Nobodys Neighbors

Writer's note: You may have seen this published on another website. It is a sequel to a story by my favorite writer. She was fully aware of my intent to compose it before I began, and she has read and approved this effort. Her original story was about a middle-aged, upper-class couple, Jonathan and Amelia Russell, who moonlighted as cat burglars in their neighborhood. Under investigation by police and a U.S. State Department agent, they fled the country to Switzerland.

In this sequel, the duo finds other illegal means of making money. There's vehicle-related verbiage sprinkled into the narrative which may bore some readers in spots, but it seemed necessary, along with location details, to make this tribute to a fun story more realistic.

*****

Jonathan played with her wet platinum blond hair as she knelt on the shower floor. "God, I love you so much, Amelia."

She let him out of her mouth to smile up at him. "And I love you. Now, be quiet, and concentrate on what I'm doing. You know what I want." She went back to servicing his manhood, massaging his scrotum gently to urge him on. In time, he complied with her wishes. She showed him his product before she swallowed. "Mmm. You always give me my treat if I do that to you long enough."

He got out of the shower while she re-washed her face.

"Would you hand me my towel?" she asked.

He studied her nudity as they dried themselves. Her body was still fit, barely showing the ravages of time. She could easily pass for fifteen years younger than she was. Her natural blond landing strip somehow looked more youthful than a fully shaved mound would on her. "I'm so lucky to have you. You still take my breath away. You're every bit as sexy as the first time I saw you."

She snickered. "Says the man who just got his morning blow job."

"There's that, but I'm serious. You're everything to me. You're my world."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, listen to you, Mr. Smooth Talker."

"All part of my charm, dear."

"I'm well aware. You've been charming me my entire adult life."

"You inspire it, honey. I can't imagine a day without you."

Amelia studied her husband's face. "There's a 'but' in there somewhere. You're trying to hide it, but I know you pretty well. We've always been honest with each other, so tell me - what's wrong?"

He sighed. "I've been thinking. I was looking forward to early retirement when we got here a year ago, but now I feel restless. We used to travel - Las Vegas, the Bahamas, Singapore, anywhere we wanted - and we did it legitimately, like everyone else. Now we're stuck in Europe until statutes of limitations run out. We'll be old by then."

"I know what you mean," she nodded. "I miss being able to get on a plane whenever we want. I miss home. But we can't go back, so that's how it is. We're not in prison. We're together. This villa is gorgeous. In fact, the whole country is gorgeous. I'm pretty happy here."

"So am I, but I have to be active. That's why I started making jewelry at Jurgen's shop. It's my art, my gift, so I need to keep doing it. Now I use precious metals and stones other people steal."

"Your passion for your art was the first thing that intrigued me about you. I love all the jewelry you create. The last piece you made for me in America, my platinum necklace, is my favorite."

"It's not the same as it was, baby. Part of me misses pulling jobs."

"What? No! The criminal part of our lives is over now."

"It doesn't have to be if we're smart."

"Jonathan, I don't think I can take the stress again. We pushed our luck too far. We got greedy and careless."

"We did. But we can learn from our mistakes. Maybe we need a new plan."

She shook her head. "The life we have now IS our new plan! We discussed and prepared for this for years. We agreed it's safer this way - legitimate, respectable, beyond suspicion. We escaped from the States, but just barely. Now, we live every bit as well as we did at home because you earn great money from your craftsmanship here just like you did back there."

"Very true," he agreed.

"We knew we'd have to leave home at some point, and since we didn't want you to need to work when we got here, we laundered the proceeds from our heists into legitimate investments we can live on handsomely for the rest of our lives. No more looking over our shoulders all the time. No more of that State Department bitch one step behind us."

"Ah yes, Agent Stacey Ferguson. I learned something about her the other day. Jurgen says she's no threat anymore. He has a contact who can find stuff out - don't ask me how. Our dear Ms. F. got a bad evaluation when we slipped through her fingers, and she quit under pressure. The police, the victims, everyone knew she spooked us."

"She was always there toward the end. Some of the neighbors told me they thought she was tailing someone. If they spotted her, she was pretty obvious," Amelia offered.

