THE LION’S DIAMONDS
By
Richard Auffrey
The Lion’s Diamonds
Copyright © 2019 Richard Auffrey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
To the Thursday Night Gamers, good friends despite having never met them in person.
Chapter One
Friday
Stealing from a church might send me to Hell but I’m already headed in that direction. So, fuck it!
For five million in diamonds, I’d steal from the Vatican on Easter Sunday. I was raised a Catholic, taught by stern, abusive nuns, but that never stopped me from a life of crime. In fact, when I was younger, a small group of us stole the poor box from St. Augustine’s Church on three different occasions. Now that I was an adult, stealing from a church still wasn’t a problem.
It’s ironic that when I got out of the joint I ended up working at a church.
After almost three years behind bars, on an armed robbery beef, my parole officer found me a job doing general maintenance work at Saint Francis Xavier Church in Malden. My PO was a holy roller and thought the church work would save my soul. No fucking way.
Though the job only paid minimum wage, the work wasn’t tough. Mostly sweeping, dusting and polishing. Menial labor which gave me plenty of time to think. Time to plot and scheme.
I didn’t give any consideration to living within the law. I knew I wasn’t ever going to become a respectable citizen. I couldn’t become a sheep. Only the life of a wolf, or, in my case, a lion, would satisfy me.
The job at the church was just to appease my PO and give me time to plan my next heist. I never imagined the job would hand me a heist on a silver platter.
My PO would probably call it a test from God, a way to ascertain if I’d truly been rehabilitated. What a fucking joke. I’d rather think of it as a gift from God. If He didn’t want me to be a thief, then He wouldn’t offer me such a tempting target.
Once I was rich, I’d have to heartily thank my PO officer. I’d send him a postcard from Tahiti.
Earlier that day, while cleaning a dressing room where the priests donned their robes for Mass, I heard voices through one of the vents. The room abutted the office of Father Ralph Chamberlain, a young priest who came to the church about four years ago.
Father Chamberlain was tall and handsome with bright golden hair and dark blue eyes. He oozed innocence and purity, though he looked like the Aryan poster boy for the Nazis. He was popular with the female parishioners but seemed extremely devout, ignoring their flirting, though that only caused a few women to try even harder. They still failed.
I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust any man who seemed immune to the allure of a beautiful woman. He might have been gay but he didn’t give off a gay vibe either. And I never saw any men pay him special attention. Very strange.
Out of curiosity, I moved a strong, wooden chair to the wall and stood atop it, placing my ear to the vent to better eavesdrop. I didn’t expect to hear much but it paid off more than I could have imagined.
I first heard Father Chamberlain say, “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“No, you don’t.” This other man had a slight accent, maybe Russian or Eastern European.
The man with the accent continued, “It’s simple. Keep the package in your safe for a week. Once I pick it up, you’ll never see me again.”
“And the pictures?”
“I’ll give all those filthy pictures back to you.”
Dirty pics? Maybe Chamberlain wasn’t as pure as I thought.
“What’s in the package? Is it dangerous?” asked Chamberlain.
“No, it’s diamonds, worth about five million, so don’t fuck with it.” There was a sense of pride in the accented voice.
Pride and stupidity. Why the hell tell the priest what was in the package? The best criminals knew how to keep their mouths shut. Loose lips far too often led to iron bars and a tiny cell. It was almost as if he were begging to be robbed and I was more than willing to accommodate.
“Why here?” asked Chamberlain.
“Because no one will look for it here. They’ll be safe until I can sell them.”
There were some movements which I couldn’t identify.
“Take that and put it in the safe right now. If you try to fuck me in any way, your reputation will be shit and then you’ll be the one fucked hard and it won’t be pleasant.”
With a tremor in his voice, the priest said, “I’ll do what you say. It’ll be safe until you return.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you again next week.”
I climbed down from the chair and hurried out of the room, moving into the nave. I wanted to see the man with the accent. Maybe I knew him or, if not, I wanted to know more about him.
As I pretended to polish the wooden pews, I saw a tall man walk out of the office area and I knew he wasn’t one of the usual congregation. He looked like a slick thug, clad in an expensive, full-length black leather coat, with a flashy diamond ring on his little finger and several dark tattoos on his hands.
It didn’t take me long to roughly identify him. He was a local Russian mobster, an ambitious man who was trying to establish a greater presence in the Boston area. He worked for a big boss in Worcester. If I was going to steal his diamonds, I’d have to dig up more on him.
Pissing off the Russian mob wasn’t the safest of ideas but the reward was high and the risk of being caught was low. I could steal the diamonds and be out of the country before anyone realized the diamonds were missing.
The Russians could be evil motherfuckers, especially to anyone who dared steal from them. Their latest punishment had been all over the news last month. A minor Russian gangster, involved in managing hookers at a Russian spa, was found beheaded and castrated, his severed dick lodged deep in his throat. A cheese grater had shredded most of the skin on the rest of his body.
Five million in diamonds! With that much, I could retire to some tropical island and rub oil on a bikini-clad temptress. Or a topless temptress. Fuck, I could have two naked natives at my beck and call.
