Red Reese, a killer and a con artist.
Red Reese, a killer and a con artist.
The chipped porcelain doll stared blankly from the dusty shelf, its painted smile a macabre counterpoint to the rain lashing against the attic window. Red Reese, his crimson hair a stark contrast to the greying wood surrounding him, traced a finger along its cracked cheek. He wasn’t sentimental, not truly. But the doll was a memento, a tiny trophy from his last score – the Van Derlyn diamond heist. Or rather, almost his last score.
Red wasn’t just a killer; he was an artist of deception. His kills were precise, surgical, leaving little trace. His cons were elaborate tapestries woven with lies, half-truths, and carefully cultivated charm. He’d charmed his way into the Van Derlyns’ inner circle, a family steeped in old money and even older secrets, becoming their trusted advisor, their confidante, before relieving them of their most prized possession. Almost.
The diamond, a flawless tear of light, glittered in its velvet-lined case, nestled beside the doll. But the heist hadn’t gone exactly to plan. A nosy neighbour, a flickering security camera, a misplaced glove – these were the brushstrokes of a painting gone awry. Detective Inspector Mallory, a woman whose sharp eyes missed nothing and whose intuition was as cold as glacial ice, was on his trail.
Red sighed, a puff of smoke curling from his cigarette. Mallory was relentless, a predator matching his own cunning. He’d anticipated most of her moves, but she possessed a maddening ability to sniff out his inconsistencies, the subtle tremors in his carefully constructed persona. He needed an exit strategy, a masterpiece of misdirection to throw her off his scent, one that would require a bolder brushstroke than any he’d used before.
His plan, hatched over weeks, was audacious even by his standards. He’d leak information to Mallory, pointing her towards a rival gang, the Serpents, known for their brutal methods and penchant for elaborate jewel heists. He’d orchestrate a staged confrontation, a messy, bloody affair that would allow him to discreetly slip away, leaving the Serpents to take the fall – and the Van Derlyn diamond with them.
The night of the “confrontation” was a storm mirroring the tempest brewing within Red. The warehouse, reeking of decay and desperation, was the stage. The Serpents, pawns in his game, played their parts with gusto. Gunfire echoed through the cavernous space, shadows dancing in the flickering torchlight. Red, observing from a concealed vantage point, felt a surge of something akin to exhilaration – the intoxicating rush of controlling the chaos he had created.
But Mallory, as always, proved unpredictable. She arrived not to investigate, but to watch, her expression unreadable. He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a subtle shift in her posture. She knew. Or at least, she suspected.
In the aftermath, as the sirens wailed in the distance, Red disappeared. The Serpents were apprehended, the diamond recovered (or so it seemed). Mallory, however, knew better. The game wasn’t over. It had merely entered a new, more perilous phase. The chipped porcelain doll, a silent witness to Red Reese’s audacious game, remained on the attic shelf, a reminder that even the most masterful con artist can leave behind a trail of breadcrumbs. And Mallory was a baker with an exceptional nose.
