13 February 2019
They were woken by breakfast, cooked by Miss Eva. When we met, Miss Eva had a pont at which Forger would be coming through: in Hopscotch, on the lower east side. It was a gate that “we” didn’t control, so it would be too easy to cause trouble there; Monroe’s Band was in charge. Forger would be glamoured, but should still be recognisable.
We obtained various bags and cases, and made our plans for the lift and the escape. There was a private event at the hotel, and some of the people there were full-on fey. At four o’clock the swell arrived, a lady who was full fey with no disguise, but with plenty of attendants; and the event got started – music and glamour, attracting an audience from outside.
Nearly an hour later, a town car pulled up, with a twitchy passenger, this one carrying a bag large enough to be our target; they were escorted in by a heavy trying not to look like a heavy, well-dressed and a little older than the usual run of muscle. The escort was twitchy too as they went to the desk; Miss Yvette moved in to ask about messages, and eavesdrop; the target was arguing with the clerk, saying that he was Mr Mustard, and expected. The blonde woman who’d been running the event moved in to sort things out; it was fey business but seemed to be resolved peaceably. Miss Yvette was able to confirm that he had Suite 3; he dismissed the guards on the way to the suite.
I went up to Miss Yvette’s room to listen in, but Mustard and the blonde were coming back down, probably on their way to the private meeting. But Miss Yvette spotted the blonde taking the bag to the back office, and coming back without it.
I took a quick look into suite 3 to get a feel for the layout. The heavies eventually made a phone call, and left. The event ended at six, and glamoured humans left, followed by the fey – though not the star, until a few minutes later. She came out looking sleek, spoke with the blonde, and left in her car.
Miss Yvette put her box in the safe, to get a look at the setup; but it turned out that they wouldn’t let her in.
Terry stayed outside, and spotted the permanent floating dice game outside the kitchen door, chatting with the loser to confirm who was who.
Later Mac got a call from Miss Eva: the location was offshore from the Sandspit Point. He passed on the word to the rest of the crew, and we settled in to rest until the early morning when the bars closed.