You might be wondering what a handsome guy like me is doing in a nice suit, hanging upside down over a vat of industrial acid by a rope. Well, I can tell you, this wasn’t how I planned to spend my Friday night. My name is Vic, by the way—Vic Valentine, professional conman and, if I may say so, a devilishly handsome rogue.

It all started about a week ago, right here in Miami, my favorite summertime city of sin. Miami is a place where dreams are made, broken, and sometimes sold for parts in the back alleys. It’s where the sun kisses your face in the morning, but by nightfall, you’re hoping that’s the only thing trying to kill you.

I was feeling pretty good, sipping a mojito by the beach, when I saw my mark: a guy who looked like he’d been born in a library and never left. Definitely not the beach bum type—thick glasses, a pasty complexion that screamed "allergic to sunlight," and a posture like he was bracing for a gust of wind that might blow him right off the sand. He stood out like a sore thumb among the bronzed bodies and brightly colored bikinis.

Now, I’ve got a knack for spotting the moneyed types, even when they’re trying to keep a low profile. Something about his demeanor, like he was looking for someone or something but didn’t want to make it too obvious, piqued my interest. Call it my sixth sense—a conman’s intuition, you might say. And from the way he kept glancing around, like he was nervous about being caught, I could tell this guy was in way over his head.

I leaned back in my chair, turning my ears on. You learn a lot from watching people, but you learn even more from listening. His voice carried over the sound of the waves, clipped and low, the kind of voice that doesn’t usually shout. “I need… I need muscle. Discreet. Someone who can handle themselves… and ask no questions.”

Ah, muscle. Not exactly my specialty. I’m more of a face, the guy who talks his way out of trouble, not into it. But still, this guy looked like money, and I could always use more of that. I mean, who couldn’t, right?

I leaned a little closer, just enough to catch the nervous flick of his eyes. He kept muttering about needing some guys who could get him something and, oh, the magic words slipped out: "price is no object." Those words always make me smile. They’re like music to my ears, the kind that makes you want to get up and dance… or, in my case, con someone out of their cash.

So, I stood up, straightened my jacket, and tried to look as "muscle" as a guy like me could. I sauntered over to Mister Pasty like I owned the damn beach, like I kicked nerds' sandcastles over for fun. “I might be able to help you find what you’re looking for,” I said, dropping my name with a grin that had won me more than a few free drinks and favors over the years. “Vic. Vic Valentine.”

He looked up, squinting through those thick glasses like he was trying to figure out if I was a shark or just another fish. He glanced around like a rat sniffing for cheese and then lowered his voice, speaking fast and jerky, “Yes, good, Mister Valentine. I require discreet muscle, someone who can help me with a task, yes, a task!”

Mister Pasty was definitely off-kilter. But hey, who wasn’t in a place like this? See, this little stretch of sand isn’t what you’d call muscle beach. It’s more thug beach, the kind of place where deals go down in the back of unmarked vans, and the lifeguards don’t bother with anything more serious than a sunburn. Perfect place for a guy like me who dances on the edge of legit and not-so-legit.

I leaned in closer, keeping that friendly, laid-back smile. “Discreet muscle, you say? Well, you’re in luck. I’m the kind of guy who knows all sorts. I can find you the muscle, brains, or a combination of the two if you’ve got the right kind of motivation. Why don’t you tell me what this ‘task’ of yours is, and I’ll see what I can do?”

He blinked behind his glasses, his fingers twitching like he was working out some equation in his head. “It’s a retrieval. A… package. But not just any package—something very… rare. And there’s a tight timeline. It’s in a place… a place that requires a certain kind of entry.”

My instincts kicked in. Something about this felt more complicated than a simple grab-and-go job. “You mean it’s locked up tight somewhere? Security guards, alarms, maybe a laser grid or two?”

He nodded rapidly, a drop of sweat trickling down his temple despite the ocean breeze. “Yes, exactly! It’s in a secure location. High tech, high risk. That’s why I need someone who can… bypass obstacles.”

Bypass obstacles. I liked the sound of that. Made it sound like a challenge, and if there’s one thing I love, it’s a challenge. “I think I know just the kind of guys you’re looking for,” I said, keeping my voice smooth and reassuring. “But, of course, quality doesn’t come cheap. How much are we talking?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in rough seas. “Five hundred thousand. Half now, half on completion.”

I tried not to let my eyes widen too much. Five hundred grand? This guy was either desperate or stupid. Maybe both. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

“Sounds reasonable,” I lied. “But for that kind of cash, you’re going to have to give me a little more to go on. What’s in this package that makes it so special?”

“It is a rare compound,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “One not available on the open market. You will require a team, perhaps, to retrieve it. I will pay handsomely.”

A team? Sure, why not, I thought. More like I pretend to steal whatever he wants, take the pay for four guys, and I'm crossing state lines before he figures out he got scammed. I could be sipping daiquiris in Havana by this time next week. “Of course,” I said, keeping my face serious. “Four guys, specialists in their fields. How about we talk more pay and details in private?”

He nodded quickly, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. Then, with a nervous glance around, he pulled out his phone and made a call. A moment later, a sleek black limo pulled up, the kind with tinted windows and a driver in a sharp uniform. This nerd was definitely loaded. I could practically see the dollar signs flashing in front of my eyes.

Yeah, this was shaping up nicely. A quick score, and I could be on the first flight out of here, living easy for a few months. I gave him a nod, acting like this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence for me. “Lead the way, Doc.”

He blinked slowly, his brow furrowing. "However did you guess I was a doctor?"

For a split second, I paused, but I recovered with a grin. “Who hasn't heard of your genius?” I replied smoothly, as if I’d known all along.

His eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Ah, yes, of course!” His manservant, who looked like someone had poured Frankenstein's monster into a suit two sizes too small, opened the limo door for us. I couldn’t help but think if this was his muscle, maybe I wasn’t the only one in over my head here.

Inside, the limo was pretty swank—the kind of plush leather seats that make you feel like royalty. Say what you want about Doctor Croc, but the nerd had taste. There was even a mini bar, fully stocked, with crystal decanters and enough fine whiskey to drown a small army.

Doctor Croc slid in beside me, adjusting his thick glasses as if they might spontaneously jump off his nose. “I am glad the reputation of Doctor Croc has reached you,” he said, a little too eagerly. “Pray tell, which of my many feats of genius have you heard about?”

I had to think fast. Fortunately, that’s a talent of mine—along with being vague and telling people exactly what they want to hear.

“Well,” I started, leaning back into the leather like I was settling into an old story, “I’ve heard quite a bit, actually. Your work with… experimental compounds, for instance. Pushing the boundaries of what’s possible. Pretty cutting-edge stuff.”

His eyes gleamed with delight. “Yes, yes! The compounds! Truly groundbreaking, if I do say so myself. But go on, Mister Valentine, what else?”

I had him hooked, but I had to reel him in carefully. “Oh, I’ve also heard about your… unusual approaches to physics. The, uh, Croc Theory of… Reactive Matter?”

His smile broadened, and he leaned closer, nearly bouncing on his seat. “Ah, my theory of Reactive Matter Manipulation! A misunderstood masterstroke, if I do say so myself. Few comprehend the potential it holds. You know, most people think I’m mad, but you seem to grasp the brilliance of my work!”

I nodded along, making mental notes. Experimental compounds, reactive matter… whatever that was. This guy was definitely playing with things he shouldn’t be. I just needed to keep him talking, keep him feeling like I was in awe of his so-called genius.

“Well, Doc,” I continued, “you’re clearly not just another scientist. You're on a whole different level. That's why I'm interested in your little job here. But I have to say, you’ve got my curiosity piqued. What exactly is this compound you’re after? I mean, for a guy of your talents, why not just make it yourself?”

His expression shifted slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “Ah, well, that’s… complicated. This compound, it’s… unique. The raw materials, the specific molecular structure… it’s not something that can be synthesized. Not easily, at least.”

I sensed a bit of hesitation, maybe even fear. “And why is that?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “What makes it so special?”

“Mutagenetic isotopes I require for my work in herpetological research!” he proclaimed with a grin, like he’d just announced the cure for cancer.

Mutagenetic what now? I didn’t understand a single word of that, but I wasn’t about to let that show on my face. I gave a knowing nod, the kind that says, Oh yeah, I totally know what you’re talking about. “Ah, of course. Makes perfect sense,” I replied, even though it made no sense at all.

Doctor Croc took that as his cue to launch into the details of where he needed my “team” to break into. I kept my ears open and my face interested, even as he started describing some heavily fortified lab, full of state-of-the-art security systems, biometric scanners, motion sensors, and a guard rotation that sounded like it was pulled right out of Fort Knox’s playbook.

I nodded along, letting my brain churn through all the nonsense, until he finally paused to catch his breath. That was my moment. “Alright, Doc,” I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully, “for a job like this, you’re gonna need the best of the best. And I happen to know some guys who fit the bill… but they don’t come cheap.”

He perked up immediately. “Oh? Who are they?”

I leaned in, lowering my voice as if I was letting him in on some big secret. “First, you’re gonna need Razor Mike—expert in demolitions. He can turn any wall into a door, but he charges by the explosion. And trust me, he loves his work.”

Doctor Croc nodded eagerly. “Yes, good, good! Continue.”

I kept going, my mind racing to invent names faster than I could speak. “Then there’s Frankie ‘The Ghost’ Malone—best in the business at bypassing digital security. He’s cracked codes that were supposed to be uncrackable, but he likes his privacy and charges double if he has to work with a team.”

Doctor Croc was nodding along, eyes wide. “Of course, of course! We need such a specialist!”

“Next, you’ll want the Big Guy—real name’s not important, but he’s ex-special forces. Muscle like you’ve never seen, and he’s got a knack for getting past guards without raising a fuss. Big guy, big price tag. But he’s worth every penny.”

Doctor Croc clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Yes, bring the Big Guy!”

I continued, keeping the rhythm going. “Finally, you’ll need Lily ‘Silk’ Sinclair. She’s the best infiltrator I know—moves like a shadow, can charm her way past any guard, and has a talent for finding weak points in any security system. She’s a wildcard, though, and she doesn’t work cheap.”

Doctor Croc’s eyes were practically sparkling. “Yes! Yes! Perfect! I will pay whatever it takes, Mister Valentine. Whatever it takes!”

I nodded, like I was considering it carefully. “Of course, there are some… logistics to work out. Coordinating this many specialists takes time and preparation. We’re gonna need blueprints, guard schedules, access points… the works.”

He was nodding along like a bobblehead. “Yes, yes, I’ll provide everything! You’ll have whatever you need!”

“Great,” I said, as if I was locking it in. “Now, about the advance payment for my team…”

***

My dad used to say, "Vic, you’re pretty but dumb, and that’ll get you far in life, but remember—you need to spend money to make money." I stand by that. Well, okay, maybe not the dumb part, but Dad was a wise man before he decided to go out for a carton of milk and never come back. But don’t feel too bad—I was twenty-one when it happened.

So, I learned early on that if you’ve got a face like mine and a knack for making people think you're smarter than you are, you can get pretty far. It’s all about confidence and looking like you know something nobody else does. People eat that up. Especially the ones who are desperate or think they’re geniuses, like my new friend Doctor Croc here.

