Chapter 3 – To Trust a Thief

Chapter 3 – To Trust a Thief

Some deadhead in a suit once advised: "Those you trust the most can steal the most." Now my friend, Bobby Hobbes, he's lived his life by that code. The man was a walking advertisement for the joys of paranoia. That is, until he partnered up with yours truly. Yup, at some point that psychotic little tiger decided he could trust me. Well, he should have asked me before he came to that decision. I would have reminded him of what that suit said and assured him that truer words were never spoken.

For three months, Darien had bided his time. He'd made sure to fall into a reliable pattern with Claire, to become a fixture in her life, keeping up the front of a friendly relationship at work, then letting things get even friendlier after hours. But pleasant though it was, he hadn't been able to spend every night with Claire. He'd needed some seed money to get them started on their escape and he'd known just how to get it.

Everyone had always thought of him as a lousy thief, he'd known that. Truth be told, he would have liked to have corrected their impression, but it had served his purposes better for them to think of him as a screw-up. After all, if the authorities don't think you're the brightest bulb in the box, they don't go looking to pin more … inventive … heists on you, do they?

True, he had been popped three times too many, but hey, one of those had been a frame-up from that back-stabbing, son-of-a-bitch Manny Merrick. So that meant he'd only been caught for two of his own jobs. The last one had been his own damn fault. Liz had been right; he had developed a big, fat conscience, and it had been his downfall. It wasn't a mistake he'd planned on repeating.

What no one had seemed to consider, though, was just how Darien had managed to support himself when he wasn't in jail. What had they thought, that he'd taken odd jobs at the mall? No, he'd run plenty of successful gigs. They'd just tended towards the smaller scores, which was exactly what he'd needed for his plan. No high profile, one-shot deals – those just got you caught. Instead, a series of small, low-profile burglaries had suited his needs just fine. He'd just needed enough to get started and then the real show would begin.

So, on the odd evenings when he hadn't been romancing Claire or tossing a few drafts down with Bobby, he'd executed a series of small, sporadic break-ins -- sometimes a local jewelry store, sometimes a well-stocked penthouse. Never anywhere too big. Always somewhere that was insured.

He'd been surprised that the ever-paranoid Hobbes hadn't gotten suspicious right away. Man, sometimes it had seemed like that guy had been hardwired into Darien's brain. The only thing Darien had been able to figure was that Bobby had been too busy trying to one-up Monroe to have been paying too much attention.

It wasn't until Darien had gone to meet his contact at Flip's Bar during lunch that Bobby had smelled something brewing. Darien had known he was pushing his luck, but he'd been getting impatient. He'd wanted to get gone before he'd lost his resolve. And if anyone could have made him lose his resolve, it would have been that overly annoying, slightly manic, totally loyal little tiger.

He had been sitting down, having a draft with his old pal from the pokey, Buddy. Darien had used Buddy's unique abilities on a couple of scams he'd run. The man had been a genius at the lost art of forging documents. This time Darien had tapped him to create a complete set of IDs and credit cards for one Mr. Ed Sterling and his wife, Karen.

Bobby had walked in the door and made a beeline right for Darien, just after goods and payment had been exchanged. Buddy had seen Hobbes and looked questioningly at Darien, who simply shook his head. The two then continued with what to all appearances had just been an easy conversation between two old friends.

"Fawkes," Bobby had started in, "what kind of trouble are you getting yourself into now?"

"It's nice to see you too, Hobbes. Let me introduce you to my friend, Buddy…."

"Oh yeah, Buddy, well, nice to meet you," Hobbes stated pleasantly enough. Then he'd grabbed Darien by the arm, jerked him out of his seat and dragged him out the front door. "No offense, but friends like you this kid don't need no more."

By the time they'd reached the van, Darien had finally managed to free himself from Bobby's death grip. He'd sucked up his courage and – figuring the best defense was a good offense – had rounded on his partner.

"Do you want to tell me now what the hell that was all about?"

"Bobby Hobbes has a sixth sense about trouble, my friend. And you and that employment office for ex-cons spell trouble with a capital T."

"Relax, Hobbes. I'm just trying to cultivate some sources for Fawkes.net. Some really good potential contacts frequent that bar."

"Fawkes.net? What the hell are you talking about? There's no such thing as Fawkes.net."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here, catching up with some of my old cronies. Or at least I was until you came in and started cramping my style."

"Don't you frickin' lie to me, Fawkes …."

"Hey, you have Hobbes.net, why can't I have Fawkes.net? What? You got a corner on the informant market or something, huh?" Darien had snorted, then gone straight for his partner's jugular. "You know, Bobby, someone once said that it's an equal failing to trust everybody and to trust nobody."

"What? What is that, some kinda shot there, pal?"

"No, it just means that you have to take a chance and trust someone at some point in your life. Lucky me, I had to go and decide to trust you. Can't you at least return the favor for once?"

Bobby had squinted his eyes and looked into Darien's, tilting his head first one way, then the other. "Fine. Fine, Fawkes. Just remember, you even think about going back into the life and I'll kick your sorry, skinny little punk ass all the way back to Soledad myself. You got that?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, my friend." And truthfully, he wouldn't have had it any other way, if only there had been any other way.