by D.B. Anderson
Copyright
© 2006 D.B. Anderson All rights reserved
Following
is a tête-à-têtes between two friendly enemies: 60-year-old Flurrie Peoples, Art
Broker (in questionable ownership art), and 65-year-old Bruno Clew, Private
Detective (to people of wealth, many with questionable pasts), over brandy and
semi sweet chocolate chunks in Bruno’s office of his Society Detective Agency:
“Yes, Bruno, I have heard the fantastic
tales of the mysterious crackswoman rumored to be in our midst,” Flurrie
responded with a smirk.
“What is your opinion of the tales?” Bruno
continued his questioning, drawing another chunk of his precious semi sweet
chocolate from the white paper sack on his desktop and then gently enfolding
the enticing morsel into his pleading oral cavity. “Do you think it mere rumor, a fanciful tale,
or does she indeed exist?”
Flurrie drew a sip of brandy from his
snifter then playfully smirked.
“Actually, I am her uncle.”
Bruno laughed aloud. “Of course you are.”
“Would you like the long or short version
of my confessional?”
“I don’t believe anything you are saying,
but I’m in the mood for a long tale,” Bruno responded, placing his hands behind
his head and reclining back in his wooden office chair. “I don’t feel like working today. Do relate your work of fiction.”
“First you must swear to hold my tale in
complete privacy.”
Bruno raised his right hand in pure
delight. “I do so swear.”
“Her father is a very prominent
“You engaged in common
safecracking!” Bruno exclaimed. “You
were a common thief in your youth?”
Flurrie immediately became
huffy, finding Bruno’s statement in the worst possible taste, and quite frankly
he felt deeply wounded. “Sir, there was
nothing common regarding our safecracking technique!”
Bruno raised his hands in
alarm. “No insult intended.” He then allowed Flurrie to have a piece of
his treasured semi sweet chunk chocolate.
“Please do continue.”
“In 1875 we finally quit our
lucrative business venture. We were
crime weary and becoming fidgety after several years of heisting wall safes in
private residences across the nation’s mid-section, and quite frankly we feared
we had better quit before the long arm of the law finally embraced us. My partner married a wealthy elderly dowager
in Chicago.”
“Do I know your partner?” Bruno
asked.
“I’m certain you do,” Flurrie
continued. “He is very prominent in
Chicago society, however, I will not reveal his identity.” Flurrie snickered in delight at Bruno’s
frustration. “At that same time, I being
an artist of some note among the rich and famous in Midwestern America through
painting their portraits and portraits of their pets, finally felt the need to
quit Chicago and move to Paris, France to study Impressionistic art with the
immerging masters of the genre. It was
the worst decision of my life, for although I was somewhat gifted with the
brush and palette, I could only find instruction with one French
Impressionistic artist of local reputation, whom, I later reasoned, took me
under his wing to help pay his rent, place food on the table, and back his
career with cold hard American cash.
Within five years I returned to Chicago, near insolvent, and reluctantly
contacted my previous business partner and dear friend to renew our friendship. I was taken aback when I found him living in
a flat rather than a mansion, albeit the flat was on fashionable Lake Cliff
Drive with a fantastic view of Lake Michigan.
We greeted each other with profound joy, hugging and hitting each other,
and then I was shocked to notice he was limping somewhat on his left leg. He comically stated he was shot while on a
’hunting expedition’ which in his case could mean just about anything. Other than that, he appeared as dashing and suave
as ever, and I was overjoyed to find him state, with his usual somewhat sardonic
form of jocularity, that my appearance hadn’t change one iota; I was the very
apparition of the skinny, be-speckled bookkeeper and country bumpkin from
Ontario, Canada, as indeed was my persona whence first we met in 1864 in
Milwaukee, Wisconsin and formed our original partnership. His somewhat cheeky description of my
appearance at this time and point actually enlivened me, for personally I felt
emotionally and physically drained. We cajoled well into the early morning
hours, and when I awoke sometime later I felt someone shaking me. I popped my eyelids up, and then blinked my
eyes in astonishment as I gazed into the gorgeous face of a black-haired,
blue-eyed, young lady.
