Pleasure Thieves

He pulled frantically at the top rack. That had to be the place. The walls were flat and expressionless. They told him nothing. He fingered the tiles. That had to be the safe, and there had to be a lock release. None of the tiles moved against the pressure of his fingers.

His hand moved up into the recessed niche over the leveled squares of mirror that lined it.

Suddenly, miraculously, one tilted inward and the rack pulled out from the wall. Against a blue-black velvet lining rested the fabulous Llewellyn collection.

***

Carol said, "Phillip, fuck me, get into me. I feel empty. I'm scared.

Fuck me, fuck me."

Phillip paused for a second, stared at her cunt and then thrust his brand new shiny erection into the center of her terror.

***

Harry froze for a second, reverently staring at the sparkling display.

He reached in for them, eagerly and big-eyed, like a child in a penny-candy shop. He gathered up handfuls of the precious gems, stuffing them into an inner pocket of his jacket. He had them. The drawer was emptied in a few seconds. He adjusted the weight inside his coat and smoothed it flat.

Then he stared a long time into the mirror, a long, dangerous time.

He turned on one of the taps and wiped his face. He was exhausted. It was almost too much to for him to think of moving quickly to the boat.

The diamonds were heavy – heavy and comforting on his chest. He closed the bathroom door behind him and swiftly retraced his steps to the terrace.

Mrs. Llewellyn smiled curiously at him as he crossed the garden to the dock. Surely she had seen the exquisite man before? How nice that she'd invited him to her party. She moved to greet him, but Harry was already at the harbor.

It all began to break down, with his heart pressing against the diamonds, when he saw the cabin blocking the exit of his boat. Mrs.

Llewellyn was still looking after him. He stared hopelessly from the boats to the parked cars, from the harbor to the cars. He glanced back at Mrs. Llewellyn, feeling the diamonds like a dying child on his breast.

He peeled off his gloves, and in a few swift movements was over the terrace railing. He dropped to the ground below, landing quickly on his feet. He crouched there, half unconscious with his hysterical pulse.

The attendant, with a large muscled Doberman on a leash, rounded the corner. The dog was on him in a flash, making deep guttural sounds – much like those Mrs. Llewellyn would make when she found the bathroom cleaned out. Harry stared rigidly and wildly at the attendant.

"What are you doing here? What's wrong?" the attendant demanded.

Harry pointed desperately in the direction of the harbor and yelled,

"Get that dog out of here! Get him off me! I've lost my poodle," he shouted, his words surreal but effective for the confused attendant.

The guard tugged the dog away in the direction of the harbor and turned to question Harry. In that instant, Harry ran toward the cars parked in the area below. He passed a Lincoln Capri, hesitated and then climbed into the white Jaguar convertible sitting next to it. He roared the motor and took off.

The car shot down the palm-lined road. He handled it deftly.

Another curve and he came into view of the bridge.

It should have been perfect. What happened? What happened? It should have been perfect.

The car moved onto the straightway. A guard ran from the tollhouse near the bridge onto the roadside, waving frantically for Harry to stop.

His eyes followed the direction of the guard's gesture and he saw the large yacht approaching the draw-bridge. He looked steadily at the bridge span, as it almost imperceptibly started to rise. The bridge split in two and separated like a fantastic exotic flower. The two parts, like waving dancer's arms, split above the white boat.

It should have been perfect. He floored the throttle and the car shot ahead toward the bridge with a roar. The guard spun around and looked on stupefied as the Jag plummeted to the rising bridge.

Carol screamed, "I'm coming, Phillip, I'm coming. Let me come."

"Not yet," he said, "Not yet."

The speedometer touched 90 and then 105, dead ahead on the level straightway. He was up to 120 when he hit the tilted span.

The people on the yacht below heard the roar of the car. They looked up to see the white Jaguar sail gracefully off the raised bridge in a wide-climbing arc. It plunged like a shell into the sea.

"I must Phillip," she screamed. "Let me," and she moaned and ground out the orgasm. "Phillip, Phillip." Clinging to him, she screamed sharply, "Harry," and she fell, cunt throbbing, back on the pillows.

A geyser rose where the car hit the water and settled in a jewel-like spray. The white car sank like an elaborate coffin through the clear blue water. Harry's pockets emptied in the quiet descent. The diamonds floated coquettishly about him, covering the head and throat of his jammed body. A thin ribbon of blood snaked out from the corner of Harry's mouth and diffused in a small watery cloud. Above him, the surface returned to its glass-like calm.