The Fantastic Hotel Pt 02

The Fantastic Hotel on Curzon Street - the Jewel Thief

The mantis stepped down from the tram and leaned casually against a wall, directly across the street from The Fantastic Hotel. He'd come across the river, shaken in the old tram with a crash and a bang and sparks from the wire as it lurched around corners. He'd been gracious to old ladies and charming to young ones, with a grin and a joke and a twirl of his fancy moustachios.

His pockets were deep to hide the tools of his trade: an awl, a small hammer, and a set of false keys. Clever with doors, seldom bothered with locks, the mantis went where he wanted, an invisible thief. He collected newspaper headlines in a thick leather book. He was on several Wanted posters down at Scotland Yard, but they had his height completely wrong, depicting a short fellow, whereas the mantis was in fact very tall. He'd hear the blow of a constable's whistle and look about to see who it was, most amused.

And here he was, calm and casual, shooing away boot blacks with their boot brushes and bottles of peregrine oil. After a good long perusal of the building opposite, he straightened up and crossed the road with several long steps, his long limbs quite advantageous.

Clang jangle, there came a loud noise from the bell of a badly driven tram, the driver drunk and quite careless. The mantis dodged quickly, and would have lost his hat if he had one. He grinned, kicked his heels, and headed straight for the circular door. He looked askance at the doorman and smirked down at the small boy by his side.

"Sirrah, Sir, did you see that? That almost perilous danger? Those drivers should truly be banned." He bowed down to the boy. "And you, my boy, are you well?"

And with that bluster and charm, a deliberate diversion, the mantis spun within the revolving doors, leaving the guardians outside confused and perplexed. If questioned later they would be quite bedazzled, unable to accurately describe the intruder. The mantis knew that a spectacular entrance left doubt. Was he six foot four or four foot six? Quite a difference, and who could be certain?

Once inside, he proceeded directly to the lifts. Four to the top and two to the basement; he pressed the button for lift three. Direct to the penthouse on the twenty-third floor. The corridor, when he got there, was deserted. The mantis pulled a mask from his pocket. It was time to go incognito.

He slunk up to the door of Room 237 and put an ear to it, twitching antennae forward to make certain. There was no noise inside and no noise by the door. The mantis thought it safe to sneak in. So he plucked from his pocket a long intricate key, with four tiny levers, two mirrors and a small magnifying glass, for to see the inside of a lock broken into. With a satisfying click the mantis broke in. He eased the door open and peered into the gloom, then swiftly stepped forward, closing the door silently behind him.

It was dark in the room, with a silver glow of moonlight just rising, creeping in through the wide windows. The mantis stood listening, but no, not a sound. He stole forward on thick carpets, his boots hushed, his pockets held close to stop his tools rattle. He stopped in front of a painting, a magnificent, voluptuous nude. He admired her for a moment, then whispered, "Such beautiful eyes. And see how the artist captures the little dog."

He fancied himself as a collector, a purveyor of admirable things, but his speciality was something more tangible.

Hush, what was that? The mantis spun around but saw only shadows. He stood listening, his antennae bending this way, then that. Satisfied with the silence, he carefully took the painting down from the wall, placing it on the floor a few feet away. The temptress lay voluptuous, gazing silly at his feet.

"You need to be higher up, my darling." The mantis chuckled, and turned to the spinnable lock on the grey metal door. He pulled a stethoscope from inside his jacket, cracked his fingers, and set to work.

He spun the dial five times to get the feel of it, then set the stethoscope and both antennae against the door. Sound and vibration, no lock could escape. His fingers were delicate as he slowly turned the dial, listening for the tumblers to fall. It was an elegant task, quite precise, and the mantis took his time about it. Two minutes later, or a few seconds more, the wheel spun around to its final click, and the mantis grasped the lever and turned it.

He pulled the door open and there on the first shelf was a tight stack of money, tied this way and that with a very black bow. One loop of it was in a tight circle, the other end a long trailing thread. Below the stack, on the floor of the metal chamber, lay three bags, one blue in velvet, two a deep tumultuous red.

The mantis's eyes glinted. Here was the prize. He stretched his fingers forward to get the blue velvet sack -

"I'll have that," whispered a voice behind him; female, seductive, and low. "Give it me."

The mantis turned quickly, his fingers instinctively grasping the bag, his other hand going for the awl in his pocket.

"I don't think so," she said, staying his hand with a cocked click of a small pearl-handled revolver, pointing straight at him. "I said, give it to me."

The mantis recovered his wits quickly and put both hands above his head in surrender. Being a fellow with very long limbs, this meant the bag dangled in plain sight, but was unreachable by his assailant. The mantis smiled, but made no sudden movement.

"Curse you," snarled the intruder. "I didn't think of that." She was very much shorter than he, a voluptuous black eyed lady beetle; a lady bug if she'd hailed from New York or San Francisco, but she did not. "I suppose this means we negotiate, because a pistol shot..."

"... would make far too much noise," the mantis replied. "Yes, it would. Yes, we should."

He slowly lowered his arms, and gestured her to put the gun down.

"Madame," he enquired, "who are you, and how did you get in so silently? I was completely unaware of your delectable presence."

"I was here before you, waiting for you to arrive. I observed from the window, looking down at you lounging in the lackadaisical street." She pointed to a tall window with elegant curtains, and a balcony hovering over the boulevard.

"You know me? But I don't know you." The mantis studied the beetle before him, observing her bright carapace. "You're not really made for sneaking about, with that glossy red coat and those unmissable black spots. Any man could see you."

He glanced down at her voluptuous breasts, pleasingly constrained in a sheer mesh top, with large dark nipples clearly visible.

"Any man would want to," he added, admiring her curves and her large dark eyes. The pistol, dangling from a finger, gave her a certain panache and a certain danger.

"You can talk," she rebutted, "with your nearly fluorescent green jacket and extraordinary multi-coloured trousers."

The mantis looked down at himself. "I don't see what you mean. I always dress like this. No-one's mentioned it before. Anyway," he went on, "my pictures are all in black and white, so how would anyone know?"

The lady beetle laughed. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps that's why they can't find us, the constabulary. Because they search for us in black and white, shades of grey; while in truth we thieves sport ourselves in the most amazing colours."

She looked down at herself, and indeed, she had a fascinating array of colours about her. She wore a tight red dress made of a beautiful cloth, which clung to her curves of delicious, tumultuous flesh, with a rose pink motif right in the middle. Her dressmaker had placed a flowering rose pattern, with its convoluted petals and a deep rich centre, right over the subtle mound of her pubis.

The mantis admired the provocation, the deliberate wit. He smiled at her, and she saw him looking. She smoothed her dress down with the palm of her hand to reinforce the illusion, smoothing it neatly over her mons Venus.

The mantis began to think the real thing beneath would be so very much better; her bare belly and a neatly trimmed quiff, with the finest soft black hair, of course.

"But who are you?" he repeated. "I'd quite like to know."

While he distracted the lady with chat, he surreptitiously reached back inside the safe to extract the remaining two bags, disguising his movements with a clumsy bump of the piled money onto the floor. With a quick legerdemain he dipped the bags into his pockets, then just as quickly, slicked back his hair.

The mantis continued to look at the lady beetle, an admiring look on his face. He admitted to himself she was clever, waiting for him to do the dirty work by opening the safe and then, presumably, having a plan to snatch the plunder and make a run for it, a quick getaway.

He wondered if she would speed through the streets on a bicycle, all a clattering on the cobbles with her sturdy strong legs pumping the pedals. Or would she escape using a motorised craft, like a velocipede or a fast gondola? But wait, it's not Venice. A tall red London bus then, up the top; with a flirt for the conductor who would discount the ticket just to get another smile. She'd ring the bell for her destination, and jump off.

But her plan was foiled by the mantis with his long, strangely angled arms, holding the booty well out of her reach.

Nevertheless, the mantis began to ask questions. At first to be friendly, but then, because she was a fellow thief, she might have some useful knowledge. He began slowly, as much to hear her voice as anything else. She had a gleeful laugh in it, or was that light-hearted flirting most deliberate? He couldn't be sure.

"Your plan, my lady, if you had absconded with these jewels? Where had you thought of taking them?"

It would be useful knowledge, to know a good fence. The mantis had to admit he'd not thought much further than getting out the door, his booty hidden in a small gunny sack, the money scattered throughout his pockets.

