Pleasure Thieves

"Here's the mainland." He sketched in a waving line. "This is a drawbridge." He took another color and inserted a bar before the crook of the goose's neck. "With armed guard," he added. His eyes did not leave the board. Working with different colors, he was like a painter, absorbed and professional. "There's a short break-water here, and a lagoon with a sixty-foot pier." He gestured a pattern around the island, then sat back for second and observed the drawing. He looked at Phillip for the first time. "Minimum staff at any time is fourteen. Not possible to approach by boat without being observed."

Phillip had been sitting quietly. He smiled and said in his contained voice, "Perhaps a magic carpet?"

Harry gave him a sharp glance. "That's exactly it," he explained.

"They think they're safe. They've probably thought so for fifteen years.

There's never been an attempted strike on any of the islands there."

He walked to the sideboard. He looked down at the decanters and thought of mixing a drink. Then he walked back toward Phillip, saying, "But how the goose is waddling! It's lazy and secure, waddling with age and the weight of all that golden ice." He sat down and looked directly at Phillip. "Do you know how much?"

Phillip got up nervously. At the sideboard, he reached for the gin and vermouth and opened the refrigerator for ice cubes. He appeared completely noncommittal.

Harry was looking at his drawing again. "The touch has to come in broad daylight. The freedom you need can only be that of a guest. You don't happen to be a distant relation or godfather to the Llewellyns?"

For the first time he smiled.

"Of course," said Phillip brushing aside the question, "Of course the guest, the uninvited guest, must carry a gun, right?"

"Right."

Phillip moved toward him with the martini. "You've given this job a lot of thought, haven't you?"

Harry stared back at him. "Too much." He held Phillip's eyes. "It's big. A really big touch."

"That's just it, Harry." His hand almost crushed the glass in his intensity. "For someone fresh out of Sing Sing, it's too big. It seems to me that you would want to cool it for a while. Why take any extra chances at this point?" He looked into his glass. "Don't get me wrong.

I appreciate the suggestion. I admire the plan, but the way I feel is that it just isn't the right time."

He felt he was talking to a frothing maniac, though Harry was sitting coolly, placidly. He wished, for an instant, that they were back in prison, that he could run his hands over Harry's body and feel the tense spots jump at his touch. "My moves…" he tried to get back to his incoherent refusal, "My moves don't require going in heavy. Never go in heavy. My plan, as always, is to keep out of the criminal category.

And we still make out." Phillip's voice, at the end, was imploring.

"I have a little job for us to pull this weekend. I'm catching the midnight flight to Boston. Most of the research is done." He was all business. "What little more there is, I'll take care of tomorrow. Wait here at the apartment for me. I'll telephone exactly one half hour before your flight is due."

Harry was silent, but nodded in accord. At least they'd be moving, that was something. Keep ready for the really big jobs.

"I'll wait for your call," he agreed. "I'll be right here like a good little boy."

They were silent together for a moment. Phillip knew how separate their thoughts were. The door buzzed. He checked his watch and said,

"That must be Carol." They waited as the maid let her in.

"What do you think of Carol?" asked Phillip.

"Think!" Harry seemed amused at the question.

"Yes." Phillip sounded like an offended father. "Isn't she worth thinking about?"

"I never think of women," Harry explained.

"A mistake Harry," Phillip interjected.

"When the time comes to think, it's over. They've had it. I like my women when my mind is empty, vacant, and I don't like to have it filled with 'becauses' and 'ifs' and 'maybes' that women can hand you."

"My boy, it's like a job. When the time comes to think, it begins.

Never cut out just when it starts to get interesting."

"When what gets interesting?" They both looked up at the female voice. Carol was standing at the doorway in a gold leopard coat, collared by her golden hair. Her face was fresh, her mouth covered with a deep cherry lipstick. "What gets interesting?"

"You, my darling," Phillip intoned. "We were just talking about you."

"I had the idea," Carol nuzzled against Phillip, "that Harry never spoke about women."

"I do," Harry explained. "Whenever I'm asked a direct question."

It took a while for Carol to understand. She looked accusingly at Phillip. "What do you mean direct question? Were you two gallant men masturbating with my name?"

"Carol!" there was note of admonition in Phillip's voice. "Really, my dear, we don't all know each other that well yet."

Harry reached for his coat; he was hatless, as always. "I think I'd better go." He turned to Phillip. "If not, I'll start thinking. Can't tell what could happen then, Phillip."