She came out of the clouds with a jolt, her wine buzz lifting. She looked sharply at him. “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, baby?”
“I mean … Louie, can you sell it?”
“I have sold it.”
“Yes, but”—bewildered, studying him with her head tilted—“does the Blue Diamond even belong to you?” It had been a couple of weeks since they’d visited Ari’s Bal Harbour store, but Tara hadn’t forgotten what he’d told them. Twice she’d asked Louie what he was intending to do with the necklace, but he was mum, telling her he’d let her know when the time was right. Obviously, the time was now. She said, “I thought Ari said the insurance company—”
“Ari said a lot of things, but then he called up Hans—that’s the man we’re going to meet—and brokered a deal like I asked him to.”
“But … is it legal?”
Louie didn’t answer. He said, “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t involve you. I don’t care to involve you. But, sweetheart, you’re already up to your ears in this. Franco made you complicit.”
Franco had not made her complicit, Louie had. But Tara did not point this out because there was something different about Louie tonight. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly, although he seemed restless, brimming with suppressed energy. Without any explanation, Tara knew Louie was involving her in something illegal and thus, potentially dangerous. She felt a shiver of anxiety. There were parts of Louie that were still a mystery to her. Would he knowingly put her in harm’s way?
He was driving left-handed, his wrist resting on the wheel. With his right hand he was fiddling with the radio’s dials. Light from an oncoming vehicle’s headlamps highlighted his features, threw his face into profile, accentuating his Italian looks. He looked proud and haughty, like a conquering Roman, and for moment she wondered what she was doing on this lonely stretch of road with this dark and beautiful man. Again, the unease gripped her, and she suddenly longed for Victor, whose even disposition had a calming effect on her, and perhaps, even on Louie. She said, “Why isn’t Victor with us?”
“Baby, what are you fretting about? Don’t you think I can take care of myself and protect you?” When she did not answer, he said, “Victor watches my back, but his mere presence is more effective than his muscle. I won’t need Victor tonight. Hans is a thief, not a murderer.”
“A jewel thief?”
“Not the type you’re thinking of. He’s a diamond dealer, but they’ve been known to steal from time-to-time.”
Louie had cut through a treed subdivision with million-dollar houses, and now on County Road he came to a stoplight and made the turn onto Breaker’s Row. The long drive was flanked with palm trees and meticulously tended grounds. Entering the world-class resort with the splendid Italian-Renaissance style hotel appearing at the end of the drive, Tara’s apprehensions vanished. The Breakers was a legendary landmark, reminiscent of the glory days of Henry Flagler. Old-world and beautiful, the resort catered to an elite, moneyed-crowd. Who else vacationed in Palm Beach?
Coming into the courtyard of the hotel, they were momentarily delayed as two white limousines discharged a bridal party, bride and groom at the center of billowing gowns and happy well-wishers. Anxious to catch a glimpse of the bride’s dress, Tara slid forward in her seat. Louie set his hand on her leg, and she turned to him, about to comment on the wedding, when the intense look in his eyes silenced her.
He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed and burning. A little smile touched his lips, “Christ, baby, you look good,” he murmured, sliding his hand up her thigh. “I love that you wore this for me.”
A short while ago she had been wondering what she was doing with him. Now, as he lifted the hem of her Versace, she knew exactly what she was doing. Louie kept his eyes on her while touching her, smiling at her soft sigh of surrender. His caress was but a tease, lasting only until the limousine in front of them pulled forward, and liveried doormen came to welcome them to the Breakers.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ari had a shot of Elijah Craig before they left Tara’s room, and now, stepping single file into Hans’ suite, she could smell the whiskey on Ari’s breath. It mingled with the crisp scent of Louie’s cologne and her sweet fragrance of choice, Coco.
Louie entered first, followed by Tara, then Ari, the three of them stepping into an elegant sitting room. Wispy drapes concealed the ocean view, the roiling surf pounding the beach below them. A low-wattage lamp burned in the corner, the delicate chandelier set to a not-so-bright setting.
