2

This is how the job would play:

We were going to take advantage of the city. Omashu—the one town no one wanted to hit.

Omashu was odd because, for such a big city, it had almost no crime. Well—of course there was a little. Anywhere you set up more than two people, at least one of 'em will start thinking of a way to fuck over the others.

Point was: Omashu's crime wasn't remotely organized. It wasn't Ba Sing Se, with its Chungs and Laos and Black Eagles fighting it out in the streets. None of that Triad business you hear about these days. No—Omashu's criminal culture was small and disconnected. Copper-ante stuff. The usual pickpockets and petty grifters. A bookie here; a whorehouse the size of a broom closet there. Most people in the city tried to keep their noses clean.

And who could blame 'em? Omashu's King was crazier than a worm-rat. It was said that he saw to every punishment personally, and that they were all twistingly exotic. Better to pass up that easy filch than have your hands ground up and mixed into a barrel of cement. Better to leave that mark alone than get cast into an arena with two-dozen midgets in executioners' costumes.

All that changed with the occupation. King Bumi gave up the city without a fight—or so they said. The rumors flew so thick and fast in those days it was impossible to know. Then most of Omashu's population fled—with the help of the Avatar, if you believed the stories—leaving behind a thinly populated town filled with confused, ornery Fire Nation grunts.

Now, the city was readying itself for the departure of the Nation and the return of its King. Portions of the Fire Nation garrison had already left, ordered back to the homeland to bolster the place's defense during the transitional period. At the same time, Omashu's citizens has resisted returning until the entire occupational force was out. They might be hanging their hats in some forsaken refugee camp up in the hills, but it was sure as shit better than running afoul of a bunch of frustrated soldiers on the losing side of the war.

In every state of uncertainty, there is also opportunity.

"So," Leng ventured as Matsuma gulped beer. "During this brief interval, Omashu will play host to neither the draconian occupational force of the Fire Nation nor the crazed-but-ironclad legal apparatus of King Bumi. While the city's rightful ruling parties take back the reins, it's your intention to swoop in for a little of that old-school criminality."

Matsuma smiled genuinely. "That's the long and short of it. But, just to clarify, we're gonna need at least a few Fire Nation stooges in the city for this thing to work."

Without prompting, Matsuma continued his hushed explanation. If anyone else in the inn found our hunched postures and whispered words at all out of the ordinary, they kept it to themselves. Good. You could always count on that sort of place for a bit of discretion.

Turned out that Matsuma had designed the hit to be a two-prong deal. The ol' hammer-and-anvil gig. It was less direct than a smash-and-grab and not as elegant as a straight filch, but in this case it sounded like the best bet for getting the totem and skipping town with a minimum of broken bones.

"You'll be the key man here, Leng. Without you, we may as well pack our bags and go home," Matsuma explained. Leng just smiled—joylessly, it seemed—and gestured for Matsuma to go on.

We would talk our way into the storehouse. Well, Leng would do the talking. The rest of us just had to look the part. Matsuma had gotten a hold of Fire Nation military uniforms. Not so hard in those days, but it took some work to not end up with the ones with crushed helmets, holes from ice blades or arrows, and blood stains. The ones that Matsu had procured were untouched—and a matched set to boot. Two set of soldiers' armor and the uniform for a lieutenant in the occupational administrative corps.

"Wait. Just three uniforms?" Wen said. Smoke seeped from between his lips.

Matsuma said, "That's the game. Three's the standard number for your basic inspection team. One quartermaster flunky to look things over and two guards for escort. Fire Nation bureaucracy at its finest."

Before there could be any further explanation, Kuru cut in, "Why not five?"

Matsuma shook his head. "Anything more than three and it'll look like a genuine raid. That'd spook the guards before we even set foot in their doorway. Might even bring down the real Nation filth down on us."

"Wait. So it's not the Nation we're trying to convince here?" asked Kuru.

"That's the beauty of it," Matsuma grinned. "These guys are all private security. Hired by the warehouse owner to stick around durin' the interval. With Leng playin' the bossy occupational inspector, we walk straight in the front door 'searchin' for contraband.' We claim it's a mop-up inspection in the run-up to the handover. Me an' Tanak'll come in disguised as the escorts. I even got the armor with the faceplates. They won't even see this big lug's giveaway skin tone."

"Plenty of people my color working for the Nation," I said. It was more an observation than an argument—after all, Matsuma had a point. The less the private guards had to be suspicious about, the easier it'd be talking our way into the storehouse.

There was, however, a rather large dangling issue. Matsuma—showy as he ever was—jumped in on the moment of hesitation with the next phase of the plan. He forked two fingers at the Twins and said, "That's where you come in, boys."