Here I was, less than two months out of the joint and still on parole, considering another theft. Violating my parole could throw me back into prison for another five years. Getting caught by the Russian Mafia could see me dead, in a most torturous way. I didn’t plan on being caught by either one.
Despite all the risks, I knew this would be my next score, the one that would allow me to retire in paradise. Even before my release from prison, I’d planned on getting back into the game.
Thievery was deep in my blood, embedded in my DNA. It excited me, earned me a thick bankroll, and led to lots of pussy. Girls love bad boys, especially ones with a thick wad of bills. Spoil those girls a bit and your cock won’t ever be lonely.
I pray at the church of pussy and have done so since I lost my virginity at twelve. It led me to become a thief, a way to feed my addiction. I became a tough guy, getting into plenty of scraps, and I stole whatever I wanted, often using strong arm tactics.
I ripped off drug dealers and other scum bags. I knew they wouldn’t call the cops and I felt tough enough to keep them at bay. I wasn’t dumb though so usually tried to conceal my identity, wearing a mask and keeping my tattoos hidden.
While a senior in high school, a couple of other guys joined me, forming a small
crew which enabled us to take down bigger scores. Few guys were willing to fuck with me, or my crew, and the hot girls all wanted to fuck me. I became Leonidas the Lion, the king of my school.
Leonidas. Yeah, my father, a Vietnam vet, was obsessed with the ancient Spartans. He also made sure I became a tough son of a bitch. Frequent use of a thick belt was part of the curriculum. I learned how to take a beating.
While in school, the luscious hotties, even some college-age babes, clamored to get with me. I never got tied down to any one girl and I cut quite a swath through all those hard bodies. Fucking and stealing were the two joys of my life.
The year after I graduated from high school, my father was murdered, shot dead during an armored car heist. The guard who shot him was killed by my father’s partners. I didn’t shed a tear for that old bastard and he would have been proud of that fact.
My father’s partners gave me the cut he’d been due and that was the last I saw of them. I thought they were a bit long in the tooth and I had my own crew. They had also been specialists, taking down only armored cars. I preferred to be open as to what heists I’d take.
I certainly didn’t need college. I got on-the-job training as my crew continued to escalate the scope of our scores. We were a tight-knit group, men I trusted to keep their mouths shut. Without that trust, we’d be fucked.
The cops needed snitches, the only way they could nab many criminals. They would arrest someone, threatening them with a lengthy prison sentence unless they snitched on someone else. That ploy worked far too often. Criminals knew that the first person to turn always got the easiest sentence. Loyalty and honor went out the window when they faced 40 years in a small cell.
Plenty of people suspected we were involved in illegal activities but no one could prove a damn thing. And as long as none of us spoke to the police, we’d remain safe. They could arrest and threaten us all they wanted, but they lacked sufficient evidence for any conviction, as long as none of us talked.
That held up until it didn’t. Until the theft that led me to spend nearly three years behind bars. Fucked over by one of my own crew. It was a shock to be backstabbed by one of my trusted friends. I saw it as my own failure, my mistake for trusting him in the first place.
Fortunately, I wouldn’t need any help with this new heist. I could do it all on my own. No worries about betrayal. The cops would never be able to pin this one on me.
Five million in diamonds! Even after fencing them, I’d be filthy rich. This was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down, especially as I had inside knowledge. I wasn’t a safe cracker but didn’t need to be in this case.
Father Conall Hanlon, the head of the church, had to be pushing his late 80s and was going deaf and blind. He should have retired several years ago and the Archdiocese was probably going to force him to retire very soon, promoting Father Chamberlain to head priest.
On Sunday nights, Father Hanlon would place all the checks and cash from the day’s collection plates into the safe. I’d been in the room a few times when that happened and Hanlon had the bad habit of speaking aloud the numbers he dialed on the safe so I knew the combination. Stealing from the safe would be as easy as a twenty-dollar whore.
How could I resist such a simple heist? It would be criminal not to steal the diamonds.
Sometime during the next seven days, I’d grab the diamonds and no one would know who did it. They might suspect me but they’d never be able to prove it as long as I hid the diamonds well. My safest road though would probably be take off and leave the country as soon as I had the diamonds in my hands.
Though no one would be able to prove I was the thief, I’d obviously be a strong suspect, especially considering my background. The Russian gangster would likely decide to interrogate and torture me. I didn’t need that shit. Better to be a ghost and vanish.
I had keys to the church, knew the safe combo, and the church had very little security. Too fucking easy. Maybe it was my reward for doing my time, payback for those wasted years behind bars.
After finishing my shift, I left and headed to a local bar in Medford called Martin’s, one of my regular drinking spots. Dark, dingy, and quiet. Most customers sat silently at the bar, enjoying a cheap beer or whiskey, lost in their own thoughts. They kept their heads bowed so they wouldn’t have to meet the eyes of anyone else.