"Madame the Cat," she said, "down at the end of the boulevard, over the river and turn west. She'll pay good money for the finest jewels, and has an eye for them."

"Ah yes, I know of her." The mantis nodded. "Impeccable taste and indeed, a good eye, so I've heard."

There was good money to be made with bright jewels, and Madame the Cat liked tiny gems the best, those bright shining lights hidden where you least expected them. She made a habit of finding them, their collectors too, and would sew up the best in her big glad bag, made up of myriad patches. She'd nurture the rest, polishing them like diamonds till they'd glint, then hand them back to the owner, or pass them on to a friend.

"Shall we go there together then?" the mantis asked. "I'll confess, I'm a little afraid of you and your gun. A sudden move, a loud noise, you might startle and let loose a bullet."

He looked at the lady beetle. "I'll say it, I'd rather walk perpendicular with you than be dead horizontal. My green jacket," he concluded, "wouldn't look good in a coffin."

"Too much contrast, do you think?"

"Red blood and a green jacket? Madame, you insult me. I have impeccable taste. Sartorial."

The beetle laughed. "I'm sure you do. To thieve at The Fantastic Hotel, you must be the best."

The mantis looked at her splendid shape. "I stay in good company, my dear. Come on then, let's do it. Let us go off to Madame the Cat."

The mantis, being a tidy fellow and the money on the floor all untidy, put most of the notes away in several capacious pockets. The beetle played a more symbolic game and tucked a few high denominations into her brassiere, where the Queen's eye rested against a hard nipple.

"I'll bet Liz never copped such an eyeful," quipped the mantis, not expecting a knighthood any time soon.

"She's a woman of the world, I'm sure," the beetle replied. "And not completely disinterested."

"You're thinking of her sister," remarked the mantis, wondering how far it was to the palace.

"Perhaps I am," said the lady beetle, thinking a tiara would do well in the market, provided a buyer didn't expect too much provenance or genuine documentation; although a good forgery might do it. She knew an octopus who was good with ink, even if his tentacles were rapacious and found every tight crease and her crevice.

"Let's away then," said the mantis, making for the door.

"Before you go," said the lady beetle, referring to an earlier conversation, "if you ask nicely, we could dance the horizontal dance. And find a place for your gun."

She looked every bit the mischievous darling, spinning the pistol on her finger. The pearl highlights on its handle glinted under the candelabra, flicker, flicker.

"Goodness me, Miss Nicely, that's an offer a gentleman wouldn't refuse."

"A cad or a gentleman, I've had both use my holster." She glanced up at him, a glint in her eye. "I imagine your delicate thieving fingers would extract from this lady a good reward."

"Provided you place your pearl handled pistol on the night table, where I can see it, I'd be willing to meet your imagination half way up." The mantis quickly agreed the assignment.

"While yours is moving half way down?" She negotiated, to the extent a nod of the head signified negotiation. Thieving was rousing work, and it was only proper to agree boundaries.

"You've got it!"

And with that, they proceeded to undo buttons.

The mantis placed his bags of booty on a high hook and the lady beetle shrugged, knowing that he would. No matter. Him being tall and her being shorter meant sore knees were unnecessary. She found she was just the right height to fluff him, so she did, and in so doing, discovered that the mantis's testicles were rather large. Or perhaps it was her small hands that made it all an optical illusion, and her skill with them that made it most convincing. Within several moments she had him most splendid, big and thick, pushed back against the wall.

The beetle, Miss Nicely, liked a good thrum at the back of her throat, and if the mantis couldn't go back, he'd burst forward. With one hand she cupped his balls and pulled him into her mouth, and with the other, just in case he was a quick trigger (she only knew him by reputation, after all), she covered all odds and found her own button and pressed it. It was a deep magnificent red, and complemented her black landing strip most delightfully.

The mantis was indeed a gentleman, despite what his detractors have said, and he gently disengaged himself from her dexterous tongue and led her to the bed. There, he demonstrated the advantage of several mandibles on the beetle's wet crevice, and soon had Miss Nicely begging for... well, rather a lot, as it happened. An alphabet would do it justice, to keep order.

The mantis was soon intoxicated by the beetle's sweet juices and quite prepared to sup a lot more, when there was a sudden distraction, tappety tap, on the front door.

