And what’s behind the infernal sunglasses? Running his chubby fingers through his thinning sandy hair, he realized he didn’t believe the congenital eye infection story. It’s very disconcerting to talk to someone and never see their eyes. Except the one time Abby slipped them off for him. Reflecting on the sudden surprise of their slightly unusual golden quality, he made the astonishing connection that had been alluding him. They all wore a golden aura about them. Their golden streaked hair, the skin of both Scotty and Jose, all suggested a subtle goldenness. That’s odd. Tomorrow will be the first time he’s laid eyes on all three at the same time. Oh yes, and their two dogs, Barney and Echo. They should not be a problem, as Sarasota seemed to be an inordinately tolerant community of dog lovers. Not intending to offend, he hoped Abby and Jose could take his questions in stride.
Passing the hotel landline sitting on the Chippendale style desk, he saw a red message light blinking. Did I miss a call from Abby?
Dialing into the message center, he found himself ordered to contact the Newtown Police Department at his earliest convenience. Frowning, he wondered how they knew how to find him as only Tiffany knew his itinerary. Something must have happened to his elderly parents. His father was eighty years old, after all. They knew of his change in fortune but not the name of his hotel. An only child, his parents relied on him. Conception came late for his mother after doctors convinced his parents she could never conceive. The fact that his mother’s pregnancy came as she turned forty eight and his father fifty, relegated them to the role of shocked and reticent parents; stumbling along, trying their best. It probably contributed to his lack of confidence and his reliance on his professional demeanor to formulate his personality. Shrugging off his introspection, he remembered how he loved his parents and quickly dialed their number in Sussex County.
Chapter 23
Armoni hurried back to his hotel, ready to explode with giddiness. The three days it took to accomplish the task felt endless but the sale concluded successfully. The gold dealers behaved much more professionally in New York City. They failed to bat an eye when he pulled his lump of gold out of his paper bag. The cash resided safe and sound (except for the wad in his pockets) in the bank. They tried to talk him into one of those newfangled plastic cards with his fingerprints. Oh no, he wern’t no fool. Not gunna let some stupid clerk trick him into giving his fingerprints. He preferred hard cash in his pocket, anyway. Cash always speaks loudest in a crowded room.
Pulling up to the hotel parking attendant, he flipped him the keys to his brand new two hundred and fifty thousand smackeroo, Lamborghini SUV, cherry red with a gold trimmed, black lightning bolt down the side panels. Yeah, the snotty, board-up-his-ass dealer sure wasn’t pleased about his insistence on the lightning bolt. Slapping his documents from the bank on the dealer’s desk sure changed his tune.
He reached into the back of his new wheels to grab the shopping bags he accumulated from his riotous shopping spree for the new duds he needed, befitting a man of his obvious new stature. He loved making snot nose, gay blades dance to the tunes he called as he forced them to run ragged trying to please him. He wouldn’t even bother with them but everyone knew they were the best source of what they call fashion. Anxious to get himself some fashion, he privately thought his taste as good as the stuck up blades. Most of the duds he left the store with looked like the same things he picked out in the first place. Once the blades realized what he liked they bent over backwards to kiss his ass. He had a few numbers that he couldn’t wait to try on. Like the red and yellow anaconda skin shit kickers. He whistled, recalling how they had politely suggested that the gentlemen’s boots might be a tad inappropriate. Just to show them who was in charge, he bought an additional pair in turquoise and white. Sure turned their faces green; with envy, of course.
He couldn’t wait to change. Oh yeah, maybe it would be a good idea to shower up first. He hoped he might be able to find a willing babe to help him celebrate. He imagined he could have any girl he wanted, now that he was so obviously a man of substance. Cupping his crotch in his meaty hands, he laughed as he entered the sumptuous lobby spotting two uptown ladies with big fake tits, staring at his crotch. Obviously, they were interested in the goods. What girl wouldn’t be? They probably wondered how they could be the lucky one to celebrate with me.
Strolling right up to them, his bandy legs now shod in his turquoise and white shit kickers, he smacked the nearest one on the ass as he stuck a dirty finger nail between his teeth, removing a piece of his late hot dog lunch and giving it a quick flick on the floor.
“How ‘bout you two hot babes joining me tonight to celebrate our new relationship?” No sooner had he closed his mouth than all hell broke loose. The broads started screaming. The cops rushed into the hotel, arresting him for assault and taking him downtown to get booked. It took him all night to convince them it was just a mistake. A visit from the broad’s husband, attempting to get to the bottom of the incident certainly helped. Apparently, they wanted to fly home quickly, finding the whole experience sordid. (Did I hear that asshole say sordid?) They refused to press charges and he got released. Slinking back to his hotel, tired, confused and deflