Stella di Mare (Louie Morelli)

by Bellomo, Patricia

  Marty nodded, and Klein gestured at two wingchairs facing his desk. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Marty sat, polishing off his pastry and using a tissue to wipe his hands. Klein sipped from a Styrofoam cup. He said, “Franco Santia is a customer. I knew his father … the whole family. I don’t know his friend, and frankly, I’m a little baffled by their urgency in this matter. Franco intimated that his friend is in possession of a rare diamond. He has asked for my professional opinion as to its authenticity and value, and I will be happy to do this. They specifically requested a private consultation, asking that none of my employees be present. They wanted to come to my Bal Harbour store, but I had to be in Palm Beach this morning. Franco seemed a bit put out by my insistence we meet here. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient for you, Mr. Morgan. Did you drive up from Miami?”

  Marty smiled. “No, I drove in from Jupiter. Your location is perfect for me.”

  Klein nodded pensively. “Franco called me over the weekend and told me you would be meeting him here. I gather you have some interest in this particular diamond?”

  “I’ve seen it. I met Franco at the Walker the other night, and he had Manny come in and show it to me. I have to tell you, it’s incredible. I haven’t been able to think of much else since I laid eyes on it. I’m a collector—”

  Klein’s eyes lit: “Jewelry?”

  “Not so much jewelry: Art, mostly. But anything beautiful and rare, and this certainly fits that category.” He met Klein’s steady gaze. “Did Franco tell you anything about the diamond?”

  “No specifics. He did request the utmost confidence, which tells me we might be dealing with something …” his voice trailed off. He looked apprehensive. “There may be an issue of … ownership. If so, I have to tell you: I don’t deal with black market merchandise. I can’t take that risk.”

  “I understand.”

  “Naturally, I’ll give my opinion and keep your counsel.” He glanced at his watch. “Franco’s late. I’m glad we got to talk first, though. I do want to stress the potential for fraud. People come to me all the time with some really beautiful pieces that turn out, unfortunately, to be worthless. Just last month I had a very important client come in—I don’t dare say her name—but I’ll give you a clue: She’s a duchess, and her husband is very high up in the British government. She had a stunningly beautiful brooch that had been gifted to her, and well … it turned out to be a cheap imitation of an original that, as far as I know, is still in the hands of an American cigarette heiress.”

  Just then a bell rang; an actual chime. Klein excused himself with a slight smile. Marty heard voices from the showroom, and a few minutes later Klein returned with Franco and the sallow-faced Manny, who happened to be decked out in a black suit, as though attending a formal event. Franco was wearing a lavender sport-coat with a silk shirt. Marty had to smile at them, so dolled up. He wore his favorite blue jeans and Dolphins sweatshirt.

  Franco introduced Manny to Klein. After the newcomers helped themselves to coffee, Franco told Klein the story of Bo and Greta Harper, and the role his hotel had played in hiding the diamond all these years. Marty wasn’t sure if Klein was bored or amused or both—he certainly didn’t appear to be taking the narrative seriously, though he listened attentively. At the end, he said, “I hate to disillusion you gentlemen, but you must be aware that there have been many scams and many Blue Diamonds—”

  Manny said, “Well, sir, that’s why we came to you. So you could tell us.” Then he pulled the Blue Diamond from his pocket and set it on Klein’s desk, and the greedy jeweler’s eyes popped like fireflies, and in that instant, Marty knew it was the real McCoy.

  His heart began racing, his palms sweating. Since handling the diamond, Marty had gotten obsessive. He wanted this stone, wanted it with the intense fervor and passion of a compulsive collector. He felt anxious and dizzy and excited, all at once. Indeed, it was the same feeling he had for Miguel but it was intensified, ratcheted to a different level because of the diamond’s incredible history and amazing uniqueness. But, like his other passion, part of the Blue Diamond’s allure was the very fact that it was stolen and thus, forbidden.

  Klein’s face told it all. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning, almost like Charlton Heston’s thundering expression when he came down off of God’s mountain in The Ten Commandments. The mouthy, know-it-all Jew, the consummate show-boater, was speechless.