He was busy tapping away on his phone, probably wiring the first half of my fee. I could practically hear the cha-ching in my ears. Now, I needed to find a way to milk this for all it was worth. I mean, the guy’s got a limo, a big Frankenstein’s monster of a bodyguard, and he’s throwing money around like it’s Monopoly cash—this was an opportunity I’d be an idiot to pass up.

So, I get the drop off details—some place out where the Everglades start to swallow up what most folks would call real civilization, where the air gets thick with mosquitoes, and people tend to carry their first cousins as much as their shotguns. Perfect. A place where secrets can disappear faster than footprints in the swamp.

I managed to convince Doctor Croc to drop me off at a nearby gas station, the kind with flickering neon signs and a toothless old man at the register, just outside the city limits. I told him I needed to make a few discreet calls to my “team.” Really, I just wanted to get out of that limo before I choked on his cologne or caught whatever bug made him so twitchy.

“Remember,” I said, giving him a serious look as I stepped out, “keep your phone close. I’ll need to reach you if anything changes before tonight.”

He nodded like a kid promised a trip to Disneyland. “Of course, Mister Valentine. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

With that, the limo sped off, the taillights fading into the humid, murky air. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment. Now, it was time to put my plan into action. First things first: I needed to make contact with some of the more “paranoid” members of the crew I’d just made up. You know, the ones that required some delicate handling because they don’t like being in the spotlight or, well, anywhere they could get caught.

I pulled out my phone and started pretending to scroll through contacts like I had a whole army of shadowy experts on speed dial. I chuckled to myself, imagining how this conversation would play out if anyone actually picked up. Lucky for me, I was the only one on this line.

Once Doctor Croc—who sounded like he really liked his plastic shoes—and his limo were long gone, I put my phone away and started walking. I wasn’t heading for any of the imaginary team members I'd conjured up on the spot. Nope, I was going to see someone real—my gal Sally. Well, okay, not my gal in the strictest sense, but a girl I was a bit sweet on, who also happened to have some talents I could use. And more importantly, she’d help me out for a decent price, no questions asked.

See, Sally was an artist, but not the kind who just slaps paint on a canvas and calls it a day. Nah, she was the real deal. Her studio, Iron Will Creations, was tucked away in one of those old industrial warehouses on the edge of Wynwood. The kind of place that had been abandoned by everyone else but claimed by the creative souls who saw potential in rusted steel beams and cracked concrete floors.

When you walked into Sally’s space, you were greeted by a jungle of metal. Massive, twisted sculptures hung from the rafters, looking like they were mid-motion, frozen in time. A copper phoenix with wings spread wide, reaching for the skylight above. A steel lion, roaring with its mane crafted from hundreds of tiny, intricately welded wires. There were smaller pieces too, scattered around—geometric shapes and abstract figures, welded from bits of scrap metal she’d salvaged from the shipyards and junkyards all over the city.

Sally was a master with a blowtorch. The air always smelled faintly of molten metal and sweat, and you could hear the rhythmic pounding of her hammer from the moment you turned down the street. She’d transformed the space into something alive, a breathing entity of metal and fire, creativity in its rawest form. She had the kind of workshop that made you want to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty, even if you didn’t know what you were doing.

And there she was, right in the middle of it, hammering away at a new piece. Sally Washington. The way she moved was pure poetry—focused, deliberate, her muscles rippling under the fluorescent lights. Years of working with steel had given her arms that could probably bend rebar without much trouble. Her skin was a deep, rich mahogany, glistening with a sheen of sweat, and her hair was tied back in a tight bun, with a few stray curls escaping around her temples. But what really got me, what always got me, was her smile—bright and warm, like the first light of dawn after a long, cold night.

Yeah, I was a sucker for a girl with nice arms and a pretty smile. What can I say? I’m a gym rat at heart, and I dig a hot momma built like a brick house.

She looked up when I came in, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Vic Valentine,” she called out, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though my heart did a little dance in my chest every time she said my name. “Hey, Sally. You know me, always up to something. I need a favor.”

She put down the hammer and wiped her hands on a rag, those strong, skillful hands that could shape steel like it was clay. “A favor, huh? And what’s the going rate for favors these days?”

I grinned. “Name your price, Sally. I need something special, something custom. You know, like one of your masterpieces.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A masterpiece, huh? That’s a tall order, Vic. What kind of masterpiece are we talking about?”

I expected her skepticism. After all, I was always dancing on the edge between legit and shady. She gave me that look of hers, the one that said, Alright, what kind of trouble are you getting yourself into this time, Vic?

But Sally never asked too many questions. That’s what I liked about her—she didn’t need to know the details. Plausible deniability, or maybe just her way of keeping things simple between us. Either way, I appreciated it.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do for you, hon,” she said, wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

“I, uh…” I stumbled over my words for a moment, distracted by the way her eyes sparkled in the light filtering through the high windows. For a second, my mind tripped up, thinking about Sally and how maybe, just maybe, if things were different… but I rattled myself back on track.

“Oh, yeah!” I recovered, trying to sound smooth. “I need a real solid metal briefcase. Fancy locks, real Tonka-tough, you know? And it’s gotta have a biohazard symbol on the front, something that screams ‘Do Not Open’ in a way that even a kid could understand. And inside, I need foam cutouts, shaped to house a canister about yea big.” I motioned with my hands, mimicking the size of something I imagined people kept volatile mutagenic isotope compounds in. Whatever those looked like.

Sally watched my hands, her eyes narrowing a little, but not with suspicion—more like she was already designing it in her head. “A briefcase with a biohazard symbol… alright,” she said slowly. “You want it to look government issue, black ops, or more like something a mad scientist might use?”

I thought about the place Doc Croc wanted me to hit—a lab owned by that megacorp AVN International. I’d seen their name pop up in the news a few times, tied to everything from medical research to defense contracts. Big, faceless corporate types, the kind that seemed to have a finger in every pie and a lot of pies to go around. The details hadn’t really stuck with me, probably because they didn’t come with a paycheck attached.

“Uh, big corporate,” I answered. “AVN International. If you can mimic their logo, that one with the bird on it—AVN, avian, huh, just got that—somewhere on it, that’d be great. Make it look official, you know, like it’s part of some top-secret project.”

Sally nodded, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a small grin. “AVN, huh? They don’t play around, Vic. You’re getting mixed up with the big dogs this time.”

I shrugged, playing it off like it was just another day at the office. “What can I say, Sally? I like to aim high.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got some reference material on AVN’s logo and branding from an old commission job. Shouldn’t be too hard to whip something up that looks legit.”

“Perfect,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, even as my brain was running a mile a minute. “You’re a lifesaver, Sally. Really.”

She waved me off, already grabbing a fresh sheet of steel from a stack against the wall. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret this, Vic.”

I nodded, giving her a wink. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And I meant it. I’d never scam Sally. Heck, I tried to keep my scams aimed at people who had more money than they deserved, if I could help it, but Sally was in a league of her own. I always paid her in full—no lowballing, no hassle, and no tricks. This time was no different. She named her price, and I handed over the cash, all in crisp bills.

While she got to work, I had my own steps to figure out. The first was how I was going to spin this heist thing to Doc Croc. I needed to make sure he believed every word coming out of my mouth, that I had a crack team ready to go and we were all set to break into AVN International’s lab like it was a Saturday afternoon stroll. The man might be a little off his rocker, but he wasn’t stupid. I’d have to play this one close to the chest.

But before I got too far down that road, I had another problem to solve—where I could get my hands on a metal thermos that looked just right. The kind you’d imagine a mad scientist might use to keep their volatile, mutagenic isotopes warm. Something that looked professional, serious, maybe even ominous.

I needed a thermos that could pass for high-tech containment if you didn’t look too close, something I could slap a biohazard sticker on and call it a day. And, of course, I’d need to fill it with something that could add a bit of weight, maybe some chicken soup or, hell, even dish soap if I was feeling extra creative.

I wandered through the Miami streets, thinking about my options. There was a camping supply store a few blocks over that might have what I needed. If not, there was always the thrift shop around the corner where I could probably find something passable. The trick was to make it look authentic without spending more cash than I had to. Every dollar counted until I got that big payout.

I spotted the camping store up ahead, a small place sandwiched between a pawn shop and a Cuban bakery. I pushed the door open, and a little bell jingled overhead. The smell of canvas and leather hit me as I walked in, and I made a beeline for the aisle with all the thermoses, mugs, and canteens.

There it was—a shiny, stainless steel thermos sitting on the shelf, just the right size. It had a sleek, cylindrical shape and a locking mechanism on the lid that gave it a sturdy look. Perfect. I grabbed it and headed for the counter, picking up a roll of duct tape and some rope on the way just to look like I was actually going on an adventure and not pulling off a heist.

I paid in cash—always cash, no paper trails—and headed back out onto the street.

Next stop was a little supply store that specialized in industrial goods. I’d been there before on a few jobs and knew they carried all sorts of warning labels and safety stickers. I found the biohazard stickers on a dusty shelf in the back, grabbed a pack, and made my way to the counter.

With my supplies in hand, I found a quiet bench to sit down and put everything together. I took out the thermos, carefully applied the biohazard sticker to the front, making sure it was straight and centered. The thermos looked legit—official enough to make someone think twice before opening it.

I leaned back, taking a breath. One prop down, a few more to go, and then it was showtime. I’d get Sally’s case, make it look like a delivery from AVN, and set the scene perfectly for Doctor Croc. All I had to do was keep a straight face, sell the story, and hope my luck held out just a little bit longer.

Because the way things were shaping up, I’d need all the luck I could get.

***

I spent the next few days hammering out my story while Sally hammered out my case. I wanted to make sure every detail of the heist sounded like it was plucked straight from the pages of a spy novel. Meanwhile, back at my place, I took the shiny new thermos and gave it a little upgrade. I filled it with the cheap, unscented dish soap I’d picked up on the way back—a nasty, unnatural green that looked like it might eat through the table if I let it sit long enough. I sloshed it around a bit, watching the viscous, thick liquid swirl inside, catching the light in just the right way. Yeah, it looked convincingly mutagenic.

I taped the lid down nice and tight, then wrapped it up with a few layers of plastic, just to be safe. I didn’t need any accidents ruining my perfectly planned con—or my carpet, for that matter. I tested the weight, giving it a shake. It had that perfect sloshy feel, like there was something mysterious and dangerous inside, something you wouldn’t want to spill on yourself or, really, anywhere.

I set the thermos down on my coffee table and took a step back, eyeing it critically. I had to admit, it looked good. Too good, maybe. If someone did decide to take a closer look, they’d find nothing more than soap bubbles and a half-baked con man’s dreams. But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Selling the illusion so well that nobody would bother to check.

I took a deep breath and went over my story again in my head. The heist was going to be clean, simple, and fast—at least, the version I’d sell to Doc Croc. I’d explain that my team would cut the power to the lab, scramble the security cameras, and grab the compound in less time than it would take for anyone to figure out what was happening.

When Sally called later that week to tell me the case was ready, I was already halfway out the door. “Be there in ten,” I said, hanging up before she could say anything more. I wasn’t taking any chances. I knew Sally would come through, but I needed to see the finished product, make sure it was as convincing as everything else I’d been putting together.

