BROKEN (standard:mystery, 1886 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Aug 10 2003	Views/Reads: 4380/2636	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A tale of revenge.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


“You could sell the house, Pearl.” 

“Out of the question, dear,” she said wiping away the tears. “The house
was a gift from my father.” 

Comasky shifted in his seat, his sparkling eyes now giving the women his
full attention. 

“How much is the painting worth?” asked Celia. 

Pearl shrugged. “I'm not certain. At least £300,000 if I'm not
mistaken... Oh Celia, I'm in such a fix.” 

Comasky approached the women and cleared his throat. “I hope you don't
mind the intrusion, but I couldn't' help but overhear your 
conversation...  Do you mind if I join you?” 

“I don't think so,” complained Pearl. “A gentleman would not have
listened in to our conversation.” 

Comasky sat down regardless. “I didn't say that I was a gentleman...
Listen, I may be the answer to all of your problems.” 

“If you don't leave us alone I'll call the manager.” 

“Wait Pearl,” suggested Celia. “At least listen to what he has to say.” 

“Your friend is right... I only wish to help you.” 

Pearl sipped her Martini, regarding the stranger with her large, saucer
shape eyes. “So how can you help me, Mr..?” 

“Frazer... Anthony Frazer... By the gist of your conversation, it
appears that you have needs of a cash flow?” 

“Go on.” 

“Forgive me for eavesdropping, but you said the painting is worth
£300,000?” 

“Approximately, yes.” 

Comasky shuffled closer to the women, checking over his shoulder to
ensure that they were alone. “Can I be so bold as to ask if you have 
the painting insured?” 

“Of course it's insured,” responded Pearl. 

“Then Madam, your troubles may be over,” gloated Comasky. 

“I don't understand,” said Pearl, looking towards her friend. 

“I think what Mr Frazer is suggesting, is that he can arrange for the
painting to be stolen.” 

The short man smiled and pointed to Celia. “I do like an intelligent
woman.” 

Pearl removed a cigarette from her handbag. The obnoxious man leant over
and lit it for her with a match from a book. She blew out the smoke 
towards the ceiling and faced the irritant. 

“Let me get this clear. You arrange for my painting to be stolen and
then...” 

“Then you claim the insurance money... When things calm down, I of
course will return the painting.” 

“Of course. And how do I know that you'll return the painting?” “You
have my word.” 

“The word of a thief?” stressed Pearl. 

“Harsh words, Madam.... I like to think of myself as an opportunist.” 

“And how much would this fake burglary cost me?” 

“Let's say £100,000, should we?” 

Pearl waved a finger. “Do I look stupid? £50,000 or nothing, and only
when I receive the insurance money.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, lady.” 

“And I want to take out my own insurance,” murmured Pearl. “Come again.”
 He stared into her green feline-like eyes as she ground out her 
cigarette. 

Pearl turned to her friend. “Celia, do you have that infernal camera
with you?” 

“You know I do.” 

Pearl held out her hand. “She carries the darn thing with her everywhere
she goes, just in case she happens to run into a celebrity.” The 
redhead lined up the camera and took Comasky's photograph. 

“Hold on there. What're you playing at, lady?” 

“My insurance... I'll keep this photograph in a safety deposit box,
along with a letter detailing our arrangement. If you do decide not to 
return my painting, then I have my insurance.” 

Comasky frowned and regarded the woman suspiciously. “But what good
would it do you? Even if I did keep the painting, then you'd have to 
incriminate yourself to finger me.” 

“And believe me darling, I will... You have to ask yourself, is she
bluffing... No, this way I think I'll stand a far better chance of 
seeing my painting again.” 

“You're a shrewd one aren't'you?” 

“So, do we have a deal?” 

“I guess we do.” He offered his hand, but Pearl refused to accept it. 

“Tomorrow morning at should we say two?” 

“Bloody hell lady, not one for foreplay are you?” 

Pearl ignored the smutty remark. “Tomorrow will be ideal... I have
guests staying after that for the next fortnight... Oh, and by the way, 
you yourself must carry out the burglary. I want nobody else involved. 
” 

“Of course. Tomorrow it is... How will I get in?” 

Celia giggled and finished her Martini. “Are you two really going
through with this?” 

Pearl ignored her and jotted down her address, before passing it to
Comasky. “I'll leave the burglar alarm turned off, and after you've 
left, I'll activate it... Smash a window and make the burglary look 
authentic for Christ's sake... I've written down my telephone number, 
but you must not contact me for at least one month.” 

“How are you going to explain the sudden reappearance of the painting,
Pearl?” asked Celia. 

“I'll hang it in the cellar, silly. That way, nobody will know.” Comasky
left the women, content with the arrangement. He had no intention of 
returning the painting, and the chances of the woman incriminating 
herself were next to nil. 

Pearl heard the breaking of the glass and swallowed the remainder of her
brandy. Her eyes swivelled towards the wall clock to see that the 
burglar was right on time. She held the photograph in her trembling 
hands and wept softly, awaiting the appearance of the intruder. The 
squeaking door opened and Comasky, dressed in black from head to foot, 
faced her. 

“I like punctuality, Mr Frazer... How about a drink?” asked Pearl. 

“Shit, are you kidding? Anyway, it appears you've had enough for the
both of us... What‘s that smell?” 

Pearl rose from the leather armchair and was now standing opposite
Comasky, a look of disgust covering her face. 

“Have you a problem, lady? Where's the painting?” 

“Oh yes, the painting,” she giggled childishly. 

Comasky looked more like a weasel than usual, his narrow nose twitching,
and the perspiration streaming down his gaunt face. “You're pissed... 
Now are you...” 

“Shut up!” 

“What?” 

“You heard me, Comasky.” 

“You know my name?” 

The intoxicated woman staggered out of the lounge and into the candlelit
kitchen. Comasky followed her, and watched in amazement when she 
reached out for the power switch. The loud din of the burglar alarm 
broke the silence and Comasky stared at the photograph in her hand. 

“Yes this is my husband, James. Remember him?” 

“You stupid cow!” 

“Stay there you bastard,” she yelled, picking up the candle. Comasky
sniffed the fumes, realising now what the reek had been. Comasky by now 
was panicking. “You're crazy, lady,” he stuttered, walking swiftly 
towards the door. He felt the cool air on his face and bounded across 
the illuminated lawn, realising that several of the neighbours had 
gathered and were witnessing his escape. 

Rachel threw the Regency Hotel book of matches away from her, along with
the photograph of Comasky. If the fingerprints on the book of matches 
did not convict the conman, then the photograph would help. She kissed 
the photograph of her husband and walked towards the other side of the 
room, before turning the candle on herself. 

Her preparation had been meticulous, and even Celia had been unaware of
her final plan of action. The unsuspecting accomplice had gone along 
with her friend's plot, believing that Comasky would be arrested for 
burglary and not murder. 

The neighbours saw the flames silhouetted against the window, before
entering the house, to be confronted by the shocking spectacle of the 
burning Rachel. The expected screams did not escape from her mouth, 
instead, the sound of laughter echoed around. 


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