  Leaning against the desk, eyes enormous, Manny said, “It’s the real thing, isn’t it?”

  Klein didn’t reply; he may not have even heard him. He sat as if entranced, and then, abruptly, he reached over and scooped up the necklace, saying, “Dear God.”

  Jumping to his feet, necklace in hand, Klein walked into the hallway. Wordlessly, they fell into step, following him into his workshop where he snapped on the fluorescent lamps and set the necklace on his worktable. He flicked a switch to a recessed light in the elevated cabinetry, and now the Blue Diamond shone like the Star of Bethlehem. Muttering beneath his breath, Klein slid open a drawer and fumbled for his glasses. For the next few minutes no one dared to speak as he examined the diamond, rotating the necklace to view it from different angles, daubing a watery solution on it and polishing it with a felt cloth.

  He nodded and muttered, nodded and muttered. Finally, he looked up, his eyes blazing, his face flushed. He said, “I have no doubt that this is authentic.” He removed his glasses, replaced them in the drawer, and picked up the necklace. Then he pierced Manny with a look. “Young man, how did you really come by this?”

  Manny bristled. “It happened like Franco told you. My grandfather hid it in his hotel and never reclaimed it. It stayed buried till now.”

  “Incredible.” Klein shook his head. “This is one of the most precious stones in the world, if not the most precious. It’s not as big as the Hope Diamond, but it is of a purer facet and clarity, a better stone, although without examining them side-by-side, I can’t attest to this. It predates the Hope Diamond—a very old and ancient stone with its origins in India. For this reason it is sometimes referred to as the stepmother of the Hope Diamond. For most of history it remained in private hands, and then the Empress Alexandra received it as a gift from her husband, Tsar Nicolas the Second. This is where the legend of the curse begins, for, as you know, the Bolsheviks killed her. Other misfortunes have been attributed to this diamond: the nobleman who smuggled it out of Russia died at the hands of his mistress, and of course“—smiling, sketching a bow from the neck—“there’s Miss Greta Harper. And we all know what her fate was.”

  “That’s why Bo never went back for it,” said Manny. “He felt it was bad luck.”

  No one commented. Franco exchanged glances with Marty, revealing a shocked and startled expression, as though he too, hadn’t quite believed it could be real. They traipsed back into Klein’s office and reclaimed their chairs, a nervous excitement between them.

  Manny said, “How much could I get for her? What kind of value—?”

  “This stone is priceless. The Blue Diamond belongs to the world, in the Smithsonian—”

  Franco said pointedly, “I thought it belonged to the National Insurance Company. The Internet says since they paid out, they own it.”

  “Fuck that,” said Manny. “It’s mine.”

  “Gentleman, please.” Klein held up his hands, palms forward. “You came to me for a consultation, and it would be unethical for me to betray your confidence.” His eyes were gleaming and Marty had the feeling the damned Jew was trying to finagle a cut. Briefly, Klein met his eyes, measuring him. “Allow me to stipulate that whatever we discuss henceforth stays in this room. And before we go any further, I am going to tell you that there are private investors such as yourself, Mr. Morgan, who would pay a great deal of money to possess the Blue Diamond. Of course, you must understand my predicament … the fact that
I am duty bound to report such a finding.” At a sputtering gasp from Manny, the jeweler looked directly at him and smiled a slow, conniving smile. “However, I might be persuaded to dismiss this whole matter as inconsequential.”

  Marty snorted: “Ethics be damned when there is a profit to be made, eh Mr. Klein?”

  Klein smiled enigmatically, and Franco said, “Are you one of those investors, Ari? Would you like to own the Blue Diamond?”

  “In my dreams, Franco, only in my dreams.” His gaze dropped to the necklace and lingered. “Anyone who purchases this diamond must remain private and anonymous … the transaction would require a large transfer of wealth—real money, the kind I don’t have.”

  Manny said, “What kind of cash are we talking, Mr. Klein? Give me a number.”