When I got to her studio, she was waiting by the workbench, the finished case sitting on top like it was on display. And damn, did it look good. Sleek, polished metal with reinforced corners, and a set of locks that looked like they could keep out a small army. Dead center on the front, just as I’d asked, was the AVN International logo—a sharp, minimalist design with just the right amount of menace. The biohazard symbol sat underneath, screaming "Danger!" to anyone with half a brain.

“Now that,” I said, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice, “is a masterpiece.”

Sally gave me a small, knowing smile. “Glad you like it, Vic. I went with a triple-locking mechanism on the latches—makes it look a little more high-tech. And the foam interior is cut exactly to the dimensions you gave me. Should be snug as a bug.”

I opened the case, running my fingers over the foam, feeling the firmness beneath. “Perfect,” I muttered. “Better than perfect.”

Sally chuckled. “You’re lucky I like you, Vic. Most people, I’d charge double for a rush job like this.”

I grinned. “What can I say? I’m lucky to have you, Sally.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Just don’t get yourself killed, alright?”

I nodded. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

I took the case and headed back to my apartment, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It felt solid, real. I carefully placed the thermos inside, nestling it into the foam. It fit perfectly, looking exactly like something top secret and dangerous that no one should ever lay their hands on.

I closed the lid, snapped the locks shut, and took a step back to admire my handiwork. This was it—the final piece of the puzzle. All I needed to do now was sell the story, make Doc Croc believe that we were all set for the job, and then make sure I was miles away by the time he figured out he’d been had.

The plan was simple. But then again, so were most of my plans—right up until they went sideways.

***

I had a few more hours before the meeting. Just enough time to get my head straight, go over the details one more time, and then take a deep breath before I dove in headfirst.

Because with Doc Croc and his big, twitchy eyes, this was going to be a ride. And I needed to make sure I was ready for anything.

I had my case, my canister of gross science stuff, and a story so airtight, it could’ve been vacuum-sealed. It was time to make the call. I dialed Doc Croc’s number and waited as the phone rang. A few seconds later, his voice crackled through, dripping with that manic enthusiasm that made me feel like I was talking to a Saturday morning cartoon bad guy.

“Mr. Valentine!” he practically shouted into the phone, his excitement already palpable. “Do you have news for me?”

I grinned, knowing I had him right where I wanted. “Oh, do I ever, Doc,” I replied, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial tone. “You’re not gonna believe this, but the heist went down exactly as planned. Me and the crew—we pulled off a textbook operation. We cut the power, scrambled the cameras, and slipped in like shadows. Guards didn’t know what hit ‘em.”

I paused for effect, letting him imagine the whole thing, before continuing. “But here’s the kicker: we pulled the old switcheroo. Left a fake case behind that looks exactly like the real thing. They won’t even know it’s gone for days, maybe weeks. By then, we’ll be long gone, and you’ll have what you need.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d take the bait. Then, he burst out laughing—a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh that made me flinch a little.

“Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!” Doc Croc exclaimed, clearly thrilled. “The fools! The small-minded fools! They’ll regret the day they dared to call me unhinged!” He was ranting now, his voice filled with manic glee. “They said I was mad! But who will be laughing when they see what I’ve done? Who will be laughing then?”

I chuckled nervously, keeping my tone light. “Yeah, Doc, they’ll be eating their words for sure. But, uh, let’s focus on getting that package to you, huh?”

“Yes, yes!” he replied, still sounding a few fruits short of a smoothie. “Bring it to the manor at the address I gave you, as planned. Ten o clock PM. And, Mr. Valentine… do be careful. There are eyes everywhere. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my prize… or to you.”

I hung up, finally glad to have that over with. This guy was a doctor? Of what, exactly? Drama and monologues? Jeez Louise, I thought, this guy deserved to be parted from his cash before he blew it all on tinfoil hats and pocket protectors. I mean, I’ve met my share of eccentrics, but Doc Croc was like a mix between a bad Bond villain and a community theater actor who just found out he got the lead.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the weird feeling he’d left me with. The address he’d given me wasn’t for the warehouse after all—it was some manor, probably out in the sticks, where he could brood over his evil plans in peace. It felt like the kind of place you’d find in a bad horror movie, the kind where teenagers wander off and never come back. Great. Just great.

As the hours ticked by, I went over my escape routes in my head, thought through every possible twist and turn this could take. I’d park a few blocks away, keep my phone ready in case I needed to make a fast call, and most importantly, keep my finger on the pulse of any red flags.

By the time the clock struck nine, I was feeling about as ready as I’d ever be. I grabbed the briefcase, making sure the locks were secure and the biohazard symbol was facing out. I slipped the thermos inside, careful not to spill any of the dish soap that looked suspiciously like something that might mutate your pet goldfish into a land shark.

I took a deep breath, checked myself in the mirror, and gave myself a confident nod. “Alright, Vic,” I muttered, “time to earn that payday.”

With that, I headed out into the night, the briefcase in hand, and made my way toward the address Doc Croc had given me. The air was thick and humid, and the streets were quieter than usual—a few stray cars, the flickering of neon signs, and the occasional sound of distant laughter drifting in from some late-night bar.

I was right—his manor was out near the glades, and it gave me the creeps. It was what they call… what was it? Oh, yeah—Southern Gothic. The kind of place that looks like it had a story to tell, and not the kind with a happy ending.

The manor loomed at the end of a winding dirt road, partially hidden by dense oak trees draped with Spanish moss that hung like ghostly curtains in the moonlight. The building itself was an old plantation house, or at least it had been once. Now it looked like it had seen better days—much better days.

