(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/NerezaAvatar03.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">NEREZA FABRIZIO</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>On the sun terrace at the rear of the casino.<br/><strong>With:</strong>Ricardo Reyes and slaves Leotie and Kamala.<br/><br/>When Señor Reyes said he had a lead on the car from the<em>Goldfinger</em>movie I did my best not to show surprise and eagerness. I cannot say I was entirely successful but at that moment a man went by with a beautiful Negress crawling on a leash, her dark oiled skin looking sensuous in the sunlight and I was able to turn any change of expression or flicker in my eyes into an appreciative smile and glance at the black beauty and her huge, fine ass. I had two black girls at the stables and they dressed as fine Arab mares in pony guise or black labradors when playing puppies. They were both supple and of course, as was my preference, big-breasted. One was called Nigger and the other Darky. I never bothered to be subtle in my naming of the slaves and of course while racism was abhorred in polite society towards men and free women, a slave had no such rights.<br/><br/><strong>"Oh? That's quite... interesting."</strong>I said at his suggestion that he might have contacts in his line of work.<strong>"Hm, I suppose even crooks who steal cars need them maintaining, just like anyone else."</strong>Reyes hadn't made any mention of whether he knew where the car was, but if he was in contact with someone who did, then this made things legally quite delicate - and interesting.<br/><br/>Just then our drinks arrived. My usual was a Martini, one based on the original Ian Fleming Vesper but using the closest modern equivalents to maintain something akin to the 1953 flavour and strength; three shots of Tanqueray gin, one shot of 100 proof Stolichnaya vodka, one measure of Lillet Blanc, a pinch of quinine powder, shaken with ice, drained, and with a twist of lemon peel curled on the top. Jean-Paul always knew how to make it perfectly. I took a long sip of the drink and the ice-cold alcohol went straight to my brain. Magnificent. I set the glass down on the shady side of the table.<br/><br/><strong><em>"Tell me how far are you willing to go if I can find the man who owns it?"</em></strong><br/><br/>The way he phrased that made me wonder if he was talking about money, but I assumed he was.<br/><br/><strong>"Well,"</strong>I said coolly, not wanting to lay out all my cards,<strong>"Its complicated isn't it? It's stolen property so technically one could sieze it from the current - uh - <em>keeper</em> - of the vehicle for nothing, if that were possible. He's not going to be calling the police if its taken, is he? I'm aware of course of its most recent insured value because the Union Home Insurance Co paid the old owner, Maximilian Schenck, when it was stolen. That payment was only two hundred and forty thousand United States dollars. Was it under insured? Possibly, but that figure gives a guide of it's actual worth to its genuine owner, which is that same insurance company. My intentions are to keep the deal somewhere within that same value. I won't do business via a chain of greedy crooked middle men who each want their cut."</strong><br/><br/>I sipped my drink again and then our food arrived. The grilled turbot with sauce béarnaise and salade perigourdine was absolutely heavenly, as always. I asked the waitress to bring a slave bowl of cold water as well and she returned a few minutes later with the bowl. She placed it on the ground and knowing how much Leotie liked the feel of the sun on her skin, I ordered the cunt to put the bowl a little way to one side in the sunshine. I then reached under my skirt, grabbed a fistful of hair and slapped the bitch's face, telling her that drinks had arrived.<br/><br/><strong>"Have a drink, cunt and then come back here for your lunch."</strong><br/><br/>I often fed Leotie with scraps from my plate under the table. A few of the rich old dames around here still fed their dogs in the same manner and treating one's slave the same as some pampered mutt felt right.<br/><br/>As our meal continued, so did the conversation.<br/><br/><strong>"I do understand, that I am asking a lot. You are a car dealer and a restorer, not a private detective and I would not want to drag you into anything you would rather not be involved in. I was told you were the best in the business though so I thought that if anyone in the classic car circles knows what is going on, it might be you. But as I say, if doing anything unlawful is a problem, just say so. I won't be offended."</strong>