  The jeweler gazed at the stone, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of it. “You understand that if you went public, there would be no limit. Last year at Sotheby’s, a diamond half as rare and half as big went for sixty million.” Franco made a noise, disbelieving, and Klein looked up. “As you are not the legitimate owner, National Insurance would offer you a pittance. On the black market, so to speak, I’d say fifteen million.”

  “Fifteen million!” Manny’s jaw dropped. He looked at Franco, who was staring at Klein with his mouth open.

  Marty watched all this with interest. He knew Franco had personally tapped him as a potential buyer, and he understood he was the only one. It was doubtful Franco or Manny had other contacts with his wealth. Klein complicated things considerably, but he had already admitted to not having the money. But it was obvious he had the sources.

  Marty wasn’t going to let him contact those sources. He wanted the magnificent stone; felt it already belonged to him, planned to encase it in glass and hang it in his study next to the painting from the Louvre. His treasures.

  Like Klein, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the necklace. He kept staring at it, coveting it, his emotions riding high. The Blue Diamond was an incredible piece of history, as rare a possession as he had ever owned. In fact, he could make a movie about it, the wheels already spinning as he contemplated an opening scene, the actress who would play Greta Harper.

  Turning to him, Klein said, “Could you flatter us with your opinion, Mr. Morgan? You have the means—the only one of us who does—is this something that would interest you? Would you like to buy the Blue Diamond?”

  Marty looked at Manny. “Are you selling it?”

  “Hell yes, I’m selling.”

  Marty said, unblinking, “I’ll give you five million.”

  Manny said, “No fucking way! You heard Mr. Klein. It’s worth fifteen.”

  “And where are you going to procure a buyer for fifteen million, Manny? Let’s face it. I’m the only guy in the game, and you know it.”

  Franco, glowering at Manny’s outburst, said, “Excuse us.” He hooked his hand on Manny’s elbow and pulled him into the hall, shutting the door after him.

  Marty could hear their urgent whispers as Franco tried to talk sense into his friend. Marty smiled to himself; he knew he would get the diamond. He looked up and saw the jeweler’s dark eyes studying him. “You know,” Klein said, leaning forward with a slight, mocking smile. “I may have been a bit low in my estimate.”

  Marty swallowed nervously. “How low?”

  “I am acquainted with a Kuwaiti gentleman who I expect would pay upwards of fifty million. He’s a private collector.” Klein cleared his throat. “If you decide to purchase and wished to sell at a later date, I would be happy to act as a liaison. For a fee, of course.”

  “I thought you didn’t deal in the black market, Mr. Klein?”

  “Ah, but I’ve never had the Blue Diamond in my hands before.” He picked up the necklace and handed it to Marty. “Touch this, feel this. It’s magic.” Marty touched and felt—he knew the stone’s power, was already obsessed by it. He nodded, and Klein went on. “For me, as one who deals in such treasures rarely … it is the chance of a lifetime. I wish I were as fortunate as you, Mr. Morgan.” A sudden outburst in the hall made him turn toward the door. He scowled. “I don’t think Manny liked your offer.”

  “Should I go higher?”

  “Well, it’s worth it, if you can afford it. You can always resell it—I promise you this. Personally, I’d keep it for myself. You are aware, though, that however you decide, this consultation cannot ever be made public. There would be legal ramifications, a police inquiry, perhaps federal. It could be ruinous.”

  “I’m aware of the risks. I have as much to lose as you, perhaps more.”

  “Yes, your fame dictates the utmost secrecy.”

  There was a thump at the door and then Manny and Franco burst in. Not bothering to sit, Manny looked at Marty. He said, “Ten million, nonnegotiable.”

  Marty glanced at Klein. The damned Jew was smiling, gloating; he gave Marty a quick nod, and Marty said, “Ah hell, why not? You’ve got yourself a deal, Manny.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The deal was done, agreed upon. The matter of getting the money from Morgan’s corporate account and into Manny’s checking account was a problem none of them quite knew how to handle. Manny was totally flummoxed—he didn’t expect Morgan to have ten million in cash, and he didn’t. The money would have to be wired.

