"Of course it is, how can there be forgive when there is no forget."

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stepped to the railing. "What is it you want?" he asked looking out to sea.

She reached into her purse for a slim gold cigarette lighter. "Oh, it's simple really. I want to see the look on your face when I burn it."

My blood ran cold as I weighed the possibility of her doing it.

"You wouldn't," he said. "Besides Evan has a financial stake in the piece's return. If you destroy it you will be stealing from him."

"Oh, I fully intend to make him whole. In fact, I think it will be some of the best money I've ever spent. By the way, don't you think two million is a rather modest reward, even for you Samas?" She clicked the lighter, striking a small flame on the second try.

"Poppy please don't," he pleaded. "What will it take to satisfy you?"

She looked up at him and shook her head in disbelief. "You're incorrigible. You still think you can get out of this don't you?"

My eyes stayed locked on the tiny sprite as she edged it upward, ever closer to the dry, frayed border of the painting.

"No, no please, I beg you!" he shouted.

She held the lighter in place. The small flame blackening the bottom corner threatened to awaken and consume the canvas at any moment. "Perhaps you should offer a more handsome sum for it, one that would force me to reexamine my ability to reimburse Evan."

"Yes-yes, good idea," he brightened. "What say three million?"

"Twenty," she said coolly.

"Twenty?" he retorted, his eyes in a squint as if the mere mention of such a number pained him. "I don't--"

"Don't be so fucking coy," she shouted. "I know you have it and you know it's worth twice that."

"But I--"

"Well here goes nothing," she said, moving the flame closer.

Samas shot his arms out in protest. "Okay you win Poppy," he blurted out. "Twenty." He exhaled in a throaty groan as the lighter clicked closed, snuffing the sprite.

"A fifty-fifty split of twenty million, how does that sound to you?" she asked me.

"M-more than fair," I stammered.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "Don't set your standards so low junior, lest scoundrels like this continue to prey on you."

"I guess you have a deal," she said to Samas as she handed him the canvas. "Get on the phone to Diltz. I want to know it's done."

Samas, his large frame somehow smaller with resignation, tucked the painting under his arm, sat down in the deck chair and picked up the phone.

"What will you do now?" she asked me in a whisper as he dialed.

"Travel I guess. Build the life I've wanted. Go away for a while. That's what we do isn't it?"