If you wanted conversation, you went to one of the four small booths, which were dimly lit, and kept your chat to a whisper. Most of those chats revolved around drug deals, heist plans, and other nefarious activities. I’d spent my fair share of time in those booths.
I took a seat at the back of bar with a clear view of the door and separated from the closest other customer by at least six stools. As soon as I sat, Jim, the elderly bartender who reminded me of Lurch from The Addams Family, brought me a double Jack. I chugged the whiskey, letting its heat fill my chest.
I put a couple twenties on the bar so Jim would keep filling my glass until my cash was gone. And it didn’t take long for him to bring me another double Jack.
The booze was cheap and Jim wasn’t one of those talky bartenders. He knew his customers preferred their privacy so he limited his conversation to taking their orders. I wasn’t sure if he owned the bar or not, but he was the only employee I’d ever seen.
As I brought the second glass of whiskey to my lips, I froze as the front door opened and she walked into the bar.
Long, thick ebon hair, the color of the pelt of a black panther, surrounded the palest of skin, almost translucent. Lush ruby lips, soft pillows which could caress your cock like the finest of silk. The curves of her body drove me crazy, each seductive sway beckoning to me like a cliff to a lemming. She wore a low-cut blue t-shirt which showed ample cleavage and the ripe swell of her firm breasts. Her jeans hugged her legs so tightly it was if they were afraid of being separated.
What the hell was she doing in such a shithole?
With each step, she exuded confidence, an inner strength. She knew the power she possessed, how every man in the bar was fixated on her. The women that usually frequented this bar tended to be much older, missing a few teeth, and with skin showing every hard mile they’d ever rode. They were a blend of insecurity and desperation, easy prey for the equally desperate men that frequented this dive.
The woman’s stunning dark blue eyes, reminding me of ripe blueberries, locked with mine and she smiled, enflaming my lust. I wasn’t drunk enough for this to be a hallucination but I couldn’t imagine why she’d be here or why she’d smile at me.
She sashayed over to me, a little unsteady as her high heels temporarily stuck to the floor. A sticky sheen from many years of an accumulation of spilled food and drink, vomit and piss, which was never completely cleaned from the well-worn hard wood.
As this stunning beauty slid onto the stool to my right, she said, “Buy me a whiskey.”
It wasn’t a request and her silky words ear-fucked me. I sat a little straighter on my stool and wished I were dressed better, instead of the ragged jeans and faded, dirty t-shirt I wore.
I signaled to Jim and he brought over the bottle of Jack.
The woman shook her head, carefully examined the bottles behind the bar, and then pointed, saying, “Bring us the Old Ascot.”
I hadn’t tasted Old Ascot since before I went to prison and couldn’t afford to drink it now. It was a fine, aged Kentucky bourbon, produced in small batches by the legendary Minnick Distillery. When I’d been flush, I used to drink it all the time, loving its smooth, spicy taste.
If this hot babe wanted to drink it, I’d find a way to pay for it. Fortunately, I knew Jim would let me run a tab, even for this pricey whiskey.
I nodded to the bartender and he retrieved the bottle of Old Ascot, which wasn’t even open and had a thin layer of dust. The usual customers in this bar couldn’t afford it. In fact, the bar originally brought it in only because of me. I was shocked they still had a bottle after more than three years.
After cleaning the dust from
the bottle, and carefully opening it, Jim poured her a shot of the amber nectar and when he saw me nod, he made it a double. He then poured me a double as well and moved down to the other end of the bar, giving us more privacy, though I knew every other man in this bar was staring at us. A couple of them were probably even thinking about how to steal her away from me.
We clinked our glasses together and then the sultry woman pounded it back, smiling, unfazed by the over-proof whiskey. I belted mine down too, impressed with her performance.
She leaned closer to me, the alluring scent of her floral perfume enveloping me, cutting through the smell of stale beer and popcorn that pervaded the bar. When she spoke, her words were soft and low, and I fixated on her luscious, crimson lips. I ached to crush my mouth against hers, to lose myself in her soft curves.
“I’m Kasey and my fiancée dumped me earlier this week. Tonight, I just want to wrap my legs around a stranger and I think you’ll do.”
Yeah, that didn’t happen to me every day. Or ever. Some girls liked my muscles but my face was rough and scarred, remnants from plenty of nasty brawls. A crooked nose which had been broken countless times. A slight droop at the corner of my left eye, caused by some nerve damage. And I always thought my lips were much too thin.
Without a thick bankroll, the quality of women I usually attracted didn’t amount to much. That never stopped me though as it still was pussy. I certainly preferred more attractive women but I wasn’t that picky either if I was horny and broke.
Kasey’s offer sounded too good to be true but at that point, I just didn’t care. I wanted to feel her beneath me, to caress that soft skin as I pounded deep inside her.
“Got a place?” I asked.
“No, let’s go to yours.”
“It’s not much and it’s messy.”
“If it’s got a bed, that’s all I need.”
I told Jim I’d catch up with him later and he nodded in return, grinning as his eyes fixated on Kasey’s tits. I got up from my stool and Kasey grabbed one of my meaty hands, leading me out of the bar.
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