Chapter Text
It wasn’t supposed to go wrong.
Plans never were, of course, but this time, Andrés had been so sure he was right, that his preparations were complete, his calculations were void of any errors.
But there was something wrong now. The vault’s alarm was supposed to be dismantled - Andrés had done such a thing many, many times before - but it certainly didn’t looked like that had worked out: sirens started blaring, red lights started flickering the moment Andrés, in all his self confidence, stepped out of the vault, carrying an original, half-restored Vermeer with him, wrapped in a mere cloth hidden in an unassuming tote bag. No one was supposed to be aware of his presence - that was the key to the plan, its sole foundation.
Sergio had scolded him, told him it was too risky to build a whole plan on one pillar. Andrés had snappily replied that the same issue would hold for the Mint heist, the heist Sergio had been working on for over a decade now. The way Andrés saw it, if you always contemplated such things, plans upon plans upon plans, you would get lost and lost and lost in what-ifs. Andrés would rather live and take risks. He knew for Sergio planning was the most important part - the part he excelled at. His hermanito loved to study things in detail, consider all possible outcomes. He himself, however, wasn’t like that. It never had been. From when he was younger, a teenager scraping by through stealing petty cash, it never had been the way he thought. He didn’t like it, and it didn’t come natural to him as much as it did to Sergio. He much more preferred the chase, preferred improvisation. Of course, now his heists had become more ambitious, the planning had become somewhat more meticulous but still - he kept it to the minimum, even if it meant that he sometimes had to run.
He wasn’t running now, though. That would have been too obvious. But he certainly was not slowing down his walking pace as he heard the guards in corridors, on nearby hallways. When he saw a door signalling a restroom, he breathed in a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t check there, wouldn’t find him there. He was sure he had reset the camera’s correctly - they had no idea what, who, to look for. No reason to invade a public toilet without evidence, without belief the perpetrator was in there. He got his phone - an old Nokia - from his pockets and dialled Sergio’s number. It wasn’t often Andrés used that phone - only in cases where he was in trouble and required assistance, like now.
It took a few moments for Sergio to pick up, much longer than usual, but finally, when he did, Andrés directly started speaking, telling him what was wrong, that he needed help, if Sergio could cause a divert of the guards’ attention, somehow make sure Andrés walked out the building freely, painting in his bag.
There was a few seconds of radio silence, making Andrés wonder if he had accidentally ended the call (it wouldn’t have been the first time, he really wasn’t good with phones). Then, he heard a voice speak. “La concha de tu madre. I have no idea who the hell you are, but I’m not Sergio. I am, however, thinking that you are an idiot. Why did you not realise there was another alarm, a hidden one, inside the list?”
“What?”
“You think they’re just going to let you walk away with a painting like that? Oh, cariño, don’t you know how many people have stolen a painting exactly like that? Security people might be brainless muscled idiots, but some are slowly catching up. Not with me of course, but with people like you… for sure.”
“Who the hell are you? How dare you insult me?”
“I’m Martín. And this is your lucky day, my friend, because I was planning to steal that exact same little picture, but unlike you, my plan does work. Give me 60% of the money of the sale, let me choose a buyer, and I’ll save you.”
What?
Andrés decided to play along, curious and perhaps even a little… hopeful.
“You’re a thief. How can I trust you?”
“You can’t, but doesn’t that make it more exciting, eh? You’ll just have to believe my word. It’s either that, or falling into the hands of the police.”
“I understand. And say, if I were to accept your offer, how would you help me?”
“Does a magician reveal his tricks?” He could hear the smirk in Martín’s voice and… in any other situation he would have found it hot, attractive. But now? When his freedom was on the line? For once, his freedom would get priority, not getting laid. He had enough self-control for that, no matter what other people might say about the matter.
“Hmm,” Andrés purred, “some do. A master should teach his arts, shouldn’t he?”
“You want me to be your master, cariño?”
“I think I will use this moment to remind you that I am still stuck in a toilet and waiting for you to tell you how you will get me and the painting out of this building. My time is precious, use it wisely.”
“You’re not in the position to make demands, my friend.” Silence. He heard noise from the other side and it seemed like Martín was getting ready to leave the house. “15 minutes. I’ll call you.” Andrés had wanted to reply because this Martín might be the sole thing guaranteeing his freedom, but that didn’t mean he could talk to Andrés like this. However, Martín once more was one step ahead of Andrés - he’d hung up the phone.
Interesting, this Martín, Andrés mused. Over the course of a very short and very strange (even in Andrés’ vision) phone call, Andrés had gotten the impression of a very intellectual, witty man who loved to chase the thrill. Any other thief he knew would have hung up the phone, called the police and be happy one more competitor was defeated, at least for a while.
No, Martín seemed different, with his witty snarks and self-confident arrogantness. Andrés couldn’t wait to meet him - not only because without Martín he was locked up in this toilet with a stolen Vermeer as his companion.
He sat back and waited.