Page 23 of The Wrong Idea (The Kinky Bank Robbers #2)

I nodded. Thor didn’t say it, but I suspect he was talking about Zeus here, the way Zeus could get carried away about things.

But then, Thor was no great shakes in the unimpassioned reason department, let's just say, considering that he'd almost gotten us caught with his passion for saving lives.

It was a great passion to have, obviously, but it had put us in danger. Could that be the warning?

“What were the circumstances of the speech?” he asked, interrupting my train of thought.

I scanned the Wikipedia article. “The speech was given before Lincoln held any kind of office. It's a warning about tyrants, basically.”

“Hmm,” Thor said.

“I think the only tyrants in our lives are ZOX,” I said.

“Agree,” Thor said.

Zeus was back. “They did see something. A guy dressed as Abe Lincoln in a top hat and beard. And black gloves,” he added.

Thor frowned. “Gloves.”

“Yup,” Zeus said. “We’ll see if we can lift prints, but when I see gloves…”

“Unlikely we get anything.”

“The Lincoln get-up does make sense,” I told him. “The passage is from an early speech that Lincoln gave at some kind of young men’s club.” I related what I’d learned.

Zeus glared down at my phone. “Take heed,” he said. “So it’s a warning.”

“A warning against tyrants,” I added.

“What the fuck,” Zeus seethed.

Odin sauntered up. “There's a performance art group in the neighborhood.

The deli clerks said that sometimes they go around dressed as clowns putting up weird signs on lampposts, and they have put screeds under people's windshield wipers in the past. The clerk said that he got a drawing of Ronald McDonald under his windshield wiper one time. When I told him about the Abe Lincoln character, he was sure that he would have come from the group.”

“Then why are we the only ones who got it?” Zeus asked.

“Maybe everybody else drove away? Or maybe randomness is the point,” Odin said.

I had my handy Wikipedia article open. “By some definitions, the goal of performance art is to generate a reaction.” I looked up. “They would get more of a reaction if it's just one person that gets the note, because it seems more specific.”

Zeus sighed. “I'm getting a fucking reaction alright. I assume you got their address.”

Odin had an address. I plugged it into my phone, and we headed off, around the corner to a sad office building with a facade of cracked stucco and bars on a large and very dirty ground-floor window.

You couldn't see into the window because there was a thick curtain covering it, but it had once been a storefront from the looks of it.

A small, hand-written sign was taped to the corner of the window with one word: Irony.

Some kind of music was coming from in there, hypnotic and grungy.

Zeus rapped hard on the metal door.

No answer.

I was feeling despondent. Was our fun going to be over so soon? Our wonderful life at the hideaway?

Zeus knocked again; still nobody came to the door. Odin sighed and pulled out a small leather wallet-looking thing that I happened to know was one of his lock-picking kits.

“I so hope it was them,” I said as Odin worked at the lock. “Let it be just nothing. Just a weird freak thing.”

Thor sighed. “Unlikely, goddess.”

A loud click signaled that Odin had cracked the lock.

Right then, the door was yanked open from the inside, and we were face-to-face with a large man with chunky black glasses, purple hair, and a short, immaculately trimmed beard. “What the hell are you doing?” the man barked.

Zeus showed him the bag with the note in it. “This yours?”

The man studied it with a frown. “No.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Zeus said. “Did you or anybody you know put this on our windshield?”

“Fuck no.” He gave it back. “And this shit?” He pointed to the lock the Odin had opened. “Next time I call the cops.”

He tried to shut the door, but Zeus shoved a foot in the way.

“That's it, I'm calling now.” The man had his phone out. Odin plucked it from his fingers.

“Hey!”

“Look, we really are sorry to bother you,” Thor said, taking a polite tone. “We were just extremely upset to see this strange warning, and we're trying to get to the bottom of it. Are you sure it doesn't seem familiar? Or like the work of somebody that you might know?”

“Lemme see it again,” the man said.

Thor handed the bagged note over.

The man scowled at the thing. “This was on your windshield?”

“Left by a man dressed as Abe Lincoln,” I said. “It's an Abe Lincoln speech fragment.”

“Take heed,” the art dude said. “Looks like somebody is giving you a heads up on something.”

