Nobody's Neighbors

"I hope you're right, baby," Jonathan grumbled. "I guess we can add picking pockets to our resumes."

"You always were good with your fingers, and you told me you like my hands," she purred. She reached over to him and stroked his thigh.

He pushed her hand away. "Not now. It's almost a three hour drive home with the stop we have to make. If you remember, the roads were a little slick in spots this morning."

"I'm more than a little slick now, Jonathan."

"That's great, but do you understand how much danger we're in? This is not the time for messing around in the damn car! You'll have to wait. I want to get as much distance between us and Beatenberg as we can. We need to get to Lucerne, return this car, pick up ours, and drive home."

She walked her fingers across the gap between them and onto his knee. "What if I don't want to wait till we get home?"

He grabbed her hand and put it firmly back on her side of the car. "Behave."

She slumped back in her seat. "Wow. You're no fun."

A slightly frosty three hours later the Wagners were safe in their villa.

"NOW can we please have sex?" Amelia asked.

"I still can't believe we did something that stupid," Jonathan complained. "Extreme risk for no real gain."

She stripped to her bra and panties and licked her lips. "Come to bed. I'll show you what you gained."

*****

Amelia kissed her husband awake the next day.

He groaned, "This has to stop."

She pulled away. "Oh, well, good morning to you too."

He sat up in bed. "I'm sorry, baby. I made up my mind. I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what? What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I barely slept all night. This crap with the car thefts is a bigger risk than anything we did in the States. You know how that ended."

"Yes, honey, but we were careless at home."

"Careless? What the hell is more careless than picking pockets AFTER talking to the victims face to face and then stealing their damn car in broad daylight? That's a crime of opportunity like punks pull. Much too bold for my tastes, too reckless. At home we worked quietly in the dark, and we still damn near got caught."

"But the challenge makes this more fun! We don't do it that often, and we don't do it the same way. At home, we had a pattern - disable the alarm, a bit of broken glass, and voila! Empty safe or jewelry box. Each job only took a few minutes, so the risk of getting caught at the scene was low, but we were predictable. It all happened within a few miles of home. That made things obvious after a while. This is different."

He threw the covers aside and headed for the bathroom. "Different, as in fucking crazy, Amelia! What's more obvious than stealing a damn car off the street in the middle of the day? What do you want to do next for thrills? Maybe carjack someone at gunpoint? I'm sure you'll say if we wear wigs no one will ever figure out it's us, and if we don't actually shoot them, there's no harm, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Guns scare me."

"Wonderful!" he sneered. "That's a hell of a relief! Here I am thinking you were talking about doing something ill-advised! Or maybe just totally fucking stupid!"

"I'm talking about having fun."

"You're talking about us acting like damn idiots. What is this shit with you lately?" He didn't wait for an answer, closing the bathroom door firmly behind him.

By lunchtime that day he was less agitated. "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, baby, but these jobs are way more stressful that I bargained for."

"It's okay. I love you, so I understand. I hate to see you upset. But I don't want to stop. And don't give me that look! It's too much fun. You know how I get when we pull a job, but I know how you take care of me when we get home, so your holier than thou routine won't work, mister. You bitched at me in the car last night when I grabbed your leg, but I saw the bulge in your pants."

"There was no bulge."

"Yeah, right, whatever you say. How well do I know you after all these years? You just won't admit you love doing this. Look, honey, seriously, I know what your problem is. You like more control of a situation than we're working in now, so you see it as impulsive."

"We weren't impulsive, Amelia. We were amateurish and reckless."

"No, we were daring. You said it yourself once - life's no fun without taking chances."

"Taking sensible chances."

"Will you stop? While you were brooding, I found the police report. Those idiot kids described you as a middle aged, redheaded man who needs a haircut and me as a woman too old to dress goth. The girl said I had black hair but, in her words, 'obviously dyed to cover premature gray.' That means they didn't spot the wigs."