“Uncle Flurrie, it is nine
a.m. Father said I should wake you about
this time. He left early for a breakfast
appointment at the North Shore Executive Service Club. I am Primrose.”
I sat upwards on the couch,
which had been my impromptu bed for the night.
“Uncle Flurrie...” I mumbled. “I
am your Uncle Flurrie?” I then hazily questioned as I rubbed my eyes and again
gazed into the bright beautiful young face of the vision in front of me.
She chuckled. “I am also the daughter of Maggie Smallbear
of Minneapolis.”
I attempted to clear my
brain, which was still polluted with the night’s welcome back party. “Yes, I remember Maggie Smallbear. She is the proprietor of a bookstore in
Minneapolis.”
“She was also a
crackswoman. She became ill with typhoid
fever and sent me here to live with my...father.”
“Yes, I can see the
resemblance in your facial features.” I
then arose, attempting to straighten my clothes and hair a bit. “Please excuse my appearance.”
Primrose chuckled. “Mother told me about you. She said you are adorable.”
I nervously glanced
around. “Is you mother here?”
Primrose lowered her
head. “She eventually passed away from
the fever.”
“I am so sorry to receive
such news.”
“I live here now with father
in this flat.”
I shook my head, attempting
to clear the cobwebs. “Your father had
just married an elderly heiress when I left for Paris some five years ago.”
Primrose sat on a stuffed
chair by the window with Lake Michigan glistening in the background. “Mrs. Grossheimer...I mean his ex wife, was
thirty years older than he, and soon divorced him with an excellent
settlement. She divorced him on grounds
that he was boring.”
I burst into laughter. “I would have liked to seen his expression
when he received that bit of news.” I
glanced around the finely appointed flat with old English landscape oil
paintings adorning the walls, and several Etruscan and other ancient vases and
sculptures on table and desk tops. “How
is the old boy actually doing? Are
things well?”
Primrose averted her eyes
from me. “He is forever at some party or
social soiree.” She then lowered her
head. “Did Father tell you of the
proposed business venture?”
“Proposed business
venture? I don’t understand... Maybe somewhere in all of the whisky last
night...”
“No matter. He said I should ask you if you would care to
rejoin him in heisting safes. His leg
injury severely restricts his engaging in any serious climbing activities
regarding second story balconies and windows in his heists. He also fears his general slowness will get
him caught someday.”
I broke into a large smile,
and to be truthful breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’d be delighted to rejoin him!”
“I will also be joining
in...” Primrose said, with some uncertainty to her tone.
“You will also join us?” I
asked, not quite believing my ears.
“It will be a fifty-fifty
split; you will receive half of the profit from the sale of the stolen gems,
and I will split father’s half of the profit with him.” She paused, brimming with excitement. “Father related the adventures of you two
cracking safes when you were young men.
It sounds like you shared a grand time together.”
“Has you father given you any
training?”
She glanced away. “Uncle Flurrie,
I am an extremely gifted athlete. I
think it is the American Indian blood in me.
I am fast on my feet and very agile.
I am also not afraid of heights.
I could be in and out of a mansion in a few short minutes.” She glanced away. “Father said that if you agree to train me on
the nuances of the job, I may join in.”
She then hopefully stared into my eyes with such intensity that I almost
became hypnotized. “I am quite
bright. I am a very fast learner. I will do all of the climbing and acrobatic
maneuvers required.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I must admit I am not as fleet of foot as I
used to be. If your Father has given you
permission...”
Primrose reached over and
kissed me on the cheek. “We have a heist
lined up for this Friday night.”
I broke into laughter. “This Friday already?” I then paused, glancing teasingly into
Primrose’s worried eyes. “Would your
father have taken you on this heist if I had not agreed to rejoin him?”
