It counted down from 10 and then beeped twice. The EMP wave disabled the security chip, but only in a five-foot radius. Taking the lid off the cabbage, she held her hand out to McGuckett who gave her a real Chinese cabbage to put in its place. The bell jar went back in over top and she put the Jade Cabbage in a black bag and handed it to Stanley. "Guard it with your life."
A quick sweep was made over the room to make sure they didn't leave anything behind and Stanford and Fiddleford were back out the rear gate and Jewels returned to the dining hall in record time. By the time she arrived, they had almost cleaned up the mess Stanley had made. She saw how disheveled he looked and rushed forward, Mexican accent and character back in place.
"Oh, mi amor, what happened?" she cried. "Your suit, it's ruined."
"It's nothing," he replied. "Just apple cider."
People stared at him with confusion and Jewels gave him a meaningful look to go on.
Stanley cleared his throat. "I mean, in the war we had to get blood out of our uniforms. A real soldier isn't scared of a little dirt."
The fancy folk appeared to accept his story and drifted off to enjoy the rest of the party. Stanley sighed with relief and looked at Jewels. "Did you get it?"
"It's all taken care of," she assured him. "We just have to wait twenty minutes for them to get back to the Shack and then we can leave." Taking a long sip of cider, she gazed out at the guests, pleased she had managed to steal one of the best pieces of the Northwest collection right from under their upturned noses.
Stanley also looked out at the crowd and after a moment the full meaning of her words sank in. "Wait, what did you say?" he asked, hoping he heard wrong.
"We can leave in twenty minutes. It's not that long…"
"No, about them getting back to the house. You called it the Shack."
Dark eyes grew wide, like when Fiddleford had called her out yesterday morning. "Did I say that?" she asked with a laugh. Jewels had a laugh for everything and this one was forced and nervous.
Stanley looked around, blood boiling. It looked like the Northwest's weren't the only ones getting conned tonight. His brother had said it was strange how she seemed to know about the portal and nuclear waste before taking the journals. Why hadn't he listened to the paranoid nerd? If she was conning them he had no qualms about getting her caught right in the middle of her own heist, but if she was arrested he would get hauled off with her. He couldn't do that to Carla. Taking Jewels by her arm, he leaned close for the first tactful moment of his life. "Can we talk outside?" he growled.
In the privacy of the gardens, Stanley exploded. "You knew about the portal before you showed up on our doorstep," he cried. "How? Who told you what we're working on?"
With her cover blown, Jewels saw no need to maintain pretense. "We? What we? As far as I understand it, you only do the heavy lifting while your twin and his assistant do all the real work. Anyone can weld metal together but only a few can program it to do something."
Fed up with her, Stanley grabbed her long hair and picked her up by it. "Who told you?" he barked.
She cried out in pain and her little legs kicked at him, but fell short of landing a blow. "Calm down, tonto," she yelled. "Ow, hair! Hair!"
"Not until you answer me."
Jewels puffed out her cheeks in anger, spewing Spanish in her frustration. "Dios mio y todos los santos—I watched your house, ok?" she screamed. Seeing he was getting some answers, Stanley put her down. She rubbed her scalp and let the ruined up doo fall down in a tangle of curls and bobby pins. "I've been surveying your place for the past couple weeks. Microphones, the works. But I would have never shown my face in this town again if it wasn't for that triangle guy."
"Triangle guy?" Stanley asked, feeling cold dread pool in his stomach.
She gave him a nervous smile. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I kept having this weird dream, with a triangle in a top hat." She made a triangle with her fingers and held it over her eye so she was looking out of it. It was a symbol the Mystery Trio had used when referencing Bill. "He told me some nerds in Gravity Falls needed someone to do a job for them, only they didn't know they needed it yet, if you catch my drift. He promised it would be easy to convince you three and boy was he right."
Stanley sat down on one of the stone benches, knees weak from shock. "I can't believe this. Bill sent you here?"
"Oh, so you know him too?" Jewels shivered at the memory of him. "Talk about a creeper. He seems nice enough but every time I dream about him…"
"I wake up in a cold sweat," they said in unison.
Stanley jolted a bit at the synchronized speech. "That's weird, usually I only do that with Stan."
Jewels shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry I lied to you and spied on you. But I just was looking for some help with a job and I promise to get you that nuclear junk."
"Fine, whatever." The large man stood up. "Stan isn't going to like this. I knew from the start Bill was no good."
"Don't tell him," Jewels insisted. "I promised the triangle guy I wouldn't tell you guys about him. The last thing I need is him in my nightmares, you know?"
Stanley glared at her, reluctant to make a deal with a known liar and thief, but something in the way she asked was familiar. It reminded him of the countless times he begged Stanford to cover for him while he skipped boxing, or to not tell dad about him getting detention for breaking into the vending machines. He shook his head. "I promise. But if this puts my brother in danger, I am going to tell him everything."
"Of course. La familia es todo," she agreed.
"You know I don't speak Spanish, right?"
She looked up at him with a meaningful look and put a hand on his forearm. "It means, 'family is everything'."