"I suppose that's a plus," Jonathan mumbled.

"Absolutely, just like we planned. And luck we didn't plan on helps even more. Because I followed another American customer out the door, the shopkeeper thinks the guy is involved, so they're looking for him too. Someone said they saw two girls driving the car in Beatenberg an hour after the theft was reported, and another person claimed a man was with the BMW at a fuel stop outside Geneva last night. Conclusion? People are lousy witnesses. Just like at the nightclub, no one knows what happened. We got away with it again."

He shook his head. "You actually want to keep doing this, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. We did it twice, but the thefts are so different they'll be impossible to connect. As far as anyone knows we're a Yankee jeweler and his wife. We're car thieves who look completely respectable."

"Honey, when we were jewel thieves our neighbors thought we were respectable too at first. We had to flee the country to stay out of jail."

"Okay, fine. Maybe you turned me into an adrenaline junkie. I don't know. All I know is I love you, and I love being bad with you."

"Don't you understand, baby? One mistake, and we pay for everything we ever did. Do you want to die in prison?"

"Of course not."

"Then we can't steal cars anymore."

*****

The subdued exhaust rumble of Jurgen's Porsche SUV announced his arrival at the medieval Gasthof zum Loewen Meilen on a snowy Sunday morning the following month. The Wagners watched the Zurichsee as they waited for him so they could enjoy brunch together.

Jurgen ushered them inside. "We have a situation we must discuss. Let us find a quiet table." After a fifty Franc note, the trio was seated far away from other patrons.

"What's wrong?" Amelia asked.

Jurgen spoke, barely above a whisper. "Do you remember the car you brought to the shop last summer? The Jaguar?"

"The Series III 2+2, yes," Jonathan answered.

"The man in Kuwait who bought the engine modified it and installed it in another chassis, much the way our shop does. The customer was in a collision, and the police became involved. When they checked the vehicle's registration, something did not look correct, so they investigated serial numbers. They have traced the engine to the Jaguar you stole from the club."

"Oh, God, no," Amelia said, fighting to keep her voice down.

Jonathan put an arm around his wife. "Wait, don't panic, baby. Jurgen, the trail still ends at the club, just like it did that night, right?"

"Yes. The shop does not alter or remove serial numbers on components, because that is an obvious indication they are stolen. Some buyers will have nothing to do with them. However, we keep no written records of those numbers, so there is no paperwork to trace the engine to the shop."

Amelia leaned across the table so she could whisper, although they were alone. "Can the serial numbers lead the police to us?"

"Probably not. While it is possible to trace some major items like an engine back to the original vehicle, without records to trace a part's passage, it will be difficult to identify those involved. It is a long distance from that club parking lot to Kuwait. The engine could have gotten there by many different means. The body and frame of the Jaguar have long since had all markings removed, and the vehicle constructed from them was registered as a custom with no provenance. I believe we are safe in that regard."

"We're okay, then?" Jonathan asked.

"I assume so. Police in Kuwait notified the last registered owner of the Jaguar. Since he was already paid for his loss by his insurer, that company is now involved. They may attempt to investigate, but I cannot imagine what they would learn. Immediately after the theft the police had no evidence other than the valets' accounts. That was almost a year ago. There are no leads to follow, but I wanted you to know."

"What should we do?" Amelia asked.

"Do nothing, either of you. Go home after we eat, or do whatever you had planned to do today. Try to act normal. Tomorrow, I will see you at the jewelry shop, Jonathan. I do not wish to worry you, but we must tighten security. One error could bring the entire enterprise down. If you two amateur thieves get caught, it could be the end for us all. I discussed the matter with the other shareholders, and they agree: do not even consider stealing another vehicle. Leave that to professionals who are not partners in an automotive enterprise that attempts to look legitimate!"

*****

Back in their villa that afternoon, Jonathan stood quietly for some time, watching snow fall outside the veranda windows.

Amelia had to break the silence. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"For what?"

"Dragging you into this craziness again. You were right. We should never have gotten into car theft. Should we run?"

His shoulders relaxed when he turned to her. "You didn't exactly drag me. I could have said no. And run? To where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. I feel like we should get away."

He embraced her and cradled her head on his chest. "No running. I don't think there's a need. You heard what Jurgen said. We continue our daily routine. We go back to being the somewhat reclusive jeweler and his lovely wife living well from our investments, like we planned when we first moved here. Nothing more. We stay the hell away from the chop shop. No more wigs, no more pulling jobs, no more silly danger."

"I thought we could get away with it."

"We did, I think, but never again."

"Are you mad at me? I'm the one who pushed us to do this."

"Maybe you did, but I'm the one who got us involved with the chop shop - hell, crime in general - in the first place. Listen, baby, Jurgen seems relatively confident, so we should be too. Please don't worry. We'll be fine."

"I'm scared, Jonathan. Hold me, and tell me everything will be okay."

They moved to the bed where he had her stand so he could undress her. When he exposed new bare flesh by removing a garment, he loved it with gentle caresses of his fingers, lips, and tongue. She clung to his head for support as he suckled on her breasts, and she enjoyed a small climax before he touched her sex.

He helped her lie back on top of the covers and removed her sodden panties with his teeth. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of her decorative strip of short blond curls before he gently kissed her clitoris which had swollen from its hood.

"Oh Jonathan," she gasped, "you always do that so well. Please don't stop."

"I had no immediate plans," he chuckled. He resumed his efforts with his fingers and mouth, bringing her to a shattering orgasm. When her legs released his neck, she urged him to join her on the bed so she could taste herself on his tongue.

She helped him shed his clothes and grasped his engorged manhood possessively. "I'll always love you, honey, no matter what." She moved to take him in her mouth. He caressed her as she ministered to him, holding her platinum tresses off her face so he could watch. Before it was too late, he stopped her and rolled her onto her back.

She smiled her lust at him. "Make me yours, like you always do." She helped him aim, and he entered her, propping his upper body on his hands so he could see her face and breasts. They said nothing, mating quietly, kissing sometimes and other times just loving each other with their eyes. With the familiarity of decades together, they moved as one, luxuriating in their intimacy. She cried out softly with each thrust when he got serious about pushing her over the edge a final time. He stifled his own moans with hot kisses when he spilled inside her.

Spooning against him in the afterglow, Amelia said, "So we're really going to be good citizens now, huh?"

"We don't have a choice. Jurgen seems to think the shop is in the clear, so we'll keep our investment there. I'll go to work tomorrow and create something beautiful to adorn a rich woman's throat or wrist. You'll make your Monday shopping rounds like you always do. We can go out for dinner when I get home, or we can cook. It will be nice, like it was before. We enjoyed that life well enough, didn't we? I love you."

*****

Jurgen's prediction was correct. The insurance company reviewed the police files and tracked down the parking valets from the club where Jonathan and Amelia stole their first car. The boys seemed to remember less than they had before. The Jaguar vanished, the engine eventually turned up, but there was no way to say how it got there. Nothing pointed to the chop shop or the Wagners.

After dinner one late summer evening, the couple sat on a bench in the small, formal garden behind their villa, enjoying the breeze. "I've been doing some reading," Amelia announced. "Did you know Switzerland is the sixteenth largest exporter in the world in terms of monetary value?"

"Really?"

"Do you know what the single biggest export item is?"

"I have no idea. Pharmaceuticals? Watches?"

"That's what I thought, but we're both wrong. Thirty percent of this country's export value and seventeen percent of the import value is gold, Jonathan. Ninety-four billion U.S. Dollars worth was shipped out last year and forty-one billion came in. Billion, with a 'B'."

"That's ... hell ... thousands of tons of the stuff at current prices," he remarked.

She moved close to him and put on her most seductive face. "Honey, you've always been in the jewelry business, so you know a lot about gold, ..."