Primrose lowered her
head. “He emphasized he had enough
trouble watching what he was doing during a heist, with his lame leg slowing
him down, and if he then would have to keep an eye on me to make sure I was all
right, well, I suppose, it would have been just too tiresome for him, and, I
suppose, perhaps, dangerous.”
“Then you realize there is
also danger to this profession? If
caught we could go to prison for many years, or perhaps be shot as
intruders.”
“I am looking forward to the
rewards.”
“In the past we robbed only
from the very wealthy who were inordinately cruel to their workers; working
children for ten hour shifts, placing workers in extremely dangerous work areas
where they were almost guaranteed to lose life or limb.”
Primrose nodded her head
affirmatively, “Yes, he only robs the most despicable of the lot.”
I rubbed my chin in
contemplation. “I’m pleased that goal
hasn’t changed.”
“Nor will it change,”
Primrose assured me.
“Did he also mention that I
am an artist? I have just returned from
Paris.”
“Yes, father said you are an
excellent artist and had several gallery showings as you two moved from town to
town in the old days. Why don’t you set
up a studio here in Chicago? I am sure
you would do quite well with the abundance of millionaires about.”
I once again ran my right
hand across my chin, but this time in deep self-consultation. “Quite frankly I am down to a few hundred
dollars.”
Primrose moved to a desk
located across from the fireplace, opened its center drawer, and removed a
bundle of cash, handing it to me.
“Father said I should give you these five thousand dollars.” She then reached up and kissed me on the
cheek. “Welcome home, Uncle
Flurrie. Father requested that you might
stop by this evening and we will have dinner and discuss our business venture
in detail.”
“Splendid,” I agreed, somewhat sheepishly
pocketing the bundle of cash Primrose had given me. “I must off now. Find myself suitable quarters, and so
forth. Ta, ta.”
“Until this evening, Uncle
Flurrie,” Primrose responded, again kissing me on the cheek. “I must admit I am brimming with the
anticipation of the excitement of our first heist.”
One would think I would have
had doubts about allowing a woman to participate in what is obviously a man’s
profession, but at this point in the game of life I desperately needed easy
cash so I might continue my artistic endeavors, and safecracking was ideally
suited for me...time wise. “After all,
how horrible can she be at the trade?” I wondered. I then chuckled, “It may even be
amusing. And if her father is in
agreement to it all... Where’s the harm?”
Within the next few hours I
found a furnished attic loft in a middle class residential section along
Chicago’s lakefront. I transferred my
luggage from the Cumberland Hotel, had a solid and delicious meal at an Italian
restaurant just a block from my new quarters, and I then settled into a
relaxing hot bath, thanking the fates for providing me with a friend like my
old business partner to return to. I
actually did idolize him, although I tried not to show the fact. He was simply one of those people that are
born with total confidence, and on top of that he is handsome, very
intelligent, has a keen business sense, swooned over by most ladies, and
scorned by lesser men.
In our partnership meeting
that night I agreed to train Primrose in the fineries of the safecracking
trade. Her father was pleased, actually
I believe greatly relieved, that Primrose would be accompanied by me, a trusted
friend and experienced cracksman. He
also opted, for the time being at least, to semi-retire from the cracksman
trade because of his lame leg, but took solace in continuing to plan the
heists.
The strict rules of our heist
outings were agreed upon as such: her father’s private carriage driver, a
retired bare-knuckle boxer John ‘Iron Fist’ Marcelli, would transport Primrose
and me to and from the jobs. Lithe
Primrose would exclusively do any climbing and second story work on the
exterior of the mansions. We would each
carry a set of wall safe skeleton keys.
Her father would set up the heists through his contacts with his wealthy
friends by mapping the interiors of their mansions, pinpointing the proposed
wall safe’s position, and determine which mansions were hopefully worth the
rob. I reminded her father that I too
used to set up heists by painting portraits of the local elite, and while so
doing also drew room layouts of their mansions, and would again do so after I
set up my first gallery showing and became chummy with Chicago’s High Society
notables. He agreed to also help promote
my artistic career among his socially prominent contacts. He then excused himself for a pressing
appointment. I also decided to depart
and mentally prepare myself for the undertaking. I have to admit it was a bit unnerving for my
aged psyche.