  Klein was a Godsend. He looked at his watch, and then called up somebody named Harvey and asked if he could reschedule their eleven o’clock for one. Harvey must have been amicable because Klein hung up smiling. He then explained that his store didn’t open until one on Monday and that he expected them all to be gone by this time. It was now ten-fifteen.

  They ate the pastries and drank more coffee. Klein placed a call to a lawyer named Billy. Manny knew the guy was a lawyer when Klein said, “Are you in court this morning?” Billy must not have been because Klein asked, “Can you come to my store? I’ve got a delicate situation here—yeah, like right now. Bring those papers, you know, like you did the last time.” He chuckled: “Yes, it’s one of those.”

  Hanging up the phone, Klein turned to the group. “I have a tax attorney coming by. He’s just up the road—he’ll be here in a minute.” He looked at Manny, who had rightfully reclaimed the necklace and was holding it. “Put the necklace away. Don’t show it; don’t speak of it. This guy’s going to get the money to you, but you can’t tell him what it’s for. Got it?”

  It took the lawyer eight minutes to get to Klein’s jewelry store. The guy was Italian—good looking, with curly brown hair and nice, smiling eyes. He was around forty, as physically fit as an athlete, although his superb physique was somewhat tamped by his conservative blue suit. With his suntan and boyish grin, he looked like a star athlete. He was holding a Starbucks espresso frapuccino in his left hand, and clutching the handles of a leather attaché with his right.

  He set the attaché and the coffee on the table and shook hands all around. Klein had moved them into the lunchroom so they could gather at the table. Introduced as Bill DiSalvi, the lawyer smelled of expensive cologne and expensive coffee. He handed out embossed business cards from a tony law firm on Royal Palm Way—the avenue of banks in Palm Beach.

  DiSalvi and Klein were friends, chatting about an upcoming charitable event that someone named Gunther was hosting. DiSalvi said, “I have to go. We were at Yale together.”

  Four chairs fit comfortably around the table; Klein squeezed in six, although he ended up standing, leaning with his back against the wall. Klein gave a simple summation of the daunting challenge facing them: Mr. Morgan was purchasing an item from Mr. Bommarino, with a consultation fee of one-hundred-thousand-dollars to be paid directly to Klein himself.

  Echoing Manny’s thoughts, Morgan said smartly, “I thought you were doing this free of charge, Mr. Klein.”

  Klein said, “This is an unusual case, Mr. Morgan: Totally unique. I think the ci
rcumstances dictate my compensation. Surely, it is no concern of yours. My fee is deducted from Mr. Bommarino’s proceeds.” He looked at Manny. “You are agreeable to this?”

  The lawyer and jeweler were gazing expectantly at him. Uncertain as how to conduct this sort of business, Manny glanced at Franco, who nodded. It occurred to him he’d have to give Franco a cut too. But hey, he couldn’t have put this together without Franco or Klein. Manny said, “Yeah, I’m agreeable.”

  DiSalvi began to use terms like “hypothetically” and “allegedly”. Without being given the specifics DiSalvi became aware that they were transferring ownership of something rare and extremely valuable. No one said the word diamond or mentioned jewelry, but he must have known it was related to Klein’s area of expertise because he said, “I don’t think you should show a purchase.” Rather, he suggested that Morgan proceed as though purchasing the rights to a movie, with the money coming from Morgan’s Mega Films, Incorporated, account with Goldman Sachs.

  Manny couldn’t follow half of what the guy said. It was all high finance—the big leagues. Hell, Manny was too stupefied to think clearly. He kept considering the ten million dollars—Jesus, it was a total mind-fuck. It was unfathomable, this kind of dough. He thought, Man oh man, Pops, I did it. Bo could rest in peace, knowing Manny had done right by his legacy.

  Manny had called in sick this morning; tomorrow he wouldn’t bother to show up. He started planning the things he was going to do. First he was going to buy a house on Star Island, move his mother into a guest wing, and hire a sexy maid. He’d get all the chicks he wanted, no more having to beg for pussy. Thinking of the snotty chicks who had refused him and how they’d put out for him now, made him gloat.