Three to Six Months Later--Ocean's 11
Ocean's 11 fic. Rusty and Tess, with Danny between them and not, on their way to pick up Danny from prison post-movie.
And before.
I wrote this a while ago, and it's sorta Jossed by Ocean's Twelve, but hey. Good clean fun all the same. Las Vegas con men on the run, what's not to love?
Tess: "You remember what I said to you when we met?"
Danny: "You said I better know what I'm doing."
--Ocean's 11
Three to Six Months Later
Danny is the idea man, the big thinker. Danny has vision. Rusty, now, he's the details man. Danny dreams things up, and Rusty makes them happen.
If an idea man pulls a job without a details man, he's liable to end up in prison for four years because he couldn't fence what he'd so brilliantly stolen. If a details man walks away from his idea man, he's liable to end up moldering away in some cushy gig that bores the crap out of him, making what nearly amounts to an honest living.
Embarrasing, really.
Fleecing the kids was like taking candy from a baby, and a hell of a stupid baby, at that. Poor suckers probably didn't even notice long after Rusty was gone. He thinks about dropping Topher a postcard, from the Grand Canyon maybe. Someplace nice.
Rusty's driving with the top down, enjoying the wind whipping around him, the hot sun baking him, the kick of evading Benedict's goons on the way to the prison. Tess sits beside him, her long legs folded and her slim feet neatly perched on the dashboard. The wind tosses her red curls, and when she looks over at him she grins.
The countdown is on.
---
Tess makes a surprisingly good con artist, all told. Maybe that shouldn't be such a surprise, since she always had that poker face down pat. She just had to learn to play the game, and who better than Rusty to teach her?
They spend three to six months drifting through glossy art galleries, museums, private collections. She identifies the valuable pieces, is a flawlessly smooth talker with the targets, and a real asset when it comes to fencing the goods.
Rusty finagles the details, of course, and the scams run smooth. And if it all feels a little hollow, like they're just filling up time, well. What can you expect from a two-person crew, with only a rookie and a details man? They can't afford to be glamourous; they're going for neat, precise, small, subtle. They're not looking to draw attention to themselves, although Tess isn't as used to fading into the background as a seasoned con artist would be. She is, however, thanks to her time with Benedict, extremely well-practiced at appearing to be whomever the person she's with wants her to be.
At any rate, there are worse ways to kill a few months.
---
Playing newlyweds is always a good scam, gets people on their side from the start. Every time someone compliments them on what a handsome couple they make, Tess winds her arm around Rusty's and lets out a tinkling little laugh he can tell she manufactured just for that purpose. He pretends it doesn't freak him out a little that she wears Danny's ring as she laces her fingers in his own.
---
When Tess shows up at his door in Hollywood, Rusty almost gives in to a childish urge to turn around and sit with his back to the door, barricading himself from her.
"Rusty," she says. "I know you're there. Your rent is paid, your car is in the parking garage, and the cute security guard downstairs thinks you're 'wicked cool' for teaching him those card games earlier."
That's interesting, but no one's ever called Rusty a cheap date.
A sigh and the tantalizing rustle of paper bags comes from outside. "I brought Chinese food," Tess says, and Rusty opens the door.
She's changed her hair, he notices. Looks more like she used to back in the day, a young art student in paint-spattered jeans and wild red curls. She takes in his gaze, winds a finger around a shiny spiral and yanks. They both watch it bounce back and she shrugs. "Terry felt straight hair made me look more polished. Went with all the suits he had his assistants buy for me."
"What, he didn't trust you to buy 'em yourself?"
"Terry doesn't like to leave anything to chance." She shoves a greasy paper bag at Rusty and slips past him into the apartment, checks out the décor. "Nice digs."
Rusty sets the bag on his coffee table and parks himself on the couch to root through it. General Tso's chicken, spicy beef, moo shu... "You remembered my favorites," he notes, digging into the Schezuan eggplant with a pair of chopsticks.
Her mouth tightens like she's trying not to laugh. "You don't have favorites, Rusty," she says. "Anything's fair game to you."
They stare at each other for a minute, Rusty's chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth as he frowns consideringly until he remembers not to drip the brown sauce on his white couch. Fair enough, he decides, and tilts his head toward the fuzzy overstuffed armchair. She sits, digs a container out of her own greasy paper bag, and eats.
---
Frank calls him up, collect from Acapulco like he can't afford better. "You heard from him?" he asks.
