Fool's Gold

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Devil's in the Details

Chapter Twenty-Two:

                The Devil's in the Details

          “I cannot believe this!” Leo Grey exclaims thickly through a mouthful of toast. He flicks his newspaper down to look at the table’s two occupants before discarding it beside his plate. He slathers more butter on his bread savagely, causing Christian Lloyd to wince.

          “You really shouldn’t be eating that,” speaks up his advisor from the opposite end of the table. “It’s bad for your health.”

          Leo rolls his eyes and takes out a silver cigarette case inlaid with a paneling of pearl. He selects one carefully, lights it, and brings it to his lips.

          “None of that either!” Christian cries in exasperation.

          Leo blows the smoke out towards him, a smile playing at his lips for the first time in the past few weeks. “If I want a smoke with my breakfast then I’m going to have it. Surely there’s no flaw that you can find in that.”

          Christian is quick to give the con. “It’s bad for your health if you do it too often.”

          Leo’s mouth spreads into a grin. “I believe what he’s trying to say,” he chuckles, turning to Florence. “is that he doesn’t want one.” He tosses her a cigarette, which she narrowly catches and holds to her body. He leans across the table to light it for her, letting his fingers linger against her for slightly longer than is necessary. As Leo sits back down and take up his paper once more, Christian raises an eyebrow in questioning.

          “Subtly was never your strongest suit, dear fellow.”

          The reply comes nonchalantly from behind the Tribune’s gossip column. “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”

          Awkwardly, Christian attempts to change the topic. “What is it that you can’t believe?”

          Two glinting sapphires appear over the edge of the newspaper. “The cops have  been hunting down the dens, that’s what. The raids are getting worse, even for the private collectors!” Leo exclaims, his eyes narrowing as they flick back down to race through the remainder of the column.

          “Your places will be fine,” Christian assures. “They won’t bother with the East Coast. It’s always safely overlooked.”

          Leo exhales in broken relief. “You’re right, as always. But on a separate note,” he continues, casting the newspaper aside to reveal an expression of deviously sculpted contemplation. “I believe that it’s time for us to go on a little excursion to the Green Mill.”

          Florence narrows her eyes at him, her irises glinting like a cat’s. “And by excursion, you mean…?” she prompts.

          “You go ahead and get in through the back way,” he instructs. “I’ll follow in a different car once you’re in. Make sense?”

          “Al right. But I swear if this doesn’t work out-”

          “It will,” Christian interrupts sourly, still glaring at Leo’s cigarette. “It always does.”

          “We’re going to take her up on her little invitation from last month,”  Leo explains, his eyes darkening  as he grips his cigarette. “And then we’re going to take her for everything she’s got.”

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As the Rolls Royce putters softly around the corner, Leo sneaks a sidelong glance at her from under the brim of his boater hat. What he sees nearly makes his hands drift off of the steering wheel in surprise. Time seems to slow as he watches her. The sight is absolutely stunning and he cannot drink in enough of it. The sun is shining on her hair, making a sort of halo as points of light fly in a thousand different directions. She throws her head back to laugh at an inaudible joke that the man beside her has whispered into her ear. She wields her cigarette holder as gracefully as a conductor might handle his baton, resting it between two slender silk-clad fingertips.