Hans was incapable of inspiring either admiration or fear. He was a slight man, almost effeminate, with thinning flaxen hair plastered to his skull. A fading aristocrat of an indeterminate age, he wore a blue-velvet dressing gown with a silk cravat and black leather slippers. His eyes were a cold, steel-blue, probing the very depths of her soul. So extreme was his examination of her that Tara recoiled and stepped backward, her heel connecting with Ari’s toe. Louie took her hand, drawing her forward.
She was immediately uncomfortable, even more so when she observed a black riding crop coiled on the coffee table. Next to the crop was a pair of fur-lined handcuffs and a lipstick smudged glass; pornographic props. It all looked staged. On the woven carpet beside the table were ladies’ high-heeled pumps. Off to the left the creamy paneled door to the bedroom was shut tight, flicker of a gray light at the bottom suggestive of a television. A tall vase of fresh-cut lilies on the sofa table emitted a heady fragrance.
Louie said, “Hello, Hans.”
“My friend, how good to see you. And you too, Ari.” Hans’ voice was Brit proper—upper-crust English. His eyes skimmed over Tara. He waved them into the room, gesturing toward the round table set in front of the sliding door. He said, “Louis, I was very sorry to learn of Mercedes’ death. As you know, I had a great admiration for her. She was the only woman I ever knew who didn’t think with her cunt. But then”—a slight smile touching his lips—“she was a rare creature, wasn’t she?”
Louie said, “Very rare.”
Hans directed his pale eyes at her. “This one is quite lovely, though. I don’t suppose she is available?”
Tara was too stunned to react. She wasn’t even sure she had heard him correctly. She sidled closer to Louie, who reacted by putting a protective arm about her waist. Pressing against his sport-coat, Tara felt the hard outline of his handgun. He’d checked it earlier, before leaving their room. The sight of the gun had made her nervous, now she was glad of it, took strength from the fact that it was there.
Seating her at the table, Louie said, “Tara’s special. I don’t share her.”
“Yes, I recall that you never did share. It’s a pity, Louis. I wouldn’t have minded fucking her.” Tara expected Louie to come to her defense, but he merely gave her a quick, reassuring wink before claiming the chair to her right. Ari sat to her left. In the center of the table was a jeweler’s loupe.
“I have Jamesons,” said Hans. “Would you gentlemen care for a drink?”
Both men declined. Tara noted that Hans had deliberately not included her in this offer. His pale, gleaming eyes stared. “You have an interesting face, my dear. It’s so reflective of American Puritanism. Although, I daresay, you’ve a few Irish peasants in your ancestry. As a rule, I don’t care for the Irish. They’re a hot-headed, unimaginative lot. Unlike the Italians, they’re not very good lovers. What fascinates me about you is the little war that must be waged between your body and mind ... a constant battle, I presume, between the base passions you most certainly cannot deny, and those silly American values you must espouse.”
Tara said, “I don’t think my values are silly.”
He smiled unctuously. “I misspoke.”
Louie said, a slight edge to his voice, “Hans, you’re not forgetting that my blood is Sicilian?”
“I’d rather
you didn’t remind me, Louis.” He sat on the remaining chair and glanced at Ari. “Show me this long awaited treasure, my friend.”
Ari pulled a satin pouch from his inside pocket. Removing the necklace, he set it on the table in front of Hans, smoothing the kinks in the chain. Ari had polished and cleaned the diamonds; they sparkled more brilliantly than ever. The magic blue stone at the center of the necklace drew three pairs of eyes like a magnet. Hans sighed reverently, let out a loud, “Ahh,” followed by murmurs of appreciation. He might have been making love to a woman, for the sounds he made. Then he reached for his loupe and began a lengthy examination. He fell silent, his breathing labored. Tara felt time slow down. She glanced impatiently at Louie, but he, too, was focused on Hans.
Tara’s eyes swept the room, touched briefly on the sexual props. There was definitely somebody in the bedroom, the television’s volume suddenly raised. Behind the couch stood two polycarbonate suitcases, like the kind Japanese businessmen toted in airports.