When the fateful night
finally arrived for Primrose’s
first heist experience, the Heimmer mansion was chosen. I meticulously donned myself in a newly purchased
night-on-the-town outfit; a tuxedo, an elegantly tailored fly front overcoat, a
shimmering top hat, white scarf, white gloves, and black soft leather ankle
boots, for after all this was my inaugural heist with my ‘niece’ Primrose, plus
it was my first heist in five years.
Although I admittedly was somewhat apprehensive, I did feel comfort
dressed in the togs of a gentleman cracksman.
Primrose had prettied herself in a black flowing gown, a formfitting
black brocade overcoat embroidered down the front with black bead inlays, a
black short cape over her slender shoulders, and she wore an elegant black
flowered hat tipped to the right side of her head.
As I sat next to her in her
father’s private carriage I commented on how lovely she appeared, but also
stated with genuine concern, “You are going to catch a head cold dressed like
that. It is quite chilly in Chicago at
this time of the year. You should at least have a scarf wrapped over your hat,
covering your ears, and tied under your chin.”
Primrose chuckled, “Yes,
Uncle Flurrie, but I am comfy for I am also wearing a skin tight black silk
body suit in case I have to strip out of my dress in a hurry and scurry up or
down a wall, or such.”
I gazed at her in
disbelief. “Humpff...” I grunted. “What next?”
Her father’s personal
carriage driver smiled down at us from his driver’s seat. “Please notice that there are folded blankets
under the seat cushions on the opposite carriage seat if you wish to cover your
legs. It is a bit nippy tonight.”
As the carriage made its way
through the murky, cool midnight streets of Mid-September in Chicago I
reconnoitered the heist operandi with Primrose.
“Your dad’s drawing of the floor plan of the Heimmer mansion makes it
pretty much a cut and dried heist; we enter the outside French doors to the
library on the left side of the mansion just next to the porte-cochere. We then remove the painting of the twelfth
century castle on the Rhine River, open the now exposed wall safe with one of
our special master keys, take the diamond and sapphire necklace, and depart to
sell it to the ‘committee’ for twenty per cent of its estimated value – no
questions asked, and none received.”
“Mmm...” Primrose
purred. “One would think we could get
more for it somewhere else.”
“Where?” I asked with some
annoyance. “Place an advertisement in
the newspaper? Primrose, the ‘committee’
treated your dad and I with complete fairness when we were heisting safes along
the Mississippi River area in years past, and they conveniently had a contact
person in every large town we were in.
We, of course, were supposedly selling railroad stocks and bonds from
your father’s business. We supplied the
‘committee’ with many excellent gems and a few antique paintings, and they in
turn supplied us with almost immediate cash.”
“So be it,” Primrose agreed,
but with an almost indistinguishable tinge of hesitation.
The carriage driver parked the carriage
under two elm trees just to the left of the Heimmer mansion. Primrose and I walked brazenly up the
semi-circular front driveway of the mansion, in plain sight where any prying
eyes from neighboring properties would merely view a very well dressed couple
simply about to pay a visit to the Heimmer household, albeit the hour was
late. We then moved through the
porte-cochere and directly to a set of French doors. I removed a folded stiletto knife blade from
my overcoat side pocket, unfolded the very thin blade, and slid it between the
slight separation openings of the two French doors. I forced the blade upwards, jostling it a
bit, and was then able to swing up the door latch inside the door with relative
ease. We entered the near dark library
room, lit only by a dying fire in the medium size fireplace. Primrose almost immediately tugged on my coat
sleeve and anxiously pointed to the painting of the Castle on the Rhine just
ahead of us, which her father denoted as covering the wall safe. I then tugged the sleeve of Primrose’s coat
and motioned for her to stand still. She
did so, staring at me in confusion.