"Lucky for us," her husband said. "We had just enough warning to get out of the country. Ferguson and the cops spent a lot of man-hours and tax dollars on our case, but with no new thefts and no new leads in a year, the file is essentially closed."

"I guess you're right," she agreed.

"Now, we're Jonathan and Amelia Wagner from Arizona. The local people who know anything about us think we sold the mineral rights to our land, took the money, and moved here. The notorious burglary team of Jonathan and Amelia Russell vanished into thin air."

"And now we're stable for a change," she stated.

"But don't you sometimes miss the excitement, baby? Don't you miss the thrill of planning and executing a heist? At least a little?"

"Okay, yes. The adrenaline was addictive. Getting away with something turned me on. You know how I got with every job. I wanted you to bend me over the workbench in the garage or throw me on the kitchen floor and have your way with me when we came home with a good haul. I could barely make it to the bedroom some nights. It was a giddy high, but it got too risky. We agreed those days are over. You pounded it into my head - make a paper trail for large purchases so they can be properly insured against loss."

"Right. You can't be too careful these days. There are lots of thieves out there."

She grinned. "That's why I never felt that bad about robbing those nouveau riche snobs back home. They all bragged about how much they insured stuff for. If they were lying, that's their tough luck."

"Exactly," Jonathan agreed. "Any idiot knows he must insure his valuables and spend the money for a decent security system. Some of our neighbors should have sued their providers. A clumsy ten year old could have bypassed a few of those alarms." He stood behind her to play with a nipple while she dried her hair. "Dammit, honey, sometimes being respectable makes me feel old."

"Mid-life crisis?" Amelia teased, batting his hand away. "You've been extra horny lately, not that I'm complaining. Should we hire a French maid for you? Maybe pick up a university girl from one of those trendy Zurich clubs?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Having fun with you, mostly. Some men your age take a young mistress. Some women my age find a hot personal trainer."

Jonathan kissed her bare shoulder. "You're all the woman I want."

"I was joking, honey. I could never let another man touch me, and I'd claw the eyes out of a woman who touched you."

"I should hope so," he chuckled.

"Ooh, Jonathan, I have an idea to cheer you up! Your fiftieth birthday is coming up. Why don't we get another Porsche? Your only complaint about the one we had at home was that it was too quiet, but it was a great getaway car. Maybe we could get a bright red turbo model with fat polished rims this time. Something loud and obnoxious. Or maybe all matte black and sinister, so you hear it before you see it. We could pick it up at the factory and drive it back here. Zuffenhausen is what - three hours away?"

"Not even that far. A hot, mean Porsche sounds nice, but that's not what I'm talking about. We're not getting younger, and I plan to grow quite old with you. We have expensive tastes. It wouldn't hurt to make some extra cash now. We should think about our future when I retire. I want to play under the radar again, for the money if nothing else. Let's get back into the game."

She spun to look at him. "Are you nuts? It took years of planning, years of research into our neighbors' security systems, learning their habits, and gaining their trust enough to know about their valuables. We don't have those relationships now. At home, we were well established in the neighborhood. Here, we're foreigners. We don't associate with many people. The only ones we know really well are Jurgen and Nina. We can't rob them."

Jonathan pulled his naked wife into his embrace. "Of course not. They're our friends."

She cuddled against him and laughed quietly. "Most of our 'contributors' back home were friends to some degree."

"True, but these friends know our history. Besides, we owe them our freedom. When we were in the States, Jurgen paid a decent price for everything we sent him and invested our money for us here. Nina found us this villa."

"Exactly." She pulled away so she could see him as she spoke. "I have serious questions before we even think of doing something illegal again."

"Go ahead."

"We don't belong to a country club or a gym or any civic groups here. We don't go to cocktail parties like we did at home. We haven't even been inside many houses in Europe. We can't just go somewhere we know nothing about in the middle of the night and expect it to be easy to break in and find enough cash and jewelry to make it worth the risk, now can we?"

"Well, no."

"Correct! Who would our marks be? Who really has money, and who pretends? We don't know these people. What's your plan? Rob your shop's customers? That's a bit obvious, don't you think?"

"Calm down, baby. You're absolutely right. We made the mistake before of hunting too close to home. We don't know who has good jewelry anyway."

"So, what do you want to steal?"

