The Tomorrow Heist by Jack Soren Page A

pretending not to. If it continued, Tatsu knew where it was headed. She had been like the girls for a short time early in her life, before she’d learned to push back. Naive or not, the girls’ wide-­eyed, frightened looks said they knew what was building as well. She thought about closing her eyes again, but she couldn’t get the bullying out of her mind.
    Eventually, she sighed, took her silent earbuds out, and shoved her phone into her duffel bag. She casually got to her feet and, with her generation’s signature slumped shoulders, walked around a set of benches so she was coming up on the men from behind. As she did, she slowed her pace so she could time reaching the men just as one of them made another incursion into the girls’ space. She’d accidentally bump into him and send him over the railing, slamming down onto the marble floor below. Then she’d dissolve back into the crowd that would gather to witness the terrible accident.
    But before she could reach the men, someone called to them from down the concourse. The bullies said one last thing to the girls before turning and hurrying to meet up with their waiting friends. Apparently, their flight was finally boarding. Without missing a step, Tatsu swung around the pillar just past the girls before heading back to her bag. She took out her phone, sat down, and was “asleep” again moments after putting her earbuds back in.
    She dreamed of the little man who stood between her and her family. For the moment.

 
    Chapter Six
    London
    11:35 P.M. Local Time
    L EW SAT IN The Stag’s Horn pub around the corner from his flat, a place he went so often he didn’t even have to verbally place an order. He’d just sit down, and pints would appear on his table. It was the kind of magic Lew liked. He’d been there longer than he should have with a job staring him down in the morning, but “should” rarely entered Lew’s vocabulary.
    He was still pissed about the argument with Jonathan earlier though not at Jonathan. He was pissed at himself. The fact that Jonathan had wanted to walk with him in public meant his partner was feeling a little lost, and he’d tried to take advantage of that.
    Lew spun his cell phone on the table in front of him with one hand and gripped a Guinness in the other like he’d fall down if he let go. He was trying to decide who he should call—­Jonathan or Emily.
    He knew he could just show up at Jonny’s in the morning, and they would pretend nothing had happened. Which was probably what he was going to do. But he knew the class act would be to call him and apologize, or at least confirm he was going to show. Not that Jonny needed him for this one. Or any of the jobs, lately. Which was kind of the point. Lew missed the excitement and challenge—­and the paydays—­of being The Monarch, but more than that, the types of jobs they’d been pulling lately was making Lew feel . . . unnecessary.
    On the other hand, he knew he shouldn’t call Emily. He was trying to stay away from her to keep her safe, but he was having trouble with the follow-­through on that idea.
    â€œDon’t do it, Lew,” he said to himself.
    He’d had Emily’s contact info up on his phone’s screen for a while now. He kept swinging his thumb toward the call icon, but then he’d argue with himself and end up dropping his phone onto the marked-­up table where he’d spin it some more. With each attempt he had to argue harder, and for the past two beers the argument had moved out of his head and into actual speech. He knew he kept getting side glances from the few patrons left at this hour, but he also knew no one would approach him. Lew had spent most of his life fighting in one way or another, but the ironic thing was his size and body language meant he usually didn’t have to.
    He didn’t think it was a booty call. Well, he hoped it