Pleasure Thieves

Phillip strolled toward Central Park West. Breathing deeply and vigorously, he passed the children's carousel, teeming with tots, some attended by their nurses, others with their mothers taking an hour off before cooking dinner, still others with an older brother or sister to protect them from kidnappers.

"Shabbiness," Phillip thought, "the one thing to be avoided."

Apparently everyone else felt the same way these days. No more being content with modest living. But what was everyone doing with his money?

At least Phillip knew what to do with his money. He had taste and a genuine feeling for art, something few people, wealthy or not, had any more. Yes, he was a superior person, he thought, not snobbishly but factually. It was time to sit back and enjoy his good taste. He wasn't a glutton; he knew when to stop and not begin again. Control, that's what it was. Control was the key to his success.

He threw his shoulders back a bit further, inhaled deeply and came out on the other side of the park. Tonight would be a good time for a sort of celebration, he thought. I'll prepare a perfect dish of squab, sweet crisp, brown little squab, buttered and basted with sherry, exactly the way I like it. Haven't eaten that in a while, seasoned as only I know how … wild rice and nicely chilled Chablis. Then I'll break the news.

Phillip walked quickly into a delicacy food shop.

He arrived at the apartment, trailed by a delivery boy carrying a large brimming cardboard carton. He found Harry standing in the foyer, staring into space, smoking in his usual unconscious manner. Harry looked up surprised. "What's all this?"

Phillip beckoned him into the kitchen. "I want to fix a specialty of mine this evening. Every once in a while when I'm especially relaxed, I like to be a chef, and I must say I do it very well."

Harry raised his eyebrows in affirmation. He looked well today, almost back to normal. He had been forced to rest since the Boston job.

He had overexerted himself. Phillip knew this and was pleased tonight to see the change. Harry looked as handsome as ever in his tight fitting khakis and black cashmere sweater. Phillip tipped the boy, put some of the groceries away, and followed Harry into the living room. "Did you see the papers?"

Harry was busy mixing a drink. "Yeah, Carol brought them over this afternoon."

"Carol was here this afternoon?" Phillip questioned casually. Harry smiled and said flippantly, "We had a little game of chess. She says you taught her everything she knows."

"I have taught her a few things." Phillip made his words oddly precise.

"You're quite a teacher."

Phillip smiled ruefully, "That was the plan, wasn't it?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly.

But Phillip continued, "As far as we're concerned, it doesn't seem to be working out that way, does it?"

Harry looked at Phillip over the top of his glass. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

"Did you ever really listen, Harry?"

Harry, taken aback at the serious note in Phillip's voice, laughed.

"Still think I'm too ambitious?"

"Ambitious." Phillip repeated the word cynically. He studied Harry for a moment, as though he were looking at a stranger. "Let me put it this way, Harry. There are those who are not so ambitious and live very satisfactory lives."

Harry crossed the room and sat down on one of the Empire divans.

Aware of Phillip's seriousness, this time he spoke pensively. "People write books, Phillip, and people read them. Those books are usually about guys like me. I don't say this with conceit. Action belongs to me the way big tits belong to some women. The way I see it, the world is a million and one things to get hooked on. I have to do what I have to do. As you would put it, Phillip, it's a matter of taste."

Phillip listened attentively while he mixed a bourbon and water.

"The difference between you and me, Mr. Johns, is that you're a white-collar man, and I like to work." Harry said this less intensely, trying to keep the conversation from becoming too personal, too revealing.

"So, what does it all mean?" Phillip asked gently.

"It means that we've warmed up, we've had our breather, and now it's time to make something really big."

Phillip waited a few moments and then asked matter-of-factly, "How do you know the Llewellyns are down there now?"

Harry flicked his cigarette impatiently, slightly disturbed that Phillip was being so cool and complacent.

"It's that time of the year," he replied. "They're due there soon."

Phillip looked sternly at Harry and said, "You know you'd have to go in heavy, there isn't any other way."

"So what?" He stood up abruptly, poured himself another drink, and paced around the room several times before saying anything more.

Finally, in a softer and more convincing voice, he said plaintively,

"Listen, we probably won't have to use a gun. I've thought it all out.

Don't you understand? I know exactly how it will come off. Clean and fast. If we…"