Louie repositioned his chair, crossing his legs. He seemed at ease, although Ari showed signs of strain, his eyes anxiously locked on Hans, his lips pursed. Finally, Ari exhaled sharply. “Hans, are you satisfied with the authenticity?”
“Of course,” Hans snapped. “I knew immediately. It is such a thing of beauty.” His eyes lifted to Louie. “How can you part with this?”
“What can I do with it, Hans? It’s too much of a responsibility for me.”
Suddenly, Tara’s awareness of being complicit in a crime was reinforced. Watching Hans lift the diamond to his lips, she was reminded of how the religious kissed the cross. Hans’ smile broke across his face. “Imagine. There is no diamond quite like this one anywhere in the world. You have given me a great gift, Louis. I am more than happy to meet your price.”
Hans stood and walked to the suitcases, Louie springing up behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Hans said, “Ari, I never believed that tale about the Saudi Prince. I always knew some clever thief had hidden it.”
He bent over the suitcases, laying them both flat. He unclasped one suitcase, unzipping a paisley lining to reveal brick-sized bundles of money, crisp one-hundred dollar bills on top, like something rolled off the press. Hans lifted one of the bricks, fanning it so Louie could see the denominations. “Two per case,” he said. “You may count it if you wish.”
Louie did not wish, satisfied when Hans opened the second suitcase to show more of the same. Louie nodded his approval, and the men resumed their seats. Hans placed a briefcase on the table. Inside were official looking documents and foreign bank statements.
Hans rubbed his palms together. “Louis, it is a pleasure doing business with you. You understand the nuances of these international laws. I occasionally deal with the Russians, and they are, regrettably, reckless.” He shook his head, signifying his dismay with the Russians, and then removed the top document. “The agreed upon price for the diamond is ten million. I’ve given you four here.”
Tara’s eyes darted to the open suitcases: Four million, in cash. It was mind boggling, make-believe, like something from a movie. Tara was merely part of the audience, objective and unmoved. She listened without daring to utter a sound as Hans described the various entities in which he’d deposited money, one of them being a Swiss bank, which led him to say, “I do still prefer the Swiss, Louis. My family has been with this institution for two hundred years. The account is as you’ve stipulated—you may wish to verify the details.”
Another document supported the transfer of two million dollars in US currency to “your bank of choice in the Caymans.” Hans mentioned the Royal Bank of Scotland, two million in British pound sterling, and still another financial institution in Nassau. One of the statements that Louie glanced at and set on her side of the table showed the name of a foreign company and seemed to support the sale of land. Without studying the form Tara understood it represented some kind of real estate transaction, and she comprehended that they were moving money without revealing its true source; in effect, laundering.
Ari, to his credit, was projecting a much calmer demeanor. Once, when Tara looked at him, he rolled his eyes and gave her an encouraging smile. But as weird as things were, they were about to get weirder.
Finished with the details of the transaction, Hans said, “Louis, will you require my presence until confirmation?”
“I have complete faith in you, Hans.”
“You’re so civilized, for a Sicilian.” He snapped shut the briefcase and slid it across to Louie. He repeated his offer of a drink, and the men obliged. He’d mentioned whiskey earlier, and now he poured two snifters of cognac and distributed them to Louie and Ari, rudely ignoring Tara, who badly needed a drink. Louie knew she was bristling, and he set a soothing hand on her arm. After taking a sip of the liquor, he put the bulbous glass in her hands. Tara swallowed the fiery cognac and caught Hans’s supercilious smile.
He turned with a flourish, velvet robe billowing, and strode across the room. He rapped on the bedroom door and then opened it and spoke briskly in French, stepping back to admit a naked goddess. She was full-breasted and slim-hipped, her nether regions waxed to the state of a five year old. Blond hair fell in cascading waves over her shoulders; her face was exquisite, dominated by large, violet eyes.