A single light flickered near the front door—a rusty old lantern that looked like it had been there since the Civil War. It cast long, jittery shadows across the porch, making the place seem alive, as if it was breathing in the damp night air.

I could almost imagine a faded grandeur to the place, like it had once been a jewel of the South, but now it was just a forgotten relic, a haunted house for the deranged dreams of a madman. It was the kind of place where secrets whispered through the walls and where shadows seemed just a little too solid. A chill ran down my spine.

As I made my way up the driveway, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. The manor seemed to loom larger with every step, the shadows deepening, the wind whispering through the trees like a warning. I gripped the briefcase a little tighter, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

The front door was a heavy, old thing made of dark wood, with a brass knocker shaped like a serpent. I lifted it and knocked three times, the sound echoing through the still night air. For a moment, nothing happened, and I wondered if I should just turn around and leave. But before I could decide, the door creaked open slowly, revealing a sliver of dim light inside.

A figure stood in the doorway—a tall, gaunt man with hollow cheeks, wearing heavy sunglasses… at night. What did he think he was, Lurch's cool cousin? He was dressed in a tattered suit that looked like it had been dug up from a grave. His eyes were hidden behind the shades, but I could feel the cold stare behind them, his expression completely unreadable.

He didn’t say a word, just nodded for me to follow him, his movements stiff and deliberate, like he’d been assembled from spare parts and never quite put together right. He led me through the dimly lit halls of the manor, his footsteps echoing against the cracked tiles, until we reached a study.

There, in an armchair so oversized it made him look like a child playing king, was Doctor Croc himself. He was fiddling with something in his hands—a magnifying glass, maybe?—and didn’t seem to notice us right away. The room was filled with the musty smell of old books and dust, and I spared a quick glance around. The walls were covered with mounted trophies of nearly every critter that had ever crawled, swam, or slithered through the Florida swamps. Gators with their jaws open, stuffed birds of prey, even a snake or two coiled in what I guessed was supposed to be a menacing pose.

“Fan of hunting, Doc?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He looked up, startled, then smiled in that twitchy way of his. “Ah, hello, Mister Valentine. And no, no, that was my father. He was an avid… naturalist. He taught me to love amphibians and reptiles. They are magnificent creatures, you know… complex, fascinating…” He started to trail off, his eyes glazing over like he was about to go on a long, boring rant about salamanders or something.

I sensed the incoming monologue and quickly cut him off. “Neat. So, I’ve got your case. Where’s the pay for me and my boys?”

Doc Croc blinked a few times, seeming to remember himself. “Oh, oh yes, the pay, of course. Let me see?”

I held up the case, making sure to keep it at just the right angle, the biohazard symbol catching the light. His beady eyes widened with delight as he stared at it like it was the Holy Grail of science.

“Careful, Mister Valentine!” he gasped, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and anxiety. “That compound could be catastrophic if it came into contact with your DNA!”

I gave him my most reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Doc. We were real careful. Not so much as a scratch on this baby.”

He nodded, satisfied for now, and shuffled over to a desk with an ancient-looking computer on it. The monitor flickered as he booted it up, a series of green numbers scrolling across the screen like something out of a 1980s hacker movie. He was buying it, hook, line, and sinker. I could practically hear my bank account singing with the sweet, sweet tune of five paychecks for five guys who didn’t exist. I could taste the drinks and feel the Havana sun already!

“Just a moment, Mister Valentine,” he muttered, clicking away on the keyboard with rapid-fire precision. “I’ll have your funds transferred immediately… Just a few security measures first… Can’t be too careful these days.”

“Of course, Doc,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Take all the time you need.”

He kept muttering under his breath, something about encryption keys and digital vaults, but I was only half-listening. All I needed was that little confirmation beep on my phone, and I was out of here faster than a gator in a duck pond. I watched his face, waiting for the moment when he’d turn to tell me the transfer was done.

Suddenly, he stopped typing and turned, a strange smile spreading across his lips. “Ah, there we go! Just a few more seconds, and… done!”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, my heart pounding. There it was—the notification I’d been waiting for. The funds were in. I’d done it. I’d actually done it.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Doc,” I said, trying not to sound too eager as I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Doc Croc was still grinning, looking almost… too pleased. “Indeed, Mister Valentine, indeed! I do hope you’ve enjoyed our little arrangement. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Glad to hear it,” I replied, taking a step back. “But I’d best be going. You know, places to be, money to spend…”

He chuckled softly, a sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Yes, yes, of course. But before you go, might I ask… how did you manage to bypass their secondary security protocols?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… just a bit of luck and some careful planning, Doc. My team’s got the best in the business.”

“Excellent!” Doc Croc beamed, rubbing his hands together like a kid about to unwrap a birthday present. “Now, Mister Valentine, seeing as you expressed interest in my work when we first met, I would like to insist that you come to my lab to witness my experiment. Everything is prepared; all I needed was the compound!”

Crap on a cracker. My mind raced for an excuse, any excuse, to be anywhere but here when he opened that canister. “Uh, Doc, I’d love to, really, but I’ve got another job lined up, see, and my team, well… they’re expecting me. Can’t leave them hanging, you know?”

Doc Croc’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it widened. “No, no, Mister Valentine, when I said I insist, I meant it.”

I felt a prickle of sweat on the back of my neck as I tried to back away, but then his butler, the one in the shades, put a heavy hand on my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin from the sheer weight of it. That’s when I caught it—the eyes under those sunglasses weren’t human. They were lidless, yellow things with slitted pupils, like a snake’s. His hand wasn’t gloved either, like I’d thought at first. It was covered in rough, banded scales, and his fingers ended in thick, pointed claws.