“You sure this isn't somebody from your group?” Thor asked. “You and you group have put things on windshields before.”

The man sniffed, insulted. “Maybe so, but I promise you—this? No. Zero chance. Precisely zero. I mean, seriously? A few lines of a speech by Abe Lincoln delivered by a man dressed as Abe Lincoln. How stupidly literal is that? If we had any interest in delivering Abe Lincoln speeches around town—and I guarantee that we do not —but if we did, we wouldn't dress as Abe Lincoln. We’d go with something like a clown or a large rabbit or…maybe not that but…”

“Why?” Zeus asked.

“Because we’d want to add something new. Some kind of juxtaposition or commentary or if nothing else, a nonsensical element. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

I nodded like I got it, but I didn't see the point of any of it.

Odin, apparently, was fully following along. “Couldn't Abe Lincoln coming from the past to deliver warnings about tyrants to be some kind of commentary on the present?”

“We're not political like that, but even if we were, it's too on the nose,” the man said.

“Because you already have Lincoln in the speech. So, Abe Lincoln delivering part of an Abe Lincoln speech? Why would anybody waste their time stupidly echoing an element that's already present? As performance art, it’s idiotic.”

Odin nodded. “Agreed.”

“Thank you,” the man said, seeming both highly annoyed, but grateful that Odin got it. “A thing like this…wait—lemme see that note again.”

Thor handed it over.

Zeus looked hopeful. “Got something?”

“Maybe,” the man said, examining it. “Hold on,” he added.

Did he have an idea? Did he recognize the handwriting? The style?

We held on. Maybe this could still be easy. We’d find out it’s nothing, go get our takeout food, and have a nice night.

“Yup,” the guy finally said.

“Yeah?” Odin asked hopefully.

“They should’ve dressed as one of monkey dudes from Planet of the Apes. ” He looked us expectantly. “As a counterpoint? That would’ve been a comment.”

“Fun!” I said, just because the guy seemed so into it.

Thor took the note back. “Thank you.”

“Okay, then,” Odin said, handing back his phone. “How many people are in your group?”

“Fifteen, thirty…depending. It's not like we’re the Shriners.”

“But people in the public know about you. They know that you operate in this area,” he pursued.

“Sure. And we put out the word when we're going to do an action. We’re on TikTok.”

“You know what I think it is?” Thor turned to us. “It's somebody trying to make it look like this guy delivered us a note.”

“So we look like idiots?” the artist grumbled.

“It’s not about you,” Thor said. “It’s a message for us. My guess is somebody knows something, but if they specifically warned us, it would put them in danger. So they deliver a generic heads-up. Be wary. Something’s coming.”

“Dressed as Abe Lincoln, though?” Odin said. “Why not just make a fake yahoo address and email us?”

“Or hello. Hat and sunglasses, anybody?” I said. “Why frame the artist gang?”

“Hold on…” Thor held up a finger. “What’s the difference between an email directed at us and a note left for us by an art group that likes to leave random notes for people?”

“The randomness?” I tried.

“Right,” Thor said. “It’s somebody wanting to deliver a message to us, but they want to make it look random.”

“Why?” Zeus fumed.

“Well, uh…” The artist winced. “You did break into a guy’s home in broad daylight. Maybe the person is scared?”

Odin glared at him. “We gotta go.”

“You sure you can’t stay?” the man asked. “This is getting interesting.”

Odin gave the artist a small stack of bills. “A donation for your next show. We were never here.”

We headed out.

“He really wanted us to stay,” I said once we were on the road. “He liked us.”

“Or we end up as his next art project.” Odin glared at passing signs. “They wanted to make the message feel random. But obviously we’d investigate.”

“The person wore gloves,” Zeus observed. “They’re probably in the system. I bet it’s someone from Guvvey’s. It's not exactly a well-balanced crowd.”

“Why be so extra?” Thor said.

We picked up our pizza and Thai food and headed back home.

Over dinner, we discussed all the ways somebody could’ve pulled the whole thing off. Did they follow us? Did they lurk at the croissant place? Did they carry the costume around, waiting for their chance?

And was the note designed to screw with us? Or help us?

The discussion went in circles. Twisted into pretzels. It headed into dead ends.

Zeus threw his napkin onto his plate. “All this confusion. Not loving it.”

“Maybe this is a sign to re-think the Prime Royale,” I tried.

Odin groaned. “Jesus, that’s it! Psy-ops 101. Confusion disrupts an adversary's decision-making process.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

Zeus perked up. “Somebody wants us to steer clear of the Prime Royale.”

“Could it be the G’s?” Thor asked. “It’s not their style, but they do want what’s in that bank.”

Odin nodded. “Somebody else has their eye on the Prime Royale. Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m probably not thinking what you’re thinking,” I said.

Zeus said, “Somebody’s trying to spook us off of the Prime Royale because they want it for themselves.”

“This makes me even more excited to hit it.” Odin rubbed his hands.

“With a big enough haul, I could fund some shit. I could start a clinic somewhere.”

I groaned.

“It’s gonna be amazing,” Thor said. “Somebody trying to scare us off. Such bullshit!”

“This isn’t an episode of Scooby Doo,” I said. “It’s real life, and warnings should be heeded. Think about what happened at the First West.”

“That only confirms that we should do it,” Thor said.

Odin pointed his fork at me. “We fucked up in every way on the First West job and we still made off like the world-class operators that we are. Thor stopped to do an entire medical procedure, you trotted across the street and took a hostage, and it all worked out. Don’t you see?

That experience is more powerful than any warning, and more meaningful than some dickish note delivered by fake Lincoln.

Somebody wants to warn us away from living wild and free?

Away from passion? Away from the biggest haul of the world?

Fuck that! We’ll rob the Prime Royale in such a blaze of passion that the fucking-g sun will fall out of the fucking-g sky. ”

Zeus grunted. “What he said!”

“Oh my god.” I set down my fork and covered my face.

“Come on, Ice!” Odin said. “We are the most badass robbers; it’s only right that we should rob the most badass bank.”

“I believe in our awesomeness, but I want us to be safe.”

A big, warm hand wrapped around my wrist, tugging gently.

Zeus.

I allowed him to pull my hands from my face.

“With the First West, you were amazing,” Zeus said. “You’ve got nerve, Ice. You can easily sit with the getaway car and drive. If things get hot, I’ll take the wheel.”

I imagined driving through a hailstorm of bullets—that’s the kind of hot he meant. “You taking the wheel would probably be best in that scenario,” I said.

“But it’s up to you if you’re in or not,” Zeus said.

“Completely up to you,” Odin said.

“We won’t do it if you don’t want to,” Thor said.

I looked at my guys, feeling so much love. They’d let me decide?

I couldn’t stop thinking about that warning, of course.

Was it a message from the universe? A random ripple on the surface of our life? Or a specific warning from a person who knew us?

And if it was the latter, did that person want the Prime Royale for their own, or did they have some special knowledge of danger we faced?

But then, weren’t we always facing danger? What was so new about that? Whoever was behind the mysterious warning, we would deal with them.

When the world said no, we said yes.

We said fuck yes.

I smiled. “What is the world coming to if we changed our bank robbery plans based on an Abe Lincoln quote?”

Thor grinned. “Yeah, baby!”

Zeus pulled me from my chair and twirled me around.

Odin announced that he was going to start designing our new tattoo with our new motto, You WISH we were dead, motherfuckers. “With angels and scrolls and shit.”

I laughed about this new tattoo idea. It was so Odin.

So us .

The four of us were just a little bit in love with each other, and it was a very good day to be alive.

Thank you for reading The Wrong Idea !!!!

I hope you love and cherish the gang as much as I do. But wait…is the danger truly past?

Question: What happens when a stalker leaves creepy, threatening gifts for Isis?

Answer: OMGGGGGGGGGGG

I always knew my bank robbers were ruthless and brilliant.

After all, they take their names from gods. They’ve eluded law enforcement across the globe. And with just the crook of a little finger, they’re able to bend me to their every forbidden desire.

But it isn’t until I get a creepy stalker that I realize just how dangerous my guys are.

The stalker’s threats unleash my robbers’ most primal and possessive instincts as they blaze a path of destruction through the criminal underground. But is it too late to save me?

Find out in The Deeper Game , or turn the page for a sneak peek!