She entered the room flaunting a demure look, long lashes shadowing prominent cheekbones. Her spindly heels were so high Tara marveled that she didn’t topple forward. When she hesitated, Hans barked a command and she walked quickly to him. Lifting her eyes, she started to speak, and Hans slapped her. Tara gasped at this indignity. She expected Louie or Ari to protest, but they brooked no interference.
The young woman didn’t even turn her face away but accepted the blow. With a sly smile she assessed her audience, her eyes moving from Ari to Louie. She locked eyes with Tara, and her face grew lax, her large eyes becoming smoky. Tara felt the shock of the woman’s desire like an electrical snap, and she was physically repelled, jerking backward in her seat. This was her cue to Louie, who stood and offered his arm. She came shakily to her feet.
Louie savored a final sip of cognac before setting the glass on the table. Ari readied the two suitcases, fastening them quickly. Hans’s submissive sauntered to the table, showing off her body like a runway model. She turned just so, presenting her perfect derriere where several wicked welts were crisscrossed. Tara’s sharp, indrawn breath gave her the desired reaction. She smiled smugly.
Hans said, to Tara, “Are you cold, my dear?”
She shivered, but it wasn’t from a chill. She shook her head no, looking to Louie for guidance. But his eyes were on the girl—and how could he not look? He and Ari watched, further enthralled, as Hans slipped the Blue Diamond about her swanlike neck and fastened it. Adjusting the diamond between her breasts, he bent forward and pressed his lips to it. Then he stepped aside and presented her to his guests. “This is Marguerite,” he said. “She’s Franco-German, but you’d never guess, from the look of her.”
For one horrified moment Tara feared he was offering Marguerite to them, but no, Hans was merely displaying his new trophy. Unable to resist, Ari said, “Lovely, Hans.”
She was glad Louie didn’t comment. He handed Hans’s briefcase to Tara. Then he offered his hand to his host. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Hans.”
“Louis, I hope you don’t come to regret parting with such a lovely thing.”
Louie assured him he had no regrets, adding. “Your appreciation for art is unparalleled, Hans.” He looked meaningfully at Marguerite.
As they exited the suite, Louie and Ari wheeling the suitcases and Tara holding the briefcase, she glanced into the room and saw Hans lift the riding crop. He gestured to Marguerite; she looked up and caught Tara’s eye, and then Louie leaned across her and shut the door.
* * *
Five days later Louie flew Tara to New O
rleans, depositing her with Robert and Ceci in Robert’s beautiful Greek-Revival home in the Garden District. On her third night in the city Louie took her to visit a friend in the Quarter. This woman, Rhoda, was living in Mercedes’ townhouse, the property being held in trust for Ceci. Rhoda was a stunning redhead with skin like whipped cream, her sherry-brown eyes filling with tears when she spoke of her deceased friend.
“We were best friends,” she told Tara. “Inseparable.”
Rhoda didn’t act like the best friend of a former girlfriend. But then, she didn’t seem like a particularly conventional type of girl, kissing Louie with an affection Tara deemed improper. She sat them on the sofa in her elegant living room and opened a bottle of wine, sprinkling in a powdery rub of herbs which she referred to as “Mercedes’ magic potion.”
Tara was afraid to drink her wine, doing so only after watching Louie drink his. She soon realized the aphrodisiacal effect, and then, half-drunk on wine and lust, she permitted Louie to take her into the bedroom and undress her. There, on a beautiful mahogany bed, she surrendered herself to Rhoda, allowing the other woman to make love to her while Louie watched.
Much, much later, they drove home through the quiet streets of the old city, lovely and haunted in a glistening rain. Louie had not stayed with her at Robert’s before, but on this night he slept with her, holding her in his arms while she dreamed of his former lover, sensed the dead woman’s presence through the veil of sleep.
Toward dawn, Tara’s phone rang. It was terrible news, the worst. Joey had been badly beaten and rushed by ambulance to St. Mary’s in West Palm. Emilio and Rosa were missing, with Amber alerts issued for Rosa. An uncooperative Natalie was being held in the Palm Beach County jail.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stella di Mare (Louie Morelli) Page 19
