Chapter Text
There was nothing left of the money except the rubber bands and V wasn’t sure why she bothered to keep them. They sat on the bottom on the creased leather satchel, a dull, washed grey that seemed to grow white with age. She hadn’t become so far removed from reality that she imagined them mocking her, but they were a shrine of sorts. It had been nearly eight years since her last successful job, and a long six that had found her upstate. It was spring of ‘21 before she’d once again had her freedom, but the time hadn’t passed nearly quickly enough.
She closed the bag with a snap and shoved it back into the closet. It had belonged to her father, and had carried all of his Earthly possessions on the long train ride from Moscow to Paris, a jostling skiff ride to London, and then across the wide ocean until Ellis island. Had her father been alive, he wouldn’t have approved of its use, but it was handy in a pinch. The leather was old and supple, smooth to the touch and shiny with patches of patina. It had also spent the entirety of the six years, plus an extra one and a half for good measure, in a locker at a bus station in Poughkeepsie with only two keys. The first was around the neck of a bear V had given her niece for her 13th birthday. The girl had never been interested in stuffed animals, and the $300 telescope V had paired with the bear made sure it would stay on the shelf untouched until being packed up in a crate when the kid had gone to college.
The other key was the mistake. V had thought of everything. The timing had been perfect, the proper palms greased and the players all moving in synchronicity. Just like always. Just like she’d planned. But, she had trusted the wrong person, and like all great failures, that’s all it took. After settling in the hoosegow for six long years, she’d strolled into that bus station, ready to retire for good. Maybe move to Paris or Rome, the whole world stretched out in front of her like an endless red carpet. The key dangled on her finger and she bounced it slightly, it mirrored the bounce in her step. She unlocked the locker, and frowned. Right away, she could tell that something was off. She snatched the bag from the locker, and nearly smacked herself in the face with it.
It was empty.
Well, not completely empty. There was a note. The note didn’t live in the bag, she’d put it behind glass and mounted it in a frame. It was a morose little shrine to the lesson that she couldn’t afford to unlearn. That lesson had cost her six hard years, and 1.5 million dollars. It was short and sweet, just like it’s writer had been, until of course, she had unhinged her jaw and pumped V full of her venom.
“Sorry, baby.”
It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. V was sure who the author was. It wasn’t long before she found a small news story reporting the exact amount of the missing money recovered later on. It wouldn’t be connected to her. Not officially anyway, but no doubt there was a paper trail in some federal bureau somewhere. Maybe that’s why she got out after six years with time served. She’d thought it was because she’d been a model prisoner. It was hard to feel grateful.
She spent a lot of time wondering about the rubber bands. Why not take them as well? It was probably much more work to have undone all of the bills, dropping the bands behind. They were emblazoned with “PROPERTY OF LANGLEY FALLS SAVINGS AND LOAN”. They were evidence, but maybe they were just memories.
She wasn’t so naïve that she thought they’d left her completely alone. She’d gotten a nice quiet job in a nice, quiet town and paid $6 a week to Mrs. Hansen, the little old widow who ran a boarding house for young women in respectable jobs who just hadn’t found the right man to settle down with. Of course, most of them had no interest, and spent more time in each other’s beds than their own. V had secured the basement suite, with its own entrance, bathroom, and a little stove where she could put on tea. Sometimes the other girls would come down and they’d turn down the lights, and dance to whatever slow tune was playing on the Victrola. V always had been able to obtain the unobtainable, and a flask of whisky would appear as if through magic, tongues would begin to loosen. The other girls were a wealth of information. They held a variety of jobs that kept them both utterly indispensable, and completely invisible. At first, V had been interested in a couple of the girls who did accounting at the bank, but she’d remember the note, and decide that maybe rehabilitation worked after all.
One year after finding the empty bag. Nine months after schlepping it to Mrs. Hansen’s basement apartment, Six months after starting at the mind numbingly boring position as a library assistant, and the rest of the time just waiting for something interesting to happen. All while not wanting to go out and create that excitement herself.
There were moments, of course. Those girls at the bank. Talk of a priceless family heirloom. A rich, old aunt with a jewelry collection. But V’s heart wasn’t in it anymore. Maybe she really was done with her life of crime.
Today was a running errands type of day, and V grabbed a cloth bag, her plan for the day more or less confirmed in her mind: She’d go pick up her suit from the dry cleaner, pick up some fresh veggies and flowers from the market (making sure to flirt with the cute girl who ran the front counter, and always gave her a few extra peaches for free), and come back to the apartment, giving it a good scrubbing to prepare for the week. It was Saturday after all, and the day was hers. She walked towards the door with a spring in her step and pulled it wide.
Her bag dropped to the ground as she stared slack jawed at the woman in front of her. The woman’s hand was raised as if she meant to knock, and her shock was mirrored in the woman’s face.
“Eve?” V whispered, incredulously.
“Ah, Villanelle.” Eve smiled awkwardly, lowering her arm. “Nice to see you. Can I come in?”