The Fleece Job (Olympus Drive Chronicles)

Chapter 1: Why I am no longer allowed to answer doors

Ev

"What?" I open the door to our apartment, not bothering to look through the peephole. That's not necessarily smart. But, nothing I do here on out will necessarily be smart so it's good you're going into this with realistic expectations. The thing is, I'm not afraid of much. I probably should be. I'm not. I've quite literally been to hell and back, I've fought monsters, gangs, and demons. I'm not really concerned about who, or what ever might come through my front door.

"Evander Neman?" the person standing at my door isn't really anything to be afraid of. He's a little shorter than me (that's not saying a lot though, I'm tall) with a short white blond crew cut. He has swift, light blue eyes, and a slow smile that he knows is handsome. He's wearing faded jeans, not faded through work though, they're Levi's, and a red polo shirt that's Tommy Hilfiger. He's wearing soft, new looking running shoes, Under Armor.  All in all he bleeds money. He looks like a jeans model who got lost on his way to a photoshoot.

"Ev----who are you?" I ask, leaning in the door. I, in case you were curious, am wearing a tank top and a knee length tie dye skirt, and fluffy Pride Uggs. It's June so the top of my hair is currently dyed in a rainbow. I am also wearing eye liner but nothing else since I'm just lying around the house. It's the summer before my senior year, and I promised my mother I would get through my last year of high school without incident namely dying, though incident in general.

"My name's Jason Tyro. I think I'm your half brother. How would you like to come on a heist with me?"

"Sure," yes I know I just said that I promised my mother I would get through my senior year of high school without incident. But technically my senior year hasn't started yet. No, I don't think that was the spirit of what she was saying, but it's what I'm going with. See my first point about not necessarily being that smart. Anyway. My mother didn't say no heists or thievery. She said no international incidents or death.  "One second—,"

He nods.

I walk back into the apartment, casually grabbing my backpack.

"Who was it?" my mom is sitting at the counter in the kitchen, looking at her laptop. She's trying to find me a school for senior year. I was not wanted back at my old one.

"It's dad, I'll be back in a few hours," I lie. Well, I didn't know the second part was a lie.

"Okay be careful," she says, hugging me and kissing my cheek, "Since when does he knock?"

"You know he's weird. I'll text you," I say, kissing her cheek back.

"Okay, love you."

"Love you too, mom," I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and picking up my pair of running shoes from by the door.

Jason is standing there texting on the newest slim iPhone, it has an industrial, military drop grade case. I respect him marginally more.

"What do you mean you think you're my brother?" I ask, as the door closes behind me. I make sure to lock it.

"Is that your dad?" he shows me a picture on his phone, of my dad in fact. My dad is looking away and doesn't appear to know the picture is being taken. His rust colored hair hangs partly in his hazel eyes as he bends to talk to a boy—the boy standing in front of me. They're in front of some castle or other, looks like in Europe. But that is obviously my dad, and this boy right here.

"Yes," I say, frowning.

"Yeah, mine too. I've been doing a little research, walk with me," he says, walking down the hall towards the elevator. "I finally tracked down who my father actually is. He's been a---absent parent most of my life."

"And what does that have to do with a job?" I ask as we step into the elevator. Jason and I don't look a like, I think. I take more after my mother so that would follow. He must as well. He's all together fairer than our father. I don't get it. My dad---cheated on my mom? I mean, he's never been around. That's the thing. He has always been here one day, gone the next. A little bit more gone of late. But. He's always been around. And I thought he loved my mom. But Jason looks close to my age. So he's had another family all along.

"I'm looking to prove myself as—rightful heir to my family's---unique occupation," he says, "I'm illegitimate. No one thinks I have what it takes. I do."

"You're going to become a thief?" I ask, amused.

"The greatest thief," he says, haughtily, "But I need a good team. Are you in?"

"Why me?" I ask, as the elevator stops. He pulls car keys from his pocket. He's driving a reasonably new Subaru WRX. I smile in appreciation. Fast enough.

"You stole a spirit from the Underworld."

"The what?" I ask, innocently.

He smiles, "Get in the car."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"When you were thirteen years old you stole a warship from Boston Harbor. When you were fourteen you travelled to hell and brought back a soul. I want you on my team," he says, as he backs out of the parking lot. The car is clean and neat, no real personal effects save air fresheners and a cup of coffee he's clearly drinking.

"I haven't done either of those things," I completely have.

"Word gets around, Ev. The warship thing was brilliant, if cocky. The other—well, those were more varied sources. I don't know how you did it, but I fully believe you did."

"I had help. If we're doing this, I'm bringing my own partner," I say.

"Done," he says, shrugging, "We need to assemble a team. I have some ideas but, figured I'd start with you."

"Not that we're doing this. What's the job?" I ask.

"Have you ever heard of the Colchis Fleece?"

"That's---that's what you think you're stealing?" I scoff, actually laughing. So, a bit of background. The Colchis family are the modern day equivalent of emperors. They're rich beyond rich. Beyond rich. Billionaires rich. Private islands off the coast of California, rich. Have your rich teenage daughter a custom made gold spun Gucci fleece coat for her to wear on your private heavily guarded island off the coast of California, rich. That last sentence is super specific for a reason. "You're insane---also why?"

"Because it's the impossible heist. The Colchis family is famously protective of the fleece---it's estimated to be worth sixteen million dollars, and goes up with every single selfie Maddy Colchis takes of herself in it," he says, eyes glowing with excitement.

"It's the impossible heist for a reason---it's so expensive they keep it on their private island---which is said to be inaccessible except by plane due to the treacherous waters AND the natural dangers on the island," I scoff.

"Not that you know anything about it," Jason says, knowingly.

"I make it a habit of knowing about shiny things I might want to take sometime—doesn't mean I think it's a good idea, or even possible."

"Bitch, you stole a warship."

"That was a simple grift—this is an actual heist—where you would even find a buyer?" I ask, shaking my head.

"I don't want a buyer. This is bragging rights. I want the fleece. You aren't getting a cut—I'm paying you, and whoever else we choose, a salary. One million each, even, and I keep the fleece, you of course get bragging rights for being on the job," he says.

"You're insane," I say, amused.

"So are you in?"

"Of course I'm in," I laugh, "First off, I need my partner. She's the best there is, and the only way either of us are getting off that island alive."

"Done."