Kuru and Wen eyed each other warily.

"How?"

Matsuma said, "Why, it's you guys who get to have all the fun on this job."

According to Matsuma, the warehouse storing the spirit totem was located on one of the middle-tier districts of Omashu. A nondescript neighborhood of similar storehouses, wholesalers, and depots for the city's cargo-chute system. A far cry from any of the major Fire Nation checkpoints and well away from the prying ears of any residents still clinging doggedly to the city. The hit would still have to take place at night—no reason to press our luck, after all—but so far as target cushioning went, the place was goddamn prime.

At the same time, we couldn't just con our way into the place and then walk out with the statue in our hands. Even if we were wearing Fire Nation uniforms, the sentries wouldn't just let us wrap it up and take it with us. We needed to neutralize the guards, and Matsuma wanted to Twins to be the living sap to the back of their heads. Though they couldn't come in the front door with Leng, Matsuma, and I, the Twins sure as hell could come in through the back one.

See, it turned out that the storehouse had a depot attached to Omashu's cargo chute system. Nothing fancy—just a little station for taking in or sending out deliveries. That was the Twins' way in. Kids have dared each other to ride the huge stone cargo beds down Omashu's chutes since they first existed; this was just a modified version of the same idea. Kuru and Wen would enter the chute system at one of the depots higher up in the city, ride to the warehouse, and then park themselves until the "inspection team" gave them the signal to swing in and start busting heads.

Wen scowled, looking displeased by the notion. "How in hell are we gonna be able to pull that off? I ain't ever done anything like that. How do we steer a damned cargo bed?"

"Hey, you're benders, right? The whole system's based on earthbendin'. Besides—if we jump on the job now, we'll have a couple days to practice. I don't plan on goin' in half-cocked. Keep your head and you'll do fine."

Wen grunted irritably, but Kuru looked convinced. The second Twin nodded and said, "All right. Yeah. I can see that. So how many guards are there gonna be?"

"Six. No more, no less. You don't need to worry about takin' all of them out, too—once it's clear you've sprung the trap, the rest of us'll help mop up."

"Any of these mooks gonna be benders?"

"A couple earthbenders, by all accounts. No more than that."

Wen furrowed his brow and frowned. "And what if those guys are better than us?"

"Believe me, they're not. Every earthbender worth his rocks was off bein' a patriot during the occupation. These are just scabs, desperate for the work. They ain't gonna be any trouble for you."

Leng examined his empty beer cup and scratched at the back of his neck. He said, "So. Three of us in the front door to initiate the job. We gather the guards, make them think we're just disgruntled Fire Nation grunts inspecting for . . . well, whatever. Get them confused."

"Right," Matsuma said.

"Then the three of us signal Kuru and Wen to come in through the cargo chute. We bust up the guards."

"You have anything against straight killin' these guys?" Wen asked.

Matsuma shrugged. "Not if we can help it. I want you to make sure those benders don't get up while we're extractin' the idol, but I'd prefer we leave 'em concussed rather than dead. Bodies tend to speed investigations, y'know?"

Assent all around. It was common knowledge that straight murder tended to bring the heat so fast you could barely see it coming.

Leng continued, "And really, that's that, eh? We enter and distract; the Twins crack skulls; all of us grab the statue and run. Why, that's almost pedestrian, dear Matsu."

"What about a getaway?" I asked. "I know we're countin' on the city bein' half-empty, but it'll look mighty odd if three of us go in the front door and five come out." I more or less knew the answer already, but ya' have to cover all your bases.

Matsuma chuckled, "We'll go out the way the Twins came in. Those cargo beds can handle five easy. Then it's on to the bottommost depot, where I've already taken the liberty of spreadin' around some silver. Nobody'll be there to see us come down the chute, and nobody'll stop us when we slip out into the old tunnel system beneath the city. Once we're down there, nothin's keepin' us from leavin' the city. We'll be on the road to Ba Sing Se within hours."

A rough silence descended between us. Everyone thinking; everyone digesting. Matsuma smiling, pleased as a crooked mule-rabbit trader. Somewhere in the smoky recesses of the inn, a thick voice cursed. The beams overhead creaked. Clay cups clacked together.

"So," Matsuma said. He spread his hands to the group. "What do you think?"

After a pensive pause, Kuru said, "I think this could play . . ." His face was hard, but he was amenable to joining up. Once Kuru agreed, Wen joined almost wordlessly.

Leng said, "It's a complex venture. Many variables. If the garrison does end up getting alerted, we could end up very dead." He shrugged and smacked his dope-loose lips. "Then again, I haven't had the opportunity to play an officer in quite a while. That's always great fun. Yes. My services are yours."