"'Steal' is such an ugly word, Amelia. That implies smash and grab. That's a younger person's and amateur's game. We can be better than that."

"How?"

"Jurgen talked to me the other day about an opportunity, not something hands-on for us, but definitely not legal. He made it sound very profitable and with possibly acceptable risk. I'm going to give him a call. Get dressed."

*****

The Wagners' silver Mercedes coupe glided to a stop beside a huge two-story stone bank barn built into a slope on the outskirts of Zurich, about ten kilometers from their villa.

Jurgen climbed from his customized vintage American pick-up truck and took Amelia's hand for an old world gentleman's kiss. "I am glad you came to see our shop. No one is working now, so I can show you everything." He led the couple up a flight of stone steps and held a door open for them. Inside was a small, modern office. The walls were plastered with photographs, artists' sketches, and computer renderings of cars.

"These are some of the shop's projects," Jurgen said. "They build to order - custom cars, one-offs, and some restorations for discrete customers. Much of the product goes to the Middle East or Asia. Documentation is not important to that clientele. Minor Arab sheikhs and Asian opium tycoons do not care how a car came to be. They only care about having it."

"What Jurgen means," Jonathan said to his wife, "is this is a chop shop."

"You Yankees are vulgar," Jurgen objected. "This is an artisan studio creating bespoke motorcars. Highly skilled designers, technicians, and craftsmen fabricate new vehicles from refurbished parts. There are other facilities similar to this one throughout the world, but the difference is the provenance of the parts this shop uses in projects. But enough talk. Let me show you what they do."

He ushered the couple through another door into a cavernous room filled with partially dis-assembled cars, some almost bare skeletons. "They dismantle donor cars here," Jurgen explained. "Downstairs they create everything from limousines to American style street rods. My truck was built here. I purchased a beat-up old hulk so I could have legitimate paperwork, but almost nothing on the vehicle is original. The engine is from a late-model Ford Mustang. The interior was adapted from a Mercedes SUV. A lot of the sheet metal was fabricated here, sometimes using re-purposed materials."

"Do they do anything but build cars for sale?" Jonathan asked.

"The shop does restorations, engine swaps, and custom work on legitimately owned client cars at a handsome profit. Labor charges are high, as they should be for this level of craftsmanship. The equipment is expensive, but because of the dismantling operation, many parts cost nothing. The necessary new parts and materials for projects are paid for by profit from this part of the shop."

"What do you do with the used stuff you don't need?" Amelia wondered.

"Used parts are like gemstones and precious metals," Jurgen answered. "Every usable or repairable piece is sent to a separate facility also owned by this shop. There, crews sort, clean, and in some cases recondition components for re-sale. They are worth good money in Cuba, third world countries, and back alley repair businesses around the globe." He led the Wagners to a large freight elevator in one corner of the room. "The magic happens downstairs."

On the lower level, the elevator gate rose to reveal a modern fabrication shop with metal forming machines, welding equipment, and partially-built vehicles neatly arranged in spotless work stations. "The technicians can tear an engine down completely and modify it to make more power. The sheet metal fabricators are among the best in the world. Upholstery, electronics, suspension, paint - virtually everything is done in this shop. Some clients pay a half million U.S. Dollars or more for a project."

Jonathan urged his friend, "Tell her the profit margin."

Jurgen grinned. "That is the part of the magic that can benefit you. Net profit for the last five years averaged fifty percent. Shareholders are paid in cash. The money is as clean as dirty money can be."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Clean? How is it clean? There's a chop shop full of stolen cars upstairs. The last I knew, the law considers that dirty."

"Again with the uncouth Americanisms," Jurgen scolded. "My jewelry business is essentially the same thing. Many of our pieces are made from items we dismantle. At one time you were my best American suppliers."

She nodded. "When you put it that way, ..."

"Fifty percent, Amelia!" Jonathan exclaimed. "That's a huge return for minimal risk. We don't have to do anything - just invest. That's about as safe as it gets when you're involved with something that makes fast money."

"You guys have my attention. How much will it cost us to buy in, Jurgen?"

"The business needs expansion capital. They must hire more craftsmen and buy more equipment. We are open to offers."

Jonathan grasped his wife's hand. "If you're interested, honey, we can discuss our finances at home."