Oh, this just kept getting better.

Doc Croc continued, his voice dripping with glee, “You see, Mister Valentine, you are clearly a specimen of rare talent and intellect. I cannot allow such a rare find to escape my grasp. You will make the perfect subject! Come, Lorenzo, let us take the newest member of our family to the laboratory!”

I tried to play it off, keeping my tone light. “Doc, I appreciate the offer, really, but I’m more of a spectator when it comes to science. And besides, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of volunteers for… whatever you’ve got cooking down there.”

Lorenzo’s grip tightened, and I could feel those claws just shy of digging into my skin. Doc Croc’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Oh, but you misunderstand, Mister Valentine. You are a necessary component to my research! Your unique qualities… they intrigue me. I simply must learn more.”

Panic flared in my chest, but I forced a smile. “You know, Doc, I’ve got this terrible allergy to labs. Something about the fluorescent lighting and the… you know, screaming.”

Doc Croc chuckled. “Nonsense, nonsense! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Mister Valentine. Few get to see such wonders! Lorenzo, do help our guest feel more… at home.”

I tried to jerk my shoulder free, but Lorenzo’s grip was like a vise. I swallowed hard, my mind racing for another angle. “Okay, okay, Doc, you’ve got me curious. But, uh, maybe I could just see it from a distance, you know? I’ve got this thing about tight spaces…”

Doc Croc’s smile twisted into something darker. “Oh, I assure you, Mister Valentine, you won’t be confined… for long.”

With that, Lorenzo began to push me toward a door at the back of the study. I glanced around, desperately searching for anything I could use to buy myself some time. “Hey, Doc!” I said quickly, stalling for every precious second. “How about a drink first? You know, celebrate a job well done? I mean, we’ve got time, right?”

Doc Croc hesitated, his face thoughtful for a moment. “A drink?” He seemed to consider it, and I hoped against hope he might actually be swayed. “Well, I suppose—”

But then his eyes flicked back to the briefcase in my hand, and his expression hardened. “No, no, there will be plenty of time for celebration… later. First, the experiment. Lorenzo, proceed!”

Lorenzo’s grip tightened even more, and I felt myself being dragged toward the door, my feet scraping against the floor. My pulse was racing, adrenaline flooding my veins. I had to think of something fast, or I’d be the next exhibit in Doc Croc’s creepy collection.

***

Lorenzo’s claws dug into my shoulders as he hauled me down a narrow, creaky staircase that seemed to go on forever. The dim light above faded the deeper we went, replaced by a cold, fluorescent glow that spilled out from under a heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairs.

The door opened with a loud hiss, revealing the heart of Doc Croc’s twisted lab. It was even worse than I’d imagined.

The room was filled with rows of metal tables, each one littered with surgical tools and bubbling glass beakers. Monitors blinked and beeped, displaying streams of data that made no sense to me. And then there were the specimens—dozens of them—floating in glass tanks filled with murky fluid. Some looked human, or at least they had been at some point. Others… not so much. It was like stepping into a nightmare.

“Welcome,” Doc Croc said grandly, “to my laboratory!”

Lorenzo pushed me toward the center of the room, where a large metal cylinder stood upright, its front panel wide open. Inside were thick leather straps and metal restraints—just waiting for me.

“Now, Mister Valentine,” Doc Croc said, practically giddy with excitement. “You will be the first to experience my latest breakthrough. Lorenzo, secure him!”

Lorenzo shoved me into the cylinder, strapping me down with ease. I struggled, but his inhuman strength was no match for me. The metal cuffs clicked into place around my wrists and ankles, leaving me completely immobilized.

Doc Croc began fiddling with the controls on a nearby console. “You will soon be a part of something extraordinary,” he muttered, his eyes wide with mad fervor. “A fusion of man and reptile, mind and nature! You, Mister Valentine, will become the pinnacle of evolution!”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. This was bad—really bad. I had to get out of here, and fast. But the more I struggled, the tighter the restraints became.

“Lorenzo,” Doc Croc said, his voice filled with anticipation, “prepare the mutagenic serum. The experiment is ready to begin!”

Lorenzo lumbered over to the case, pulling out the thermos filled with dish soap. He poured the contents into a large metal funnel attached to the machine. The green liquid disappeared into the device with a sickening gurgle.

Doc Croc’s fingers hovered over a series of switches and levers. “And now, Mister Valentine, the moment of truth!”

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled a lever, and the machine roared to life. A series of lights blinked on, illuminating the cylinder I was trapped in. I could feel the vibrations as the machine began to hum with energy. Tubes and wires rattled around me, and a strange, acrid gas began to fill the chamber.

I coughed, choking on the fumes as they clouded my vision. My skin prickled, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—Doc Croc had stumbled onto something real. But then… nothing happened.

The machine continued to whir and hum, but my body didn’t change. No scales, no fangs, no transformation into a cold-blooded nightmare. Just… nothing.

Doc Croc’s grin faltered. He flicked a few more switches, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the monitors. “What… what is this?” he muttered. “This isn’t right!”

Lorenzo stood still, looking confused as Doc Croc frantically checked the readings on the control panel. “This is impossible! The serum should have—”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound raspy through the gas. “Sorry, Doc,” I wheezed, “but it looks like your serum’s a dud.”

Doc Croc’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting into a mask of fury. “What did you do?” he hissed. “What’s in that canister?!”

I grinned, despite the situation. “Dish soap, Doc. Good old-fashioned dish soap.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Doc Croc let out a howl of rage, slamming his fists against the console. “You… tricked me!” he shouted, his face contorting with madness. “You miserable little conman!”

