High Frequency

For the longest time, Beau Sevigny never had issues with doing his job. As a young man he studied art in university. He frequented museums, galleries, exhibitions, auctions, mostly to gaze and study. As he got older, he learned the audience for it; who wanted what and how badly they’d pay for it. The lengths people would go to just to have a piece all to themselves. He knew how to be sly, how to be quiet, undetectable, and always careful with value.

Heisting came later, and it brought it in a lot to sustain his way of life. He liked fine things, not too over-glamorous and showy, just enough to reflect his personality.

Sometimes when the markets dipped, the pieces he ended up with became rejected or he was low-balled a price. He started keeping them and the collection grew. He got older. He met people. He fell in love. His heart grew bigger and he took in troubled people- troubled kids. He became less concerned with what items surrounded him. More concerned with teaching new prospects who had high potential. With protecting them, providing for a family he realized he didn’t want to lose, but didn’t want to smother.

He lost some people.

Then he got ill.

When the Dassault landed by the next night, he rushed Remedy out before Ulysses had time to fully wake up from his groggy sleep. Without so much as a care or word to the other men who could have easily overran the two on that flight, he hauled Remedy’s belongings in one arm and walked briskly, keeping hold on her elbow with the other.

“Sevigny,” she muttered. “What the hell?”

“Deep breath,” he replied. She did and he swerved into the night. It was a ridculously long flight from Korea to England, with a stop for fuel in between because it was a tiny jet. Klaue could not make time move faster than what it was, and when the man wasn’t trying to sleep he was working on his computer, speaking his dialect with his team, or just sitting there fascinated with his new limb.

Unlike Remedy, who saw nothing but blurred colors during the swerve, Beau’s was perfect down to the speck. He controlled direction with a simple tilt to either side. It was hard to explain to others, when their bodies felt cut off, he became overly sensitive. The speed depended on desire and will alone, and he moved as fast as he could through the night air to put as much distance between them and Ulysses. He could still breathe in his different form, though, and didn’t want to knock out Remmy.

They materialized in a secluded park in the dark where no one could see them and she faltered against him, gasping.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized and held onto her.

“What...the hell,” she asked again. She was pinching her forehead and scrunching her face.

“Difficult flight,” he said. He couldn’t tell her about the conversation on the plane. After Remedy regained her clarity, they got a cab ride into the southern half of London, down streets they hadn’t been to in a while. It’d been maybe nine years since he and his team were in the actual city of London. While Remedy was the safest of the group, the rest had to watch their faces.

They got out at an old, but maintained autobody shop with faded paint and three garages, one of which was opening just as they pulled up. Zeke was on the other side pulling the chain, dressed in a dirtied white tee and sweatpants. He must’ve just woken up, but his eyes widened and he smiled once he saw Remedy. Zeke called out to Min that they were there. There was a high-pitched, overly long squeal as she came running out of the breakroom, black hair pulled up high, dark eyes shining, and wearing one of her decorated face masks. One arm was held out to Remedy, the other held-

“Is that a pig?” Remedy asked as Min barreled into her, squeezing the animal between the two of them. It snorted in discomfort and looked up at Remedy with a twitching snout. She stared at it quizzically, and then the gushing began.

“Oh my GOD he’s so fucking cute.”

“ISN’T HE?”

“LOOK AT HIS LIL HOOFIES.”

“HE LETS YOU PAINT THEM.”

“WELL TONIGHT WE’RE DOING GLOW IN THE DARK LIME GREEN YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

It wiggled it’s tail at being cooed over so agressively. Sevigny and Zeke shared a look. The girls walked back to the breakroom, occupied. The morning air was crisp, a couple cars honked in the distance. Beau put his hand on the white van next to him. Its paint was peeling and a good majority of it was already being buffered. His fingers tapped on the metal and Zeke looked at him, crossing his arms.

“I thought I’d be picking the two of you up from the airport earlier, but there was a no show.”

“Yeah…” Beau cleared his throat and looked at Zeke. “We happened to...run into Klaue, back in Korea, while trying to pick up his parts.” There was a strained silence and Zeke looked at him critically.

“I thought the guy said he was staying in Germany until tomorrow.”

“He’s not exactly in his right mind; with him you have to expect the unexpected and still end up surprised.” Beau looked over Zeke’s shoulder to find three dirt bikes. All looked worn; one was pulled apart with tools underneath it. There were several brand new tires stacked nearby along with some parts. Zeke was getting everything ready even though they had yet to hear exactly what was going on.

“We’re walking away from this, right?” Zeke whispered. “Because I got plans after this, serious plans.” He glanced twice to the back of the building where they heard the girls laugh briefly. Beau nodded his head heavily.

“Yes, yes we are walking away. I’ll make sure that part happens.” He wasn’t sure right now, he jsut wanted to get through the “heist,” because it wasn’t really a heist, just a long way of going about fucking someone over.

His phone was vibrating in his back pocket and he dreaded opening it, thinking it was the devil they spoke of. He left it alone.

“Have you heard from Slate?” he asked Zeke as the young man turned to the tool desk against a wall. He shook his head, searching through the different types of wrenches. Before Beau could ask another question, Remedy peered from the back and called to him.

“I’m making tea,” she said. The sunrise hit London, it lit up the street and bounced off old road signs hung up on the walls. The phone stopped ringing. There was no voicemail. A heaviness hit his shoulders and neck and as cramped as he’d been sitting in the same seat for over ten hours, he wanted to sit back down.