jess jess jess jess can i have a sid/g oceans 11 au can i jess can i
here’s the thing about con artists – you’re never going to know where they end up.
“so,” sasha says, leaning on geno’s breakfast bar and grinning far too toothily for someone geno just picked up from prison, “says here your boy is in la. why the fuck is he in la?”
“don’t ask me,” geno sighs, resting his head in his hands. he never should’ve left berlin. “probably trying to go on the straight and narrow again.”
sasha nods knowingly. “because teaching celebrities to play poker is very respectable.” after a second, he says, “you should not have stayed in berlin.”
“there was a job in berlin,” geno says, even as he sighs because – he probably shouldn’t stayed in berlin.
“when you stay in berlin, your beloved crosby forgets how much he likes your dick,” sasha says in what’s probably supposed to be a sage tone of voice, but mostly comes out dickish. geno punching him is totally justified. “ow – and your face, you romantic fucks.”
“fuck off,” geno groans, rubbing his forehead. “just find out what he’s up to for me, yeah? then i’ll figure out our next move.”
“we gonna get a job?” sasha asks excitedly, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee.
“we’re not doing any jobs,” geno says, but even as he says it he doesn’t really believe it.
“so,” james says, dropping down onto one of mario’s massive couches right next to paulie, “you’re doing this job too?”
“apparently,” paulie says drily, waving at julie chu as she stomps past, arguing hotly with wick, both of them covered in grease and apparently not caring about mario’s furniture.
“know what it is?” james asks, even as he waves at the new kids – some pickpocket geno found in pittsburgh, and his friend who apparently can throw a good punch in a pinch. both of them look jetlagged and freaked out, but james figures the feeling will pass soon. “i haven’t seen g in – god, a while. or sid – i’m surprised he’s not attached to g’s side right now.”
“you haven’t seen me either,” paulie says pointedly, and james winces.
“look, weber asks a lot from from his crew. i couldn’t exactly waltz out of nashville.” he tries patting paulie’s knee, but it just earns him one of paulie’s trademark flat stares. “anyways, i’m here now.”
“i suppose,” paulie says slowly, but he doesn’t smack james’ hand away, so james will consider it a win.
“you and tanger got plenty to do, i suppose,” james says, in probably the baldest attempt to change the topic that he’s done in a while.
fortunately, paulie lets him get away with it. “well, you know g,” paulie says, shrugging. “he likes big safes and bigger explosions.”
“that dick,” james says, shaking his head and grinning. “well, as long as i don’t have to fake being a goddamn curator again, we’re good. probably.”
“you say that now,” paulie says, laughing, and james grins too. it’s good to be back in pittsburgh.
after day three of creeping on the security system of the fucking getty museum, flower’s about to roll into the pacific, or something – anything to get him out of this goddamn van.
“nothing fucking happens,” he moans.
tanger just chews a french fry, even though flower fucking told him any grease near his computers would earn him at least six different viruses. "what about that guy?“ he asks, shrugging and chewing another fry.
"what guy?” flower asks, groaning.
“that one,” tanger says, pointing towards one of the monitors. “he’s just been hanging out in front of the impressionists for like, hours. isn’t that something?”
“that,” flower says firmly, “is the definition of doing nothing.”
“he looks familiar though,” tanger insists, pointing with a fry. “kind of like – well. sid. you know?”
“you’re a fucking moron,” flower says, spinning in his chair. “there’s no way.”
the man in the monitor turns, and flower peers closer, just to prove how fucking wrong tanger is – except.
he zooms in, and even with the blur of the cameras, it’s hard not to see that, well, the ass, and the sweatshirt, and the goddamn beat up baseball cap all sort of add up to sid’s favorite incognito outfit. which makes no sense, because flower thought sid was off teaching people poker, or possibly finding himself, or maybe getting pissy at g for staying in europe, not fucking encroaching on their territory.
then the guy looks up at the camera and waves, and – that’s sid.
flower and tanger look at the screen, and then at each other.
“do you think g knows?” tanger asks, and flower sighs.
“well,” he says, stretching and grabbing his phone, “at least i have an excuse to get out of this fucking van.”