Vincent lounged back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink, eyes fixed on Marcus with the smug determination of a gambler ready to cash out.
"Your turn," he said smoothly, tapping the edge of the table. "You're paying today."
Marcus blinked, then gave a sheepish smile.
"Oh, but I only remember my pin at the ATM…"
Vincent's jaw tightened. That excuse again. The same pathetic story Marcus had pulled yesterday, and the day before that. He wanted to groan, but instead forced a thin grin.
"Yeah? Guess what, sunshine."
He whipped out his phone, fingers flying across the screen until ATM machine pictures loaded in the image search. He tilted the screen toward Marcus, the glow of fake cash dispensers and keypads flashing across the table.
"There. All the ATMs you want. Now do it."
Marcus hesitated, then chuckled nervously. "Ah… yeah, I think I remember now!" He rubbed the back of his neck as though a switch had flicked in his brain.
Vincent's heart began to pound, his lips twitching into a grin he couldn't quite hide. Finally. Finally. After all the dancing around, after all the wasted meals and hotel bills, he was about to taste the jackpot.
Right on cue, the waitress strolled back with the portable card machine.
"Here you go, sir," she said, placing it neatly on the table.
Vincent nearly leaned across the table like a starving wolf, his gaze glued to Marcus's hands. Every twitch of his fingers, every pause, every digit pressed—it was all being seared into Vincent's memory. His eyes flicked between Marcus's face and the screen, practically vibrating with hunger. He even held his breath, afraid the sound might distract him from hearing the sacred beep of confirmation.
Marcus squinted down at the keypad, brow furrowed in concentration. He moved deliberately slow, pressing each button like it was the key to a hidden vault. Vincent's grin spread wider, anticipation bubbling in his veins. He was about to know. He was seconds away from unlocking the treasure trove sitting behind Marcus's blank face.
And then—
Beep.
The screen flashed.
WRONG PINCODE.
The words lit up in block letters, mocking him, glowing like the universe itself laughing in his face.
Vincent shot to his feet so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
"What the actual—?!" he barked, drawing a few curious stares from neighboring tables.
Marcus winced, shrinking back slightly as though embarrassed. "I-I swear I thought it was right…" He reached for his drink and took a calm sip, as though nothing catastrophic had just happened.
Vincent's fists clenched against the table, nails biting into his palm. His chest heaved, face flushing with rage. "You've got to be kidding me," he hissed, low enough not to make a scene, but loud enough that Marcus could hear the venom dripping from every word.
The waitress awkwardly cleared her throat. "Uh… sir? Do you have another way to pay?"
Vincent groaned through gritted teeth, yanking a couple of crumpled bills from the fat bundle Marcus had given him days ago. He slapped them on the tray hard enough to make the waitress flinch.
"There," he muttered bitterly.
As the waitress scurried away, Vincent dragged his hands over his face, exhaling a long, guttural groan. His carefully built patience was disintegrating, crumbling like sand through his fingers. He had been so close. So, damn, close.
Across the table, Marcus set down his glass and gave a small apologetic shrug, as if he couldn't help it.
"I really do remember at the ATM," he mumbled softly.
Vincent glared at him, his insides burning. In his head, a cruel little voice whispered: This is going to be a nightmare. Getting that pin from him will be like dragging blood from a stone.
But he forced himself to lean back, smirk curling his lips despite the fury in his veins.
"Fine. We'll play it your way… for now."
Inside, though, his thoughts snapped sharper, darker, dripping with irritation.
Oh God, this is going to be hell. How the f** am I supposed to rob a man who doesn't even know his own pin?*
The air outside the restaurant was thick with the scent of frying oil and exhaust. Vincent shoved his hands in his pockets, still cursing under his breath about the wrong pin fiasco, when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen—Austin.
With an exaggerated groan, he excused himself from Marcus, flashing that lazy grin.
"Bathroom break. Don't wander," he said casually before ducking into the shadowed corner of the building.
The second he picked up, Austin's voice exploded through the speaker.
"Vincent, you idiot! You were supposed to lift something last night! Do you know how many eyes were on that place? And you left empty-handed again?!"
Vincent held the phone a few inches away from his ear, smirking at the tirade. He waited until Austin had burned through half his fury before responding in his usual drawl.
"Relax, relax… why would a future millionaire need to waste his time on some cheap house for twenty grand, huh?"
There was a beat of silence on the other end, then Austin's voice dropped, sharp with confusion.
"Future millionaire? What the hell are you talking about?"
Vincent chuckled, leaning lazily against the wall.
"Oh, you're gonna love this. I picked up this guy—Marcus. Alzheimer's in his brain, millions in his account. Keeps mistaking me for his boyfriend, some 'Tom.'" He snorted at his own luck. "I don't even have to try. He's like a golden goose walking around with no memory. All I gotta do is wait for him to slip, and bam—I'll have everything."
On the other end, Austin was silent. For once, the quick-witted partner-in-crime had no immediate comeback. Finally, he muttered,
"…You've got to be kidding me. You? You of all people stumbled into that?"
Vincent grinned, tapping ash from the cigarette he hadn't even lit.
"Dumb luck's still luck, baby."
He turned back toward the restaurant door, phone still pressed to his ear.
"Anyway, I gotta—"
The words died on his tongue.
The chair where Marcus had been sitting was empty. The table cleared, untouched glass of water the only sign he'd ever been there.
Vincent's smile froze, stomach plunging into ice.
"…the hell?" he muttered, lowering the phone slowly.
Austin's voice barked in his ear.
"Vincent? What's going on?"
But Vincent wasn't listening. His gaze swept the street, the doorway, the sidewalk, searching for even a glimpse of Marcus's figure.
Gone.
Just like that.
------
PLEASE SUPPORT,
WITH FURY ,
VINCENT 😠
MARCUS : WELL... I'M MISSING.