"And you?" Matsuma turned his gaze on me. His eyes all but glowed in the gloom. "You said you were in before I laid it all out. What's your take now?"

What I thought was that there were two gaping holes in the plan: the contact within the occupation and the bribes Matsuma planned on distributing to make sure the depot guards would look the other way. In my experience, there was no such thing as someone willing to forego a cut. What if the contact decided he wanted a slice of the idol's sale? What if those depot guards just happened to pocket the coin and then turn straight to the occupational garrison? The rest of the plan was rickety but understandable, but those two unknowns made the whole structure look unsound. My doubts chewed at me; made me want to stand up and walk away.

What I said was: "Yeah. Of course."

That was that. With our agreement, the five of us were now bound to this thing. Matsuma could barely contain his delight. He passed out four rolled scraps of cheap paper. On each was the address of the safehouse and the password to get in the door. Matsuma declared that we would meet in Omashu in four days. In the meantime, all of us were on our own. That gave us enough time to think on the plan, consider contingencies, gather any necessary supplies, and maybe get our affairs in order.

We stepped from the crumbling stoop of the inn and into a night overflowing with possibility. Our goodbyes were terse and without feeling. After all, the five of us would see each other again soon.

While the others dispersed—striking out for their own beds and business— Matsuma and I lingered in the inn's dooryard. I listened to the rasp of insects and the muted clinking that emanated from behind the closed front door. Above, a nearly full moon shone down with a phantom-blue balefulness.

I shouldered my traveling bag and the two of us began walking. We hit the scrubby road perpendicular to the inn and started down it, neither of us sure of our eventual destination. There were small inns and hostels all over that country; no doubt we'd find a place to sleep eventually.

What they don't tell you about the Summer of the Comet—the summer that ended the war—was that it was hot as a Fire Nation cunt and twice as sticky. That night was no exception. The rains that had swept over the valleys the day before had only ended up summoning mud and air so thick you didn't so much breathe as drink it. The leaves of the jade-aspens were fat and glossy in the moonlight. Everything was tinged with their sap-thick scent.

When we were out of sight of the inn, Matsuma sucked a deep breath of muggy air and said, "I've got a good feelin' on this one, buddy. Two weeks from now, we're gonna be rich as goddamn princes."

I said nothing. Our boots crunched the gravel of the road. Our shadows travelled before us in the pale moonlight.

"Somethin' on your mind, Tanak?"

With a sigh, I said, "Why'd you call me in on this thing, Matsu? Not that I don't appreciate the thought. I do. Been getting fuckin' bored out on the coast. But you already got enough muscle. If you just needed a third to make the inspection team legit, you could've just grabbed any half-competent goon. Somebody like Guo or Chan-Wook or, I dunno, fuckin' Takeshi out of Shelltown. Whatever. Why me?"

Matsuma shrugged and stretched, yawning. "Ah, you know. Hadn't seen you for a bit. Figured I'd pry you out of whatever funk you've been in and get ya' paid in the deal. Besides—those guys were all unavailable."

"Don't blow smoke up my ass, Matsu. You known me far too long to be doing that."

Matsuma stopped in the middle of the road. I stopped with him. He frowned. "All right." He took a deep breath."I don't actually know for sure whether this thing is locked down or not."

"Oh, for the love of shit, Matsu . . ."

He put up his hands. That don't-kill-the-messenger expression. An unfortunate ration of horsebirdshit. "It's not like that. See, there's a possibility the spirit totem is in a vault. It won't be anything complicated. This is just a storehouse, not a bank."

"Still," I rumbled. "Why didn't you tell the others? Why'd you act like this thing will be out on a shelf?"

"Because most likely, it will be. Seriously. All I know is that there are a couple vaults in the storehouse for high rollers to keep valuables in for short periods. The totem's not supposed to be in one . . . but if it's somehow gotten out how much the thing is worth, they might have stuck it in there."

"There any way to know before we go in?"

Matsuma nodded. "I'll tap my contact. We'll know way before we step through the door." There was something pleading in his expression—a neediness that I had rarely seen in the man. It was unpleasant to look at.

I blew a breath out my nostrils and said, "I'll need tools."

"You bring yours? If not, I can get some."

"Who do ya' think I am? Of course I brought my tools. About the only thing I did bring."

We began walking again. A torpid wind ran down the valley, shaking branches and rifling unpleasantly through my hair. Despite the hour, sweat soaked my neck and armpits.

"This thing could go south very easily. You know that, right?" I said.

Even when he wasn't making a sales pitch, Matsuma was all charm. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey. Tanak. Trust me."

And despite myself, I did. By all the heavens above, I did.