“Listen,” I whispered.
She lifted her head in attention. “I do not hear anything,” she whispered
back.
“It is the sound of silence,”
I responded. “Always take time to listen
for it. It hopefully means no one in the
household is up and about.”
“But father said the Heimmers
would be at the Germanic Theater fund raising concert tonight.”
“There may be a servant
about, or perhaps the Heimmers changed their minds and decided not to attend
the fund raiser. People do change their
minds.”
“But the mansion appeared
totally dark from the outside.”
“Always take time to listen
for silence when you first enter.”
“I will remember,” Primrose
vowed.
We made our way to the oil
painting of the Castle on the Rhine. I
removed it from the wall and placed it on the floor just below the safe. I then noticed Primrose’s blue eyes were now
the size of two large tea saucers as she stared at the safe. She then dutifully removed her ring of
skeleton safe keys from her coat pocket, investigated the keyhole on the safe,
and then chose a key, and placed it into the keyhole. She then glanced at me almost frozen in
position. I nodded for her to
continue. She released a nervous grunt,
twisted the key, and a gentle “click” sounded.
She reached up and kissed me. I
gently pushed her aside, opening the safe door, reached into the black abyss
and removed a purple velvet covered gem box.
I slowly raised the lid of the box, and the diamond necklace greeted us
with its shimmering stones gathering the last rays of the dying fire in the
fireplace. I glanced at Primrose and she
appeared as if she were in complete ecstasy.
I removed the diamond necklace from the box and placed it in my side
coat pocket. I then closed the lid on
the velvet covered box, placed it back into the safe, relocked the safe with my
skeleton key, rehung the painting of the Castle on the Rhine, and I grabbed the
arm of Primrose who had become motionless and pulled her behind me to the
French doors and outside through the porte-cochere. We walked arm in arm down the semi-circular
driveway and then down the street to our carriage and driver waiting under the
elm trees.
During the carriage ride back
to her father’s flat, I noticed Primrose was very introspective. “How did you enjoy your first heist? I remember I was bubbling with dizzy
disbelief that I had done such a deed, of course with your father’s able
assistance.”
“I am confused. Is that all there is to it?”
I chuckled. “Most of the time it is like what we have
just experienced, and that is because it is very well planned out by your
father and myself, but there will be times when even the best made plans fall
apart.”
“And we will never know
when?” Primrose now excitedly responded.
“Correct,” I answered,
glancing into her eyes, which were now almost gyrating with excitement.
With my proceeds from the
heist I repaid her father the $5,000 advance he had so generously lent me to
help re-establish myself in Chicago after my return from Paris, France. I also now purchased The Artist’s Consignment
Gallery, which provided me with a second floor residential flat for living quarters. The gallery was situated on the lakefront not
far from mansion row, and primarily served the upscale artistic needs of the
city and environs advantaged. The
previous owner stated he was moving to New York City to open a gallery in
Manhattan.
Being extremely anxious to firmly plant roots
again, and needing the proceeds from yet another heist, I had a chat with her
father and he set up heist number two for my benefit, with the proviso I again
take Primrose as my apprentice. I, of
course, agreed. After all, what could go
wrong with Primrose at my side? She was
somewhat eager and awe stuck by it all, but she did extol the family trait for
adventure and outright daring.
We were to heist the Barton
McNamara mansion in the Northern Heights District of Chicago. The heist was set up for Thursday night at
eleven. Mr. McNamara was to be out of
town on business for one day, and he was a bachelor, so by all that is right
the mansion would be empty. He was known
to be a very shrewd and ruthless shoe manufacturer who was number one in his
trade and he worked his employee’s overly long shifts, including children, in
unsafe work conditions. He was the type
of cruel individual we especially picked out to heist as a form of retribution
for their cruelty.
