Pleasure Thieves

"Harry, Harry, don't you understand yet that there is an upper limit for thieves. Goose Island is way out. People can wear one or two hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds, but when it touches the half-million mark … then it's a collection. Collections are mighty hard to crack!" His voice went from extreme sobriety to near rage. Phillip was consistent, the same in business as in pleasure. He started with a doll's smile and wound up with the grip of an elephant.

Phillip went on persuasively, "If I have a pistol, legally registered, to protect my modest property, think what must be legally registered under Llewellyn's name, to be used in an emergency as they see fit.

Rather a heavy thought, wouldn't you say? It's ridiculous to consider it.

And unnecessary."

Carol walked into the room while Phillip was talking. Harry noticed she had changed for the afternoon. She was wearing a pale pink silk dress, shirtwaist in style. The silk clung to her body and fell softly against the inside of her thighs, up high around her pussy.

Harry unconsciously made a gesture of running his hand for a second over his penis. Phillip observed this gesture. Both nodded to her simultaneously and continued talking.

"All that money you've made should have taken away some of that dangerous ambition of yours."

"You've missed the point, Phillip."

"My God, Harry, you've got to know when to stop and learn to cool it!"

"Okay, now you want to sit around and look at your paintings, is that it? I can't make it. I can't live that way."

"Look, I have an idea," Phillip said reflectively, "something that may amuse even you. There's no research necessary on this one. But first, you, Carol and I will eat those squabs as … a sort of hors-d'oeuvre. Is that all right with both of you? I'm not being mysterious, mind you. I always believe that things should be done in the best way possible."

Carol, who had mixed herself a drink and was sitting quietly observing, spoke for the first time. She was not sure of what had ensued, but she knew that things had changed, shifted and would alter even more drastically in the future. She was prepared inwardly for the consequences, for the first time in her life. But like Phillip, she wanted all situations to have some form. Sloppiness destroyed whatever was good to be taken from anything, and for this reason, her approach to life was always with reserve – that is, when conversations were involved.

"First I am most impressed with the fact that you are going to cook us one of your rare specialties. You're really feeling good these days, aren't you Phillip?" She walked across the room and leaned against him, smiling up at his face. Harry was slumped in one of the divans, deep in thought, ignoring both of them. A fire engine careened by, screaming into the night. After the noise came an unreal silence, which awakened Harry. He looked at Phillip and Carol who were immersed in caresses. Not sexy, not just yet, but affectionate. "Well, you both finally relaxed in front of me." Harry walked over to them.

"Come here, Harry darling," Carol said. "I don't want to see you so distant."

Phillip put his other arm around Harry. "Harry, brood no more." His manner of speech imitated the way certain petty hoods spoke. "Like I was saying, I got everything all fixed; you won't be bored, just trust Daddy."

Harry gave him a half smile, then devilishly grabbed his ass. "All right, this time the show is yours. I promise I'll merely follow my part."

Carol smiled charmingly at the two of them. "I suppose it's time for the chef to prepare dinner now," she hinted to Phillip.

Phillip's eyes were fixed on the silky pink folds of her dress around her belly. His voice replied sardonically, "Yes, my dear, it's dinner time indeed." He kicked aside the Persian throw rug they were standing on, revealing the smoothly varnished, blonde parquet floor.

This gesture was like a bell going off in an army barracks, and the sergeant began to give orders. "Take off your silky skin, Carol, my sweet. I want to feel the silk of your flesh, as an aperitif. You," he commanded Harry, "take your fucking finger out of my asshole – only for a moment mind you, and turn off the chandeliers while I light this delightful candelabra for atmosphere. Get to, both of you. Old Phillip gets impatient. Oh yes, Carol, lie down on the floor after you've finished disrobing."

Harry and Carol followed the orders like puppets. Phillip lighted the elaborate candelabra. His face made diabolic from the candlelight, he was now more of a ballet maestro than an army sergeant. His power continued. "Harry, don't stay too long on that side of the room. Come back next to me." Harry walked back to where Phillip was standing in the evil candlelight.