The Diamond Burglar

 I was sitting in a booth at TeaEmporium — one of those trendy tea shops up west that thinks it doesn’t even need ‘the’ before its name on the sign and where a pot of tea costs more than I once earnt in a day.

When Rebecca arrived I was still reading The Telegraph, I had picked it up to read on the tube but the article I was interested in was spread over a couple of inside pages, a series of burglaries that had taken place over the past few months where just one diamond was stolen per burglary. Nothing more, nothing less. The thief had been  rather unimaginatively named The London Diamond Burglar…more a job description rather than a name in my opinion. 

As I’m not that good with folding a broadsheet I waited until I had arrived at TeaEmporium knowing full well I was early and Rebecca would be on-time to the second giving me plenty of time for reading and preloading her bill with a pan roasted Oolong.

As Rebecca arrived I was still wrestling and swearing at the newspaper, I have to fold a newspaper back exactly the right way before I can put it down, some say its OCD but I say it’s my inner artist. To stop me from creating a scene Rebecca took the crumpled newspaper from me and, with the speed of a genie granting a wish, reassembled my newspaper, folded it just the way I like it and handed it to me. I put it in the right place on the table, touched both ‘Ts’ in The Telegraph and I was ready.

‘Derek Strange is on every front page again’ Rebecca used as a conversation starter as if I did not already know. Rebecca was not done with her obsession and felt the need to add ‘I’ve been following every word, you have to admire someone like that’ I nodded as if it were the fist time she had told me that and she continued, ‘I mean I know he is a thug but he  never actually hurt anyone’

We chatted on for ages as Rebecca relived every newspaper and online revelation. ‘They think all the money is offshore somewhere…’

‘Like the Isle of Wight you mean?’ I ejaculated fed up with her fan-gossip ‘how can you be so obsessed with a robbery?’

‘Not just the robbery, it’s the crime empire he headed as well…like some modern day Al Capone’ Rebecca had a far away look in her eyes, ‘imagine having a man like that’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ I smiled ‘you really are fucking warped at times Becs'

Finally we got onto the reason for our meeting ‘I’ve never known you to be so secretive, and with me as well…everyone is dying to see the exhibition’ Rebecca said ‘surely you can trust me’ 

Rebecca is my agent, she is super good as well, managed to book the gallery on the strength of my name a year ago but secretly I’ve been producing the body of work for longer. 

‘Treat em mean and keep em clean’ I said with a smirk knowing full well how much Rebecca hated my misquotes, ‘I have arranged my own signage, own porters and will be placing my own works’ we both knew our meeting was Rebeccas last chance to persuade me to let her organise, ‘all you need to do is call in every favour from your reporter friends and make sure everyone is there for opening night’

———//———

There’s me telling you all about what is going to happen and I’ve not even told you my name, let alone introduce myself, now my name is Pamela Snood but I was born…well there’s no need to go there. 

They say we’ve all got skeletons in the basement, but my skeletons are right up on the gallery wall, my USP if you get my meaning. OK — Unique Selling Point — sometimes initialisms are not the time savers people imagine they will be. 

Where was I…Pamela Snood an artist with a little extra and my USP is that I’m manitrans. Let me explain, most times I pass but when it suits me I purposely do not hence the ‘manipulative transgender’ portmanteau. Day to day I am stealth but at exhibitions or when meeting journalists I play various degrees of genderfuck and both the punters and the press love every moment of it. 

They get good copy, great entertainment, I get column inches and more sales…winner winner melenzana dinner as they say in San Giovanni Gemini.

Saturday night I’m meeting up with my friend Peggie as a way of avoiding pre-exhibition nerves. 

Peggie and her man, me and my man, just the four of us, used to meet for a pizza and chat or dinner at each others apartments…it’s going to be a while before that happens again as her man has gotten what could be a terminal case of the sleepabouts. Peggie needs a bit of cheering and so do I, she likely splitting with her man and mine is out of town. I’ll insist she comes clubbing for a change of scenery.

‘We’re like two old maids’ Peggie said

‘Not so much of the old” I said, we decided to stop off for a light meal before hitting the clubs.

‘Mike is history, he collected his things while I was working Thursday’ Peggie said. I chewed slowly giving time for her to let it all out, we’ve been friends long enough for silence not to feel awkward. Peggie smiled her pain hiding smile, ’anyway thats all history, tell me about you and your…hanii ? Have I got that right?’

I laugh and nod and blush big time as I think of the last time I used my man’s pet name, ‘seems like another lifetime when we were Hanii and Sakura, it’s my time to let the silence stretch as I think of him, think of how I miss him. 