After our interview with her
dad I invited Primrose to the Italian Excellente Café near my loft for some
lunch and chitchat. It was my first
intent to place her at ease by extolling her excellent performance on her first
heist. We each savored an extra large
serving of sumptuous lasagna dripping with incredibly aromatic and tasty
cheese, plus a half bottle of Chianti.
“You were absolutely splendid
during the first heist; very cool and calm.”
“Oh, I was anything but cool
and calm. Yet, I was not afraid. Our first heist taught me quite a bit about
myself; about feelings that I had pent up in me for some time. Mother used to tell me about her crackswoman
profession and I always listened with utter fascination. It was so incredibly romantic and
adventuresome; a woman safe robber.
Something all but unheard of, and to top it off she was very successful
at it. Never caught, and she was the
equal of the cracksmen.” She stared into
my eyes from across the table as she bit into another piece of simmering
lasagna and chuckled as its luscious cheese and sauce dribbled down her petit
chin.
I reached over and dabbed her
chin with my napkin. “I remember going
out on my first heist with your dad,” I reminisced, sipping on the Chianti. I then paused and shook my head in wonder,
“Which incredibly occurred some twenty-five years ago.”
Primrose reached over the
tabletop and kissed me on the cheek.
“There, there, Uncle Flurrie. You
are still as agile as a young fox.”
Out of the corner of my eyes
I could see the proprietor of the café motion towards Primrose and me, and then
to a woman behind the counter, probably his wife, and they broke into romantic
smiles.
“At any rate,” I finally
continued, “I remember I was quite petrified with anxiety, and your father
basically led me by the arm through the heist.”
I paused, munching on my last crumb of the entrancing lasagna. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you that.”
“No, no, it is fun!” she
chuckled. “Actually I followed you around
completely in awe at your professionalism and equanimity.”
Flurrie grunted in
pride. “It is all a matter of
experience, and I have a feeling you will be exceptional at the trade.”
She burst into a large smile
and again reached over the tabletop and kissed my cheek. Somewhat embarrassed I mumbled, “I fear the
proprietor and his employee are assuming we are…well…”
Primrose then reached over
and kissed me on the cheek a third time and then broke out into raucous
laughter.
“Mother did say you are
adorable.”
I placed five dollars on the
tabletop and arose. “I have a mountain
of work to do at my studio. I’m afraid I
will have to excuse myself.”
“I have shopping to take care
of. See you Thursday night at
eleven. Father’s carriage man and I will
pick you up at your loft.”
On Thursday night at ten I
bathed and donned my tuxedo. I felt a
tinge of anxiety as per usual, which I enjoyed, for it placed my senses on
alert. I then moved downstairs to my
office at the rear of my art gallery, poured a glass of Sherry, eased myself
into my comfortable desk chair, and reopened my current passion The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins. I commenced to nibble
out of a small bag of semi-sweet chocolate droplets on my desktop as I entered
the atmosphere of the mystery novel.
About twenty minutes later a light knock sounded at the door. I check the time on my wall clock and found
it to read a bit before eleven.
I opened the back door of my
gallery to find Primrose smiling up at me like a mischievous cat. She strolled directly into my office, doing
something of a gay dance step. I
followed her to the fireplace, and as she reached out her hands to warm them a
bit I asked, “I assume it is on the chilly side out there tonight.”
“Beastly,” she said, sitting
in my desk chair. She again stared up at
me, wearing that little impish grin of hers.
“You will not have to worry about the chilly air, Uncle Flurrie,” she
gaily announced.
I sat across from her on the
guest chair. “What are you talking
about?”
She arose and reached into
her overcoat pocket. She then placed a
diamond and sapphire necklace and a matching pair of earrings on my opened copy
of The Moonstone.
“The deed is done,” she
announced, now twirling around on my office chair like a child. “I managed the heist on my own! Little me!
And I feel wonderful!”
I could feel my face flush
red with anger, but I remained silent. I
then released a grunt, and picked up the necklace. “That was very foolish, Primrose. I know I am just your honorary Uncle, but I
cherish you very much as my dear friends daughter and I certainly do not want
you to become apprehended through being overly brash.”