"Room service," claimed a rough voice from the corridor.

"I don't believe it," whispered the mantis, "not on this floor. Madame," he went on, "I fear we must disengage this sweet interlude, and put our attention to running. I fear it's the plod, or someone worse, someone with a vendetta."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sad to be leaving the beetle's generous places, but thinking all the time - to be trapped between a lady's thighs was one thing, but to be caught on the twenty-third floor by the authorities was quite another.

"And so very close, too," pined the beetle, sitting up to tidy herself, and to put her breasts back within their constraints. She'd burst very buxom from her brassiere, although the mantis might have done most of that. "But how shall we do it, escape this room?" she asked.

"Out onto the balcony, up the fire escape to the roof, and then over the parapet and hope we don't fall," the mantis replied.

"It's a plan," said the beetle.

"It's the best we've got," the mantis commented. "Let's do it."

He turned to the table and grabbed up the swag in the coloured bags, and the beetle picked up her pistol. They made for the window and stepped out to the balcony, whilst out in the corridor the interloper put a key into the lock.

"You first," said the mantis, stepping to the foot of the fire ladder going up to the roof.

"That's very chivalrous," said the beetle.

"Not really," the mantis replied. "I've got your knickers in my pocket. For safe keeping," he tried to reassure her.

"I'm not so sure about that!" But she stepped out the window with a smile at his relentless audacity, hitched her skirt up, and began to climb.

The mantis followed, whether drawn by the slippery curve of her sex above him, the scent of their congress lingering, or fleeing from the idea of a thug with a truncheon below, he couldn't be sure. Never mind the reason, the outcome was the same: their safe arrival on the rooftop, where they ducked below the parapet and made not a sound, listening to what went on down below.

After five minutes of hearing several hushed voices and stealthy movement in the rooms below, the mantis carefully angled a tiny convex mirror over the parapet and held it still. He peered into it, and surmised they were safe, for no one had stepped out to the balcony.

"Hush, move quietly," he whispered, pointing to the head of a stairwell on the other side of the building. "We can escape through the back lifts, if we're lucky."

Miss Nicely set off, and the mantis had to remind himself they were in peril, and it was not the right time to admire the lady's haunches, however so delightfully they curved and swayed as she stepped before him, almost hypnotic like a pendulum clock. He knew a thing or two about delicate movements, and how best to wind a lady up. It took a special sort of key, and a firm, steady rotation on the...

"Hurry, you dolt, stop imagining me naked and ravished. What we need here is a serious escape route, not some curlicue to my back entrance. Although," she grinned back at him, "I'd flutter my wings right out of the way... if we had a safe place to parlez and park, chez vous."

"You're right," said the mantis, "we must find a way right out of this place." He paused, and scribbled a quick note to himself - that was almost a good line for a song, and he knew one or two strummers in a ukelele band. They could fine tune the words in a practice.

He followed the beetle, and they made their way across the roof to a distant entrance, or exit if one came from the opposite direction, climbing up. But they were climbing down, and the doors opened onto a set of stairs. They crept down, and the first door entered into a machine room for the lifts and the building's air conditioners. The mantis circled his forefinger counter-clockwise thrice, then pointed down, the gesture meaning, down to the next floor.

Success at last: an exuent promise, a point of departure, an escape to the wings at the side of a far too dramatic stage. The beetle heaved a huge sigh of relief, her large breasts rising quite pleasingly.

"Summon a lift with your digit," she instructed, "and let's get out of here."

"Indeed, let's do it," the mantis replied, and pressed the button marked 'Down'. With a grind and a grunt, an ancient cage made of metal and wood lurched into view, with two wide lattice gates, promising an almost certain descent. Hell might be safer. Milton's Lucifer had climbed up out of his on long stone stairs, but the beetle and mantis trusted their lives to a rickety cage going down.

They entered the ancient lift and found a large lever on a circular drum, just like a steamship might be equipped, with 'astern' and 'ahead' written on it. This device was for vertical movement, not horizontal, so the dial was conveniently marked 'up' and 'down'. The mantis selected 'down' on the lever, and with an alarming rattle the cage descended, lurching forward and back. The beetle grabbed his arm for balance, then looked up at the mantis with her large, dark eyes.