Chapter Text
Helen spots Carol at once; of course she does. Her eyes automatically go to her, even after all these years, and even when Carol is in a place she shouldn't be—like the Manhattan hotel Helen is staying in. Also, Carol is wearing a yellow jacket that screams for attention. Her attention.
Her being here at the same time as Helen is not a coincidence. Carol has tracked her down, and that means she wants to talk.
Helen considers walking right back out, leaving all her belongings, and simply disappearing. But she knows that if she ignores this overture that Carol will escalate, so she crosses the bar and slides onto the stool next to her. "I'm not going to sleep with you again," she says.
Carol sets her rocks glass down on the bar top. It's mostly empty, probably holds the remnants of a double. It won't be her first and it's likely not even her third. "I'm not here for that."
"I'm not taking you back, either."
"I know." Carol's eyes close briefly. Suppressing pain.
Helen feels a little bad, but tamps down on her reflexive desire to make it better. That way lie madness, futility, and the ashes of fifteen years. "Then what?"
"I want to hire you."
"With what money?" Helen—who has, yes, kept tabs on Carol as closely as Carol has evidently kept tabs on her—knows that Carol is flat broke; if she didn't live with Manousos, she couldn't afford the property taxes on the house Helen had let her keep.
"The money you're going to help me steal."
Now there's something Helen hadn't expected.
The bartender interrupts them to bring Carol a refill and take Helen's order, and Helen—knowing that Carol prefers the illusion of not drinking alone—asks for a gimlet.
"You're not a thief," she says. That Helen is a scam artist was always a point of contention, even though Carol knew damn right and well what she was getting into.
"I'm switching sides."
"Not really."
"Really. At least for now."
Helen considers this. Carol has clearly gotten herself into something stupid and reckless… and interesting. Yeah, it's bait, but it's a kind of bait that Helen's always been weak to. "Go on," she says, knowing full well she shouldn't.
"The mark's a corporation that manages contractors for homebuilding. They're big and I need the best. Are you in?"
"I don't know. Pitch it better."
The bartender arrives with Helen's drink and a refill for Carol.
"Their trick is they hire undocumented workers and then stiff them when payday comes around. If they complain, boss calls the feds on them and they get deported. Their extra money goes to a PAC that funnels cash to candidates who aren't fond of safety regulations or labor rights activism. We're going to steal that PAC."
"Who else is in on this? Aside from Manousos."
"Laxmi Nath."
A hitter? Interesting. Whatever Carol is planning, she's taking it seriously.
"And?"
"Zosia."
Helen places the name immediately, but she can't believe it. "Zosia? As in Zosia Zosia?"
"As in Zosia Zosia. I told you," Carol says. There's a little trace of the old pout in her attitude. "I want the best."
"How the hell did you even find her?"
Carol shrugs. "How the hell did I find any of you? I'm good at catching crooks."
Helen really thinks Carol doesn't have a leg to stand on in terms of being law-abiding, but she lets it go. "Anyone else?"
"You're the last."
That had been strategic. Manipulative, even, but Carol's mind has always been twisty. It was one of the reasons she could catch Helen—and keep her.
"Yes," Helen says. "Conditionally."
"Whatever you need."
Helen tilts her head, studying her. This part of Carol also hasn't changed; she's still desperate and rushing to overpromise. "What if I said I need you to be sober for the duration?"
"Almost anything," Carol says.
At least she's being honest. For now.
"How functional are you these days?"
"I'm not homeless," Carol tells the bottom of her glass. It's empty again.
That bar, considering their house had been paid off and Manousos is around, is low.
"I work sometimes," she adds.
"Doing what?"
"Consulting."
This is the first Helen's heard of that, and she's skeptical. "Does that pay?" Do you still have enough of a reputation left to land you clients?
"Not really. But I don't have to leave the house to do it." There's an uncomfortable pause. "What are your actual conditions?"
"I get a fifth."
"Obviously."
"And half of your fifth."
"Okay."
Too easy.
"Really? Just like that?"
"I'll give you all of it. I'm not doing it for the money."
"Right, because you're not a thief."
Carol flinches, hard. At least I'm not a thief was one of the lines that she liked to throw in Helen's face after… After. "That's not—" She shakes her head and visibly resets herself. "Do you want the money or not?"
"Yes." Of course she does.
"Done. What else?"
"You don't get behind a wheel the entire time."
"I haven't driven in three years."
She'd lost her license four years ago.
"This is the last time we're alone."
"We aren't alone even now," Carol says. She draws her hair back, and it takes Helen a moment to notice the earpiece. "Manousos has been listening to us this whole time." She pauses and rolls her eyes. "Zosia and Laxmi would like you to know that they're here, too."
This puts Helen off. She prefers to know the audience she's playing to, and including three other people without telling her feels like deception.
"One last thing," Helen says. "Don't lie to me."
"Helen," Carol says, and how many times has she heard that word in that mouth? It's not her name, but being Carol's Helen is the closest thing to an identity she's ever had, and it took years of practice not to automatically respond to that call. Practice she hasn't had in a while.
"All right," she says, even as her much-abused better judgment screams in protest. "When do we start?"
"I was thinking now." Carol signals the bartender.
"Now? I'm not even packed."
"Your luggage is in the car."
"What? But—" But what would reasonable boundaries and hotel security be to the world's greatest thief? "Zosia," she says.
Carol smiles. "Zosia."