“I planned it all out after I
noticed in the Business Section of the evening newspaper that Mr. McNamara was
taking the nine o’clock train to Minneapolis to finalize a large business
venture, and not the ten o’clock train as we first thought. I watched his mansion from a clump of bushes. A carriage pulled up from the rear of the
mansion and picked him up and they departed.
I noticed there were no lights in the mansion or carriage house in the
rear of the lot. I removed my dress,”
she then chuckled, “Not to worry, Uncle Flurrie, I was also wearing my black
silk body suit. Wearing it I was able to
blend in with the nighttime shadows. I
entered the library of the mansion by unlocking the French doors with my
stiletto blade as you instructed me, and I found the painting Father had told
us about of the stag and his harem standing on a hilltop with the setting sun
behind them, and, well, I opened the lock with my skeleton keys, removed the
jewelry and also found this.” She now
removed four wads of cash from her coat pocket.
“Do you think Father will be proud of me?”
I released a deep sigh
fostered by confusion over it all. “One
would assume so,” I simply responded, picking up one wad of cash and paging
through it. “Twenties, fifties, one
hundred dollars bills.”
“How much do you think is in
all four bundles?” she giggled.
“Probably about twenty
thousand dollars,” I responded, tossing the bundle of cash next to its
partners. “I must admit I am
speechless.”
“Let’s visit Father right
off. I can hardly wait to see his
expression.”
“He may spank you!”
“Perhaps, but he will do so
with a smile.”
The carriage ride to her
father’s flat was only about two miles away, and I remained near silent. After all, now that the deed was done, and I
had not participated in said deed, I reasoned I would not be the recipient of
any of the profits realized thereof. And
quite frankly that aroused my ire.
Primrose started to say something about the heist and I cut her short,
pointing to the carriage driver. Even
though he was her dad’s personal driver, so to speak, I felt it best we discuss
the weather and books we have recently devoured.
Her father took the news of
his teen-age daughter completing her solo heist as other proud fathers would
cherish seeing their female offspring graduate from finishing school. It was actually quit moving for me to find my
dear friend of so many years absolutely overwhelmed with pride.
I was then overjoyed to find
him divvy up the four stacks of cash from the heist. He gave me two stacks, and set aside the
remainder two stacks of cash for him and Primrose. He then announced I would also receive my
fifty per cent share of the jewelry, as per our original agreement, after it
was handed over to the ‘committee’ and a cash payoff was received. The fact that I did not physically participate
in the heist was not through any fault of my own. Primrose thoroughly agreed.
We also agreed that from here
on in we would act as teams with no solo heist surprises.
After a year of accompanying
Primrose on several heists I decided to retire.
Father time very much so dictated my decision, and then too I was now
comfortably ensconced in my new art brokerage business. All was well.
Her father, she, and I agreed
the heist business and its profits should all be her own, to set up a bank
account for her future life. I did
convince her to add art theft to her job description, commingling it with her
ordinary gem heists for a fifty-fifty split with her on the art she acquired
for me per my request. I had found a
ready market for purloined masterpieces in my brokerage business.
All went well; I would alert
her to local paintings worth the rob, and she used her acrobatics if need be
for second story work to scale the side of a mansion and gain entrance. She carried a folded shaving razor to quickly
cut a painting from its frame and then rolled the painting and slid it into a
leather tube carrier slung over her shoulder.
She was a fast, efficient thief, and during her ‘normal’ hours she appeared
as the somewhat shy, beautiful, studious daughter of her wealthy father. The local young men of means actively
escorted her to dinner parties, the opera, musicals, plays, and such, and
introduced her to their parents and their mansions adorned in art treasures and
the local dowagers overlaid with precious gems.
“Is she still in business?”
Bruno innocently asked.
Flurrie chuckled. “Oh, my, yes!
Also, you probably have brushed elbows with her at several parties where
you have stood guard.”