Rusty tells him what he knows, which isn't much, really. Just some details. It isn't like they're going to round up Basher and bust him out of there, after all. Danny will serve his time like a good little citizen. Rusty already sent him a cheesecake, addressed it to Cellblock E.
Frank tells him about Tess, even though Rusty hasn't asked and wasn't planning to.
It figures she would ditch Benedict. It also figures Benedict would make things difficult if his girlfriend refused to come back after he tried to trade her in for cash and prizes.
---
Rusty swings by their usual table at the club, beer in one hand and the tail end of a soft pretzel with mustard in the other. Bobby Caldwell is there, and so is Frank, chatting up that waitress he likes, Tonya. Tonya's laughing, in spite of herself, looks like. He's probably telling her the sunscreen story. Gets 'em every time.
Danny is there too, with his arm around a girl. She has red curls and a million dollar smile, looks right at home at their table, like somebody filled in a missing portion of some connect the dots picture and presto! She'd been there all along. She and Bobby both cut their eyes at Frank and snicker. Bobby's probably trying to get her to bet on the outcome. Danny leans over her shoulder to say something, and suddenly the room is filled with her uproarious laughter.
Frank pulls his serious face, and they all crack up again.
Rusty crosses his arms. Danny spots him, smiles right at him, and the world lurches back into place. Rusty strolls over, aware of the girl's eyes on him, but he doesn't look at her yet. He looks at Danny, and Danny keeps looking at him until Rusty's satisfied with what he sees.
Okay, then.
Danny scoots over to make room for Rusty, so Rusty sits down to nurse his beer and suck the last of the mustard off his fingers. He cleans up with a couple of napkins, feeling the girl's gaze following his movements, and looks up into frankly interested brown eyes.
"You're Rusty, aren't you?" she asks. "I'm Tess." Danny still has his arm around her, and he's looking at Rusty, like this is some sort of test. What Rusty wouldn't bet on, though, is whether Danny knows if it's a test for Rusty, for Tess, or for Danny himself.
Rusty shakes the blunt-nailed hand she offers, noting the paint flakes she didn't quite manage to scrub off. "That's right," he tells her, and she nods as if pleased.
"Danny," she says, looking straight at Rusty like she's trying to figure out who painted him, and where he fits into the décor. "You better know what you're doing."
And then she grins.
And before.
I wrote this a while ago, and it's sorta Jossed by Ocean's Twelve, but hey. Good clean fun all the same. Las Vegas con men on the run, what's not to love?
Tess: "You remember what I said to you when we met?"
Danny: "You said I better know what I'm doing."
--Ocean's 11
Three to Six Months Later
Danny is the idea man, the big thinker. Danny has vision. Rusty, now, he's the details man. Danny dreams things up, and Rusty makes them happen.
If an idea man pulls a job without a details man, he's liable to end up in prison for four years because he couldn't fence what he'd so brilliantly stolen. If a details man walks away from his idea man, he's liable to end up moldering away in some cushy gig that bores the crap out of him, making what nearly amounts to an honest living.
Embarrasing, really.
Fleecing the kids was like taking candy from a baby, and a hell of a stupid baby, at that. Poor suckers probably didn't even notice long after Rusty was gone. He thinks about dropping Topher a postcard, from the Grand Canyon maybe. Someplace nice.
Rusty's driving with the top down, enjoying the wind whipping around him, the hot sun baking him, the kick of evading Benedict's goons on the way to the prison. Tess sits beside him, her long legs folded and her slim feet neatly perched on the dashboard. The wind tosses her red curls, and when she looks over at him she grins.
The countdown is on.
---
Tess makes a surprisingly good con artist, all told. Maybe that shouldn't be such a surprise, since she always had that poker face down pat. She just had to learn to play the game, and who better than Rusty to teach her?
They spend three to six months drifting through glossy art galleries, museums, private collections. She identifies the valuable pieces, is a flawlessly smooth talker with the targets, and a real asset when it comes to fencing the goods.
Rusty finagles the details, of course, and the scams run smooth. And if it all feels a little hollow, like they're just filling up time, well. What can you expect from a two-person crew, with only a rookie and a details man? They can't afford to be glamourous; they're going for neat, precise, small, subtle. They're not looking to draw attention to themselves, although Tess isn't as used to fading into the background as a seasoned con artist would be. She is, however, thanks to her time with Benedict, extremely well-practiced at appearing to be whomever the person she's with wants her to be.