‘Strange pet names, I never asked how you two came up with those’ Peggie smiled ‘I hope its not some anime thing’

‘I’m pretty sure they aren’t, that young lad Danny at your club donated our names, when he was in care he learnt Japanese from a girl at the childrens home. He said they were typical lovers pet names, Hanii meaning honey and Sakura meaning cherry blossom’

‘Mike and I used to think it was sweet how you two used Hanii and Sakura when you thought we couldn’t hear you’ Peggie paused a while, ‘you two speak often while he’s away?’

‘Most nights…anyway enough of men Pegs…lets hit the dance floor’

———//———

I had a vision in my head of what a cat burglar who only stole diamonds looked like, slim, dark hair, chiseled jaw line, dressed all in black, hank of coiled rope over one shoulder, climbing a drainpipe and silently moving around my bedroom as I slept.

I was not that cat burglar. 

I stole my diamond after being invited to dinner or a party at wealthy clients house or apartment. 

My preparation was watching YouTube to gain the skill of removing a stone from its setting without damage as my victims ate rather than slept.

Dog walkers and those taking the walk of shame were the only people around as I arrived home Sunday, my plan simplicity itself, sleep until midday, meet delivery of artworks and signage at the gallery and wait for the 19:00 premier.

The guys I had employed were much keener than the usual gallery staff and totally motivated by the wad of fifties that would soon be theirs. I paid them off a full hour before the doors opened, time enough for me to set the seven diamonds using a pea of blutac, each one valued well into six figures, in the bronze sculpture that formed the centrepiece…it’s title “theft” 

Once the diamonds were removed “theft” would still have substantial value as what I had planned would make “theft” unique. 

The gallery was at capacity and silence spread throughout as I stood on the platform behind “theft” video cameras videoed, sound recorders recorded and pencils fidgeted urgently for words to transcribe. I nodded to the last of my temporary assistants who, reading from my script, began speaking into his iPhone and I began my usual artists spiel before launching into a description of “theft”

Police officers stood unshuredly at the back of the gallery still unsure if the tip off was a hoax or perhaps they were waiting for a typical cat burglar to appear effortlessly abseiling down from the ceiling.

Checking that all attention in the room entered on me I confessed to assembled press and police that I was both creator of “theft” and the London Diamond Burglar. As words ran from my mouth towards the assembled ears police officers ran towards me.

———//———

Once I had been bailed Rebecca told me that “theft” had been seized, I immediately instructed my solicitor to begin taking steps to recover it and asked Rebecca to arrange as many press interviews as possible before my court date. Immediately or, to be completely accurate, within two days of immediately all of my works from the exhibition sold.

‘Prepare yourself for a custodial sentence’ my solicitor said ‘you do realise that you will be placed in a mens prison…’

And I nodded acknowledgement to both, my main preparation the day before sentencing was a spa day. I wanted to look my best. The judge turned out not to be an art lover or even a fan of publicity stunting artists and handed down a five year sentence which meant around two years in real money and about the same as the guy who stole millions and millions of pounds. First week my arse and I were safe in isolation at a low security open prison, the prison governor needlessly explained how popular I would be amongst my fellow inmates and, as if there had ever been any doubt in my mind, I decided over lunch that Hatfield open prison would not suit my needs and formulated a plan.

To say the prison governor was surprised would be an understatement of epic proportions when I decided to pop into the village for lunch and a bottle of wine on the second day. ‘It’s not as if we had plans’ I said ‘and sitting in a cell is a little tedious don’t you know’ 

‘Absconding means we will be parting company’ the prison governor said during his farewell speech.

Just like on an aircraft making final approach into Struisbaai or a train approaching Swale Halt an announcement came over the prison vans speakers ‘Next station Pentonville, please take care when removing your items from the overhead lockers as the contents may have shifted and fall on your head and knock you the fuck out’ the speakers went silent but we could all hear the laughter coming from the cab.

Pentonville was as different from Hatfield in the exact same way a gibbon is different from a salmon. Because we arrived after lock-up I was processed and put in a holding cell overnight. Next morning the prison officer talked as I ate breakfast. ‘You are honoured, the governors friend has a spare bunk’ He paused to laugh at some joke known only to him ‘Derek Strange has invited you to stay with him in the celebrity wing’ he laughed again 

‘it will be just like a honeymoon for you two’ a second laughing warder said as we passed by

The warder opened the cell and smirked toward the occupant as he said ‘your guest has arrived Mr Strange, may I show her in’ he turned to me ‘get in Snood’

I stared at him as the door slammed shut behind me, the bolt klunked home and we both let our smiles spread

Derek Strange said ‘Hi Sakura’

I said ‘Hi Hanii’