Hot Ice

dawn. The sun had already burned off the mist. The forest was alive with sound and movement and the smells of morning. He glanced up to the treetops where birds hid and sang. “The place is loaded with fruit. I don’t know what lemur meat tastes like, but—”
    “No.”
    He grinned as he rose. “Just a thought. How about light fare? Fresh fruit salad.”
    “Sounds delightful.” When she stretched, the lamba slipped off her shoulder. Fingering it, Whitney realized Doug must have spread it over her the night before. After all that had happened, all they’d seen, he could still manage to surprise her. As if it were the most elegant of silks, Whitney folded and repacked it.
    “You get the fruit, I’ll get the coconuts.”
    Whitney reached up into the branches. “These look like stunted bananas.”
    “Pawpaws.”
    Whitney picked three and grimaced at them. “What I wouldn’t give for one lowly apple, just as a change of pace.”
    “Take her out to breakfast and she complains.”
    “Least you could do is buy me a Bloody Mary,” she began, then turned to see him halfway up a palm tree. “Douglas,” she said, moving cautiously closer, “do you know what you’re doing?”
    “I’m climbing a goddamn tree,” he managed as he shinnied up another foot.
    “I hope you’re not planning on falling and breaking your neck. I hate to travel alone.”
    “All heart,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s not so different from climbing into a third-story window.”
    “A nice brick building isn’t likely to give you splinters in sensitive places.”
    Reaching up, he yanked off a coconut. “Stand back, sugar, I might be tempted to aim for you.”
    Lips curved, she did so. One, then two, then three coconuts landed at her feet. Taking one up, she smacked it against a tree trunk until it cracked. “Well done,” she told Doug when he dropped to the ground. “I believe I’d like a chance to watch you work.”
    He accepted the coconut she offered and, sitting on the ground, pulled out his pocketknife to carve out the meat. It reminded her of Jacques. Whitney touched the shell she still wore, then pushed back the grief.
    “You know, most people in your position wouldn’t be so—tolerant,” he decided, “of somebody in my line of work.”
    “I’m a firm believer in free enterprise.” Whitney dropped down beside him. “It’s also a matter of checks and balances,” she concluded with her mouth full.
    “Checks and balances?”
    “Say you steal my emerald earrings.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “Let’s keep this hypothetical.” She shook the hair back from her face and gave a fleeting thought to digging out her brush. Food came first. “Well, the insurance company’s stuck with shelling out the cash. I’ve been paying them outrageous premiums for years and I never wear the emeralds because they’re too gaudy. You hock the emeralds, someone else buys them who finds them attractive, and I have the cash to buy something entirely more suitable. In the long run, everyone’s happy. It could almost be considered a public service.”
    He broke off a piece of coconut and chewed. “I guess I never thought about it that way.”
    “Of course the insurance company’s not going to be happy,” she added. “And some people might not appreciate losing some particular piece of jewelry or the family silver, even if it was too ornate. You’re not always doing a good deed by breaking into their house, you know.”
    “Guess not.”
    “And I suppose I have more respect for straight, honest stealing than computer crimes and white-collar swindling. Like the crooked stockbrokers,” she continued as she sampled coconut. “Fooling around with some little old lady’s portfolio until they’ve pocketed the profits and she’s left with nothing. That’s not on the same level with picking someone’s pocket or lifting the Sydney Diamond.”
    “I don’t want to talk about the Sydney,” he mumbled.
    “In one way it does keep the cycle going, then again…” She paused to dig out more fruit. “I don’t think robbery has a very good occupation potential. An interesting hobby, certainly, but as a career, it has its limitations.”
    “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about retiring—when I can do it in style.”
    “When you get back to the States, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
    “Buy a silk shirt and have my initials monogrammed on the cuffs. I’m going to have an Italian suit to go over