At any rate, there are worse ways to kill a few months.
---
Playing newlyweds is always a good scam, gets people on their side from the start. Every time someone compliments them on what a handsome couple they make, Tess winds her arm around Rusty's and lets out a tinkling little laugh he can tell she manufactured just for that purpose. He pretends it doesn't freak him out a little that she wears Danny's ring as she laces her fingers in his own.
---
When Tess shows up at his door in Hollywood, Rusty almost gives in to a childish urge to turn around and sit with his back to the door, barricading himself from her.
"Rusty," she says. "I know you're there. Your rent is paid, your car is in the parking garage, and the cute security guard downstairs thinks you're 'wicked cool' for teaching him those card games earlier."
That's interesting, but no one's ever called Rusty a cheap date.
A sigh and the tantalizing rustle of paper bags comes from outside. "I brought Chinese food," Tess says, and Rusty opens the door.
She's changed her hair, he notices. Looks more like she used to back in the day, a young art student in paint-spattered jeans and wild red curls. She takes in his gaze, winds a finger around a shiny spiral and yanks. They both watch it bounce back and she shrugs. "Terry felt straight hair made me look more polished. Went with all the suits he had his assistants buy for me."
"What, he didn't trust you to buy 'em yourself?"
"Terry doesn't like to leave anything to chance." She shoves a greasy paper bag at Rusty and slips past him into the apartment, checks out the décor. "Nice digs."
Rusty sets the bag on his coffee table and parks himself on the couch to root through it. General Tso's chicken, spicy beef, moo shu... "You remembered my favorites," he notes, digging into the Schezuan eggplant with a pair of chopsticks.
Her mouth tightens like she's trying not to laugh. "You don't have favorites, Rusty," she says. "Anything's fair game to you."
They stare at each other for a minute, Rusty's chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth as he frowns consideringly until he remembers not to drip the brown sauce on his white couch. Fair enough, he decides, and tilts his head toward the fuzzy overstuffed armchair. She sits, digs a container out of her own greasy paper bag, and eats.
---
Frank calls him up, collect from Acapulco like he can't afford better. "You heard from him?" he asks.
Rusty tells him what he knows, which isn't much, really. Just some details. It isn't like they're going to round up Basher and bust him out of there, after all. Danny will serve his time like a good little citizen. Rusty already sent him a cheesecake, addressed it to Cellblock E.
Frank tells him about Tess, even though Rusty hasn't asked and wasn't planning to.
It figures she would ditch Benedict. It also figures Benedict would make things difficult if his girlfriend refused to come back after he tried to trade her in for cash and prizes.
---
Rusty swings by their usual table at the club, beer in one hand and the tail end of a soft pretzel with mustard in the other. Bobby Caldwell is there, and so is Frank, chatting up that waitress he likes, Tonya. Tonya's laughing, in spite of herself, looks like. He's probably telling her the sunscreen story. Gets 'em every time.
Danny is there too, with his arm around a girl. She has red curls and a million dollar smile, looks right at home at their table, like somebody filled in a missing portion of some connect the dots picture and presto! She'd been there all along. She and Bobby both cut their eyes at Frank and snicker. Bobby's probably trying to get her to bet on the outcome. Danny leans over her shoulder to say something, and suddenly the room is filled with her uproarious laughter.
Frank pulls his serious face, and they all crack up again.
Rusty crosses his arms. Danny spots him, smiles right at him, and the world lurches back into place. Rusty strolls over, aware of the girl's eyes on him, but he doesn't look at her yet. He looks at Danny, and Danny keeps looking at him until Rusty's satisfied with what he sees.
Okay, then.
Danny scoots over to make room for Rusty, so Rusty sits down to nurse his beer and suck the last of the mustard off his fingers. He cleans up with a couple of napkins, feeling the girl's gaze following his movements, and looks up into frankly interested brown eyes.
"You're Rusty, aren't you?" she asks. "I'm Tess." Danny still has his arm around her, and he's looking at Rusty, like this is some sort of test. What Rusty wouldn't bet on, though, is whether Danny knows if it's a test for Rusty, for Tess, or for Danny himself.
Rusty shakes the blunt-nailed hand she offers, noting the paint flakes she didn't quite manage to scrub off. "That's right," he tells her, and she nods as if pleased.
"Danny," she says, looking straight at Rusty like she's trying to figure out who painted him, and where he fits into the décor. "You better know what you're doing."
And then she grins.