I tugged against the restraints, my mind racing. “Hey, Doc, you’ve got talent, no doubt about it. But next time, maybe don’t trust a guy who introduces himself as a ‘professional conman.’”

He looked like he was about to explode. “Lorenzo! Dispose of him! Now!”

Lorenzo moved toward me, his clawed hands outstretched, but I was already working the straps, loosening the leather just enough to slip one hand free. My fingers fumbled at the restraint on my other wrist, but Lorenzo was getting closer. His reptilian eyes gleamed with something almost like hunger.

“Wait, wait!” I shouted, stalling for time. “Don’t I get a last request?”

Doc Croc sneered. “No. You get nothing. Except what’s coming to you.”

“Come on, Doc,” I said, gritting my teeth as I managed to free my other hand. “I thought you were a fan of Shakespeare. Didn’t he say something about mercy?”

“He said, ‘If you wrong us, shall we not take revenge?’” Doc Croc spat. “And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Lorenzo’s claws were inches from my throat when I finally freed my ankles and kicked out with all my strength, knocking him off balance. I scrambled out of the cylinder, my heart pounding as I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a metal tray filled with scalpels—and flung it at Doc Croc’s face.

He ducked, but the distraction gave me enough time to bolt for the door.

I bolted through the door like a bat out of hell, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My mind was racing, but I knew I had one thing going for me—Doc Croc and Lorenzo weren’t exactly built for speed. I glanced back, catching a glimpse of Doc Croc furiously fumbling with the control panel, probably trying to lock the doors or trigger some trap. But his tech wasn’t fast enough to outpace a conman on the run.

The hallway stretched out in front of me, dimly lit and seemingly endless, but I sprinted with everything I had. My shoes skidded on the cold concrete as I rounded a corner, the sound of Lorenzo’s heavy footsteps pounding behind me. The beast was fast, but not fast enough. I had a few seconds' lead, and that was all I needed.

Ahead of me, I spotted a door with a flickering red exit sign above it—a lifeline in this nightmarish labyrinth. I reached for the handle, praying it wasn’t locked, and yanked it open. The door swung wide, and I burst through, finding myself in what looked like a large storage room. The smell of musty old boxes and rusted metal hit me like a wall, but I didn’t care—I just needed to find a way out. Fast.

I scanned the room. There were stacks of crates and shelves full of old equipment, but no windows, no obvious exit. My heart sank. Lorenzo’s footsteps were getting louder, closer. Any second now, he’d be barreling through that door like a freight train.

I frantically scanned the room again and spotted something—a metal air vent near the ceiling, just big enough for me to squeeze through if I could reach it. I didn’t have much time, so I grabbed a nearby metal chair, dragged it over, and climbed up. My fingers scrambled for the screws holding the vent cover in place. They were loose, thank God, and I managed to yank the cover free just as the door burst open behind me.

Lorenzo stormed into the room, his reptilian eyes glowing in the dim light. His massive frame filled the doorway, and for a moment, I thought I was done for. But I wasn’t about to give up that easy. I hoisted myself up into the vent, kicking the chair out of the way as Lorenzo lunged at me.

His claws scraped against the wall as I pulled myself deeper into the vent, my heart pounding in my chest. The metal creaked beneath me as I crawled through the narrow passage, the sound of Lorenzo’s growls echoing behind me. He was too big to follow me into the vent, but I knew he wouldn’t give up easily. Doc Croc would have him chasing me through the building until they found a way to corner me.

I crawled as fast as I could, my hands and knees aching from the cold metal. The vent twisted and turned, but I kept moving, searching for any sign of an exit. My breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat dripped down my face, mixing with the grime coating the walls of the vent.

Just when I thought my luck had run out, I saw it—faint light filtering through another vent cover up ahead. I crawled toward it, ignoring the pain in my arms and legs, and peered through the slats. It looked like some kind of alley outside the manor. I could hear the sounds of the swamp—the croaking of frogs, the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Freedom was just on the other side.

I shoved the vent cover with all my strength, and it popped loose, clattering to the ground outside. I wriggled through the opening, landing hard on the wet ground below. My knees buckled, and I stumbled, but I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t. I scrambled to my feet and ran, darting into the thick underbrush surrounding the manor.

The swamp swallowed me up, the sounds of the night masking my footsteps. I didn’t stop running until I couldn’t hear anything behind me but the croak of the frogs and the whisper of the wind. I doubled over, panting, my lungs burning and my legs shaking from the exertion. But I was alive. I had escaped. Barely.

***

Later that night, I found myself sitting on a bench at the edge of the Everglades, catching my breath and trying to shake off the lingering terror. I pulled out my phone, checking my bank balance. The transfer was still there—a cool half-million sitting pretty in my account. A grin spread across my face despite everything. I’d pulled it off. Sure, it had nearly cost me my skin—literally—but I’d conned the Doc, and I had the payday to show for it.

But I couldn’t help but think about what Doc Croc had said—about revenge, about his pound of flesh. I’d gotten away this time, but I knew I hadn’t seen the last of him or Lorenzo. Guys like that don’t let grudges go easily. They stew on them, simmering with fury until they find a way to strike back.

I leaned back on the bench, staring up at the stars. Maybe I’d take a long vacation. Havana, perhaps, just like I’d planned. Somewhere far away, somewhere Doc Croc and his twisted experiments couldn’t follow. At least, not for a while.

But for now, I was alive, I had cash in the bank, and I’d escaped the mad scientist’s clutches. Not a bad Friday night, all things considered.

The con was done, the game was over, but the shadows of the swamp felt a little too close for comfort. Somewhere, Doc Croc was probably already plotting his revenge, but that was a problem for another day.

For now, I had a drink to order and a getaway to plan.

The end… for now.