"I never considered investing in a business before," she said, "but it sounds good."

*****

A year later, the couple returned from dinner at Jurgen's where they celebrated the shop's continued profitability. With the Wagners' infusion of capital, the business had purchased additional state of the art equipment and hired new skilled staff to use it.

Amelia surfed the web while Jonathan got ready for bed. "Honey, did you know there are websites devoted to vehicle security systems?"

"There are websites for everything. Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious how the people who supply donor cars steal them. If a car's parked outside, it's easy pickings, right? How hard can it be?"

He thought for a moment. "Assuming there are no cameras, not easy, but obviously possible."

"Exactly!" she bubbled. "You were great with getting us into houses. Let's start stealing cars."

"Have you lost your mind, Amelia? You were the one who was so cautious about getting involved with anything shady again, so why the hell would we do that?"

"For fun."

"For fun? What the hell? You were the one who lectured me about crime when I first proposed investing in the auto shop. You were so worried about risk. I thought you were all about the straight and narrow."

"That was then. This is now. I changed my mind. I'm a woman, so I can do that. I've been thinking about it for a while. Pulling jobs turns me on. You know that."

"I don't understand. We're behind the scenes with the car business, making good money and relatively protected. Why would we get back into active crime?"

"For the thrill, dammit! Look, it's not like what you do every day at the jewelry shop is legal. You know where some of the stones and metals come from. The chop shop is blatantly criminal, but you were all excited when I agreed to us getting involved."

"Those are different. At work, I'm an employee, an artisan using materials provided by the boss. With the car thing we're just investors. We can feign innocence."

"Yeah, right. You know if the cops do any digging at all, we're screwed."

"It's acceptable risk, Amelia."

"Maybe, but as risks go, it's pretty boring. I seem to remember you complaining about boredom not that long ago."

"I said I was restless and wanted to make easy money. I didn't say I wanted to go to jail!"

She waved his words away. "We won't go to jail. I just want to try it. How many jobs did we pull at home before they suspected us? Dozens."

"Burglary is different from car theft. We don't know how to do that. Too risky."

"Oh, come on, honey. The thrill of the risk was part of it. There's no real thrill with 'investing' in crime. Yes, we made money in the past year, but it's almost too legitimate. Quarterly envelopes of cash are nice, and they'll definitely help with our future, but there's no emotional rush like we used to get pulling jobs. Remember how I am when we do something naughty."

"Come to bed, crazy lady. I know how you are when you even think about doing something naughty."

She shed her nightgown and got under the covers with her naked husband. "I bet we can do it. Do you think the shop would take cars we provide?"

"They get their donor vehicles from professionals. We're rank amateurs. We can't just start boosting cars." He touched her between her legs. "My God, woman. You're wet already."

"We're talking about getting back into action, so of course I'm wet, but we'll deal with that later. Let's plan."

He rolled on his side to look at her. "Reality check. Your part in our jobs has always been getting in and out with stuff fast so we could get away. My part was making it possible for you to do that."

"Right. Can't we do sort of the same thing?"

"Modern car alarms are completely different from house alarms. Key-less entry, key-less start, immobilizers, all that satellite tracking - I don't know how easy it will be to hack. If a car's parked on the street, the owner should have all that security stuff armed."

"Jonathan, people don't always set their car alarms when they park inside. We don't."

"No, but we'd have to deal with surveillance, alarms, and locks on the building before we could even attempt to actually steal the car. It's one thing to break into a house, fill a bag with loot, and slip away undetected on foot. It's another to drive a car out. That's way too dangerous for my tastes. A successful job has to be quick."

"The shop does classic car projects," she mused. "Could we steal nice old cars? Those parts should bring good money."

He considered this for a moment. "Theoretically, a vintage car would be easier to steal when it's outside since they didn't have factory alarm systems. Aftermarket alarms are usually simpler than the factory stuff. I can get a little meter that will detect one if it's there, and I could probably disable or bypass it. In fact, a car purist may not want one on his vehicle if he takes it to shows. Even local event judges frown on modifications like that. I may have an idea, and it involves you. I'll explain later." He pulled her to him to nibble on a nipple, and she responded by reaching for his swelling penis.