The Vermeer

And sexy as hell. I saw the hair on her shoulders that wasn't covered by her straw shadow shimmer bright deep red in the sunlight. It played well with the bikini, her nail polish and plastic sunglasses.

My shadow crossed her legs.

"Sam! Fancy seeing you here."

"Flo, you look so lovely," I took another deep breath, and knowing I was out of earshot range from the other patrons, I said, "it's Ben Infinetti actually, Flo."

"Shut up, whoever you are, and kiss me. My Casanova has finally come to rescue me." She giggled as she dropped her book, peeled off her sunglasses and stood up. There was some crumpled red fabric on the cushion under where she had sat.

I pulled her warm body into mine and kissed her passionately. She kissed back as her sunhat fell back off her head to the sand at our feet. It was so nice to feel her lithe little frame in my arms. I was suddenly profoundly filled with joy. I couldn't think of a happier time in my life than that moment with her in my arms, on that beach. Safe and secure, with a sex goddess in my arms. I felt lucky to be alive.

"We did it, Sam, we did it!" I held her in my arms, unwilling to let her go. Her arms were around my neck. Joy was percolating through my veins. I took a deep breath and then kissed her again.

I knew I had to balance a few things out though and make things right. I released her from my clasp and slid my hands down her arms to grab a hold of her hands.

Her big brown eyes sparkled with sunlight and joy. The two muscles under her bottom lip swelled with her proud smile as she looked up to me.

"It's Ben."

"Sorry," she said, "I can't believe everything that's happened, and this place. It's fantastic. It's like I'm living in a dream. A James Bond thriller." She was bouncing on her heels.

I just smiled taking in her loveliness and feeling a little guilty for my good fortune. Thank you God, and thank you Mallory.

We kissed again. I could feel a thin film of sweat on her body from her lying in the sun. It was sexy sweat. I wanted to lick it all off. We broke the kiss and held each other's hands and just stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"Flo, thank you so much for what you've done."

"No, Sam, sorry, Ben, thank you; look where I am! And you're here." She smiled sweetly. "Plus, I have a hundred thousand quid in the bank!"

I couldn't help but smile. I was still holding her hands and she was genuinely bouncing up and down. "Good! And you deserve every penny of it."

She gave me a good hug. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

We kissed, long and passionate. Our tongues twirled against each other. She was moaning through the kiss. I broke the kiss and stared into her brown eyes. She smiled sweetly, looking back into mine.

I knew I was going to fuck her again. Very shortly.

The waitress, dressed in a colourful flowery, tie-died, island-sari brought me my glass of beer with a napkin and gestured to me, asking where to put it.

"Just on the table there," I pointed to the closest table under the roof, "thanks and could you please bring another one of whatever she's drinking too?"

Smiling she nodded, "Certainly."

"Thanks."

"Come on sit down, Flo," I said motioning to the table in the shade with my beer resting on it. "Let's get you out of the sun for a few minutes."

"Okay," She picked up her sun hat, book and glasses, slipped her sandals on, picked up and shook out the red fabric and stepped over to the table, which turned out to be still partially exposed to the sun at lower leg and foot level. I carried her nearly empty drink.

As she was ready to sit down I picked up everything and moved it to a few tables further away, just a little farther from eavesdropping range and further into the shade. Flo wrapped the little red sun shawl around her shoulders and sat down next to me. We sat in brown whicker chairs facing the sea and Mount Nevis. The breeze off the water without the sun blazing was refreshingly cool. We had a conch shell in front of us.

"Sam, sorry, Ben Enfinaity did you say?" She said as she adjusted the seat a little.

"In-fin-etti." I corrected her as I took a big sip of beer from my glass. I was dying of thirst.

"Alright, Ben Infinetti, am I allowed to ask questions now?"

"Flo, I would say that you have proven your trustworthiness, so I would say, yes, fire away. I may not answer, but you can ask." I put my glass down.

"Whose place am I staying at, it's beautiful?"

"It's my parents'."

"Where are they?"

"Visiting family in Italy; they've got a tiny little place in Naples. They'll be back, oh I don't know, mid September?"

She giggled and took a final watery sip of her drink.

"Rum punch?"

"Mmmm... so good," she answered putting the glass down. In a low voice she said, "I saw the money pass into the account on the manager's desk and then disappear. I didn't know that was supposed to happen."

I answered back also in hushed tones, "It did, I know, I got it. How long did you have to wait?"

"In the manager's office?"

"Yeah."

"Ten or twelve minutes."

"Cool, I was really worried there, and I'm figuring, probably ten or twelve minutes after that I collected these from a little office in Toronto." I checked behind me before I reached into my inside jacket pocket and handed her the little paper packet. She opened it and looked inside. "Wow!" Her head spun from side to side to see if anyone was watching, whispering, "Is this five million's worth of diamonds?"

"Nope, about two point three."

"Wow, look at the size of these things; they're huge!" She glanced around to see if anyone was watching.

"What were you expecting to see, a suitcase full of cash, like in the movies?"

"I don't know. I never really thought about it."

"And they paid you the balance of your fee." I said rather than asked.

"Yes, I was able to confirm that with Barclay's before I tossed my cell phone into the bin along with phone #4. That was the new iPhone, Sam."

"Ben."

"Ben, sorry."

"Oh, here comes your drink. Just close that up."

Flo closed the packet up in her hand as the waitress approached.

"Thank you," I said to the waitress as she set the glass down on the table with another red umbrella spiked onto a piece of pineapple.

"Please enjoy," said the waitress with a smile.

We both thanked her and watched as she stepped away.

"Pick one," I said.

Her eyes widened as she looked back inside the packet. There were twenty stones left.

"Is there one that catches your eye? They're all more or less worth the same amount."

She spilled them into her hand. They sparked even in the shade. "What are they worth?" she asked.

Clearly she wasn't doing the math. "Just slightly over a hundred grand each, easily double that in retail pricing. US money."

She picked one out and dumped the rest back into the packet. "So this is a hundred thousand dollars?" she marveled as she carefully placed the packet next to the conch shell. She gazed at the gem.

"If you were to buy that from your jeweler, you would be paying probably a quarter million for that one stone alone, maybe a bit more, but convertible to cash, call it a hundred thousand, US. Maybe it's worth a hundred and five or a hundred and seven. Each one varies a little bit."

"Wow." Marvel turned to almost incredulity.

With her thumb and index finger she held the diamond over her left ring finger on her outstretched arm.

"Do you like that one? It's yours if you do. Or you can pick one later."

She slipped the stone back into the packet with the rest. "Later. I don't have a pocket. But thank you!" She handed me the packet.

"Okay, later. And you deserve it, Flo. You've got it coming to you. You did a great job."

I slipped the packet back into my inside jacket pocket and did up the button. We each sipped our drinks.

"Cut, clarity, colour what's the other 'C'? I can't remember; are there four C's or five when evaluating a diamond?" she asked.

"To the average consumer there are four, the last C is carat, the weight. For me, there are three additional C's when evaluating a diamond.

She looked at me funny.

"Cost, Crime and Cash value. But you can think of it as your share of the reward money, sorry... for information leading to the recovery."

"So you are a criminal?"

"Yes." I answered flatly. I didn't mention murderer, too.

"Sam..."

"Ben."

"Sorry," she paused, then asked, "can't I just call you Sam?"

"No, Flo. It's time for me to be honest, and I don't want to be scaring you anymore."

She stared at me for a moment, looked around to see if anyone was in earshot and then said, "Okay, I don't understand. The museum wires money and in minutes you have diamonds in your hand, and it can't be traced. How does that happen in this day and age?"

"Oh it can be traced, but no one is going to," I stated quietly.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"Flo. You saw the money pass through the Isle of Man account."

"Yes."

I lent my head towards her and lowered my voice, "It went to an unallocated account on the London Bullion Market held by a national bank of a certain, let's just say, non-democratic country. Unallocated gold bullion, that is gold bullion that isn't stored in a specific, coded pile, then was transferred within the bullion market to yet another overseas non-democratic account holder, who then transferred funds through their national bank to a prominent Antwerp diamond house, who then adjusted their account with one of their usual clients, the small, but friendly, diamond merchants in North America in whose office I sat. An unusual move, to be sure, and I was grateful for their help. They owed me one. Sometimes they need my help, too."

"But you said it can be traced."

"It can, but who's going to do it, and at what cost? Not just financial cost, but political, too. Plus, you have to understand, there are a number of subtle, behind the scenes accounting tricks that they employed, too. The bottom line, though, is the painting has been returned, everybody is happy. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum gladly paid five mil, plus your fee, for the Vermeer. To them it's paltry money. Overnight, their net worth just increased by, I don't know -- two or three hundred million."

Flo was laughing.

"You got away with it, Sam. Sorry Ben."

"We got away with it."

"Cheers," she held out her new drink with the little red umbrella.

"Here's to high crimes." I clicked her glass with my beer.

We each took a sip, giggling. "You know they'll be all over you when you get back?"

"Who will?"

"The press and Scotland Yard."

"But I have immunity."

"Yeah I know. But you delivered on the Vermeer. The museum will want the other twelve stolen items, too."

"Do you have them?"

"Nope."

"Can I ask how you got the Vermeer?"

"You can ask." I wasn't sure how much I should divulge to Flo.

"But you're not going to tell me?"

I thought for a moment. "Flo, I'll tell you, but not here at the restaurant."

"Okay."

We sipped our drinks. I could read the curiosity burning in her eyes. A Bananaquit flew right between us, startling both of us.

"Flo, grab your drink and your shawl, let's walk along the beach," I kicked off my black loafers, pulled off my socks, rolled up the cuffs of my pants and stood up.

"Okay," she stood up and put her sunglasses and hat on and slipped her sandals off, "but I'll leave my drink here with my book." She took a big swig of her rum punch.

"Will you be okay in the sun?"

She spread her sun shawl across her shoulders and adjusted her straw hat.

With my beer glass in one hand and her palm in the other, we stepped out from the covered restaurant patio and turned left along the water front. Immediately I wished I had sunglasses. There wasn't another soul in sight ahead along the entire curved beach. Palm trees and other lush vegetation grew to within twenty feet of the water's edge. The grayish white sand was smoothed out from the gentle wave action, providing us with a smooth cool natural walkway. The high water line was marked with an undulating line of loosened sea weeds, occasionally formed into small clumps. Every few steps a tiny crab would run for its life from our approaching threat. She smiled up at me. The two muscles under her bottom lip swelled in delight.

A frigate bird with his majestic white chest and trailing long V-tail feathers glided past us just off shore.

The smell of the sea made my head swell.

"Flo, the last time we had a stroll along the water's edge, you took a half-step into my world, I needed to trust you and you came through."

She had a curious look on her face.

"And now, Flo, we're taking another stroll along the water's edge, and I'm about to take you deeper into my world. Are you sure you want to go?"

"I'm sorry, Sam, Ben, sorry, you don't have to tell me anything."

After a few steps I said, "Flo, I don't mind telling you. I don't mind telling you anything. You have to understand, you literally had my life and my family's life in your hands. You came through. I trust you. Big time. With my life."

She seemed a little perplexed but said nothing.

"Flo, I'll tell you everything you want to know, but this you have to understand. If you say a word to anyone about me, or the diamonds, or the painting, or any of what has transpired, you are putting your life in danger. Please don't misunderstand, this is not a threat from me, and I sure as hell don't want to be scaring you again."

Suddenly she was almost ashen.

"Flo, when there is big money involved, other people including the authorities, act irrationally."

She didn't say a word. She just stared up at me flatly.

"Take our waitress for example. I've seen her before; she's nice and pleasant and does a great job. We just can't be dangling 2.3 mil worth of diamonds in her face. We don't know what she would or could do. Maybe there's a gun behind the bar, or maybe her husband and his pistol would come by for a visit in the middle of the night. She knows who I am. We just can't do shit like that."

"Of course, I know that."

"Of course you do. All I'm saying, Flo, is if you say anything, to anybody about any of it, you will be putting yourself in exactly the same situation as having that waitress come by with the diamonds spread out over the table for her to see. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay, not a word to anybody, including your friend Laura."

"Okay, hang on, Ben. Laura knows that I'm away on vacation. I haven't told her where, because I didn't know where I was going myself. She knows that I had a wild night in Bromley with a mysterious man named Sam, and I had to take a cab to her house late at night wearing new heels and carrying a plastic shopping bag full of sexy new tackle."

"Tackle?"

"The gear, the garter, the bra and stockings. The tackle."

I shook my head, "Okay."

"I told her and everyone else that that I was going away on a secret holiday with you. With my new beau, Sam."

"That's fine."

"She said she was going to visit her mother in Belgium either this weekend or next. Anyway, as you said, my face will be all over the papers having rescued the Vermeer."

"Correct."

"What exactly am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing. To anyone. That's my point."

"So why did you just tell me your real name?"

"Me? I'm innocent. Ben Infinetti hasn't been to London in years."

She was shocked.

"Flo, welcome to my world. I'm sorry you got dragged into it."

"I'm not," she jumped and twisted in front of me grabbing my shoulders with both hands. "All of this is brilliant!" Her smile was gorgeous. She managed to make me dribble a little beer onto the back of my hand.

I laughed. "Okay, I'm glad, delighted, that you got dragged into it, but there is a fictional aspect that must be maintained at all costs. Like a game face." I licked the back of my hand. "That is going to include whatever fiction you spin to Laura and the press when they come hounding for details. And they will. Think of it as having to withhold state secrets from the public."

"Jill will be asking, I'm sure, as soon as I get back."

"Of course."

We resumed walking.

"What do I say?"

"Whatever lie and deceit you're comfortable with, or, simply say nothing. Stonewall them. It's up to you."

She looked up at me with a little wonder in her eyes.

I stopped and swung Flo around. "Look, Flo. I don't have to tell you anything more if you're not going to be comfortable with it. I can leave right now and keep Brixton in charge of making sure that you're looked after for the next two or three weeks. Don't worry, you'll still get the stone I promised."

I could see in her eyes that she was a little shocked, "Or, we can stay here together and we can be lovers and go snorkeling 'n' stuff and have fun while we lay low."

She was shocked at what I had just said. She paused before speaking.

"Ben?"

"Yes."

"I want you to stay. I want to get to know you and I want to continue my adventure with you. Besides, I shaved my pussy bald in anticipation of seeing you again."

"Ahh ha ha! You're such a sweetheart." I pulled my shirt apart and lifted it up to show her my hairy chest, "Look!"

Five red fingernails dug right in, "Rahrrrrr."

I laughed pulling my shirt back. We both smiled at each other.

"Seriously, Flo, not a word."

She paused before she answered. "Not a word. And I'm glad that you know that you can trust me."

"Yes I can, Flo. I just want to make sure that you are aware of the gravity of the situation."

"I am. I'll keep my mouth shut, and I suppose, come up with suitable stories to cover. Or, as you said, stonewall them."

"Good. Thanks."

I sipped from my now somewhat depleted beer glass.

"So how did you get the Vermeer?"

We resumed walking and I had to ponder before answering.

"Let me put it this way. It was an IOU from a gentleman who landed up dead before he could pay off his debt."

"Oh oh..."

"He was stung by a bee."

"Dangerous world you live in, Ben."

"Killer bees." I said as I drained back the last of my beer glass.

"Tell me about yourself, Ben."

"I'm not American," I confessed.

"You're not?"

"Canadian."

"Oh."

The frigate bird came flying past again but this time going towards us and a little further off shore.

"Is someone still trying to decapitate you?"

"Nope. Problem solved. We kissed and made up. That's why there's only two point three left."

"Good, so we can really relax?"

"Absolutely."

"The law can't find us here?"

"Highly unlikely."

I tried to get a final drop out of my glass. We each took deep breaths as sighs of relief as I stuffed the empty glass in my jacket side pocket.

"Can't they trace me here? I used my passport."

"Sure they can, but it would be a pretty big job. You see, you're not registered at any of the hotels or guest houses. There's not even a taxi driver who can identify you."

She chuckled.

"Flo Ashworth's trail goes cold at Bradshaw Airport. You could have just as easily slipped onto a yacht ten minutes later. If they did find you what are they going to do? Conduct an interview for The Sun newspaper? I'm afraid that'll have to wait a couple of weeks. Plus," I added, "the Gardner will probably need a couple of weeks to get themselves organized before they announce the Vermeer's return to the world. It's got to be a major PR thing for them. They ain't gonna want some gaudy tabloid getting the scoop."

She was giggling.

"Did you really not trust me all along?" she asked.

"I wanted to, but something happened that freaked the hell out of me."

"What?" She seemed confused.

"Remember the phone that you pulled from my pocket at the Cutty Sark?"

"Of course."

"I called you, twice on successive days from a little parkette just outside Toronto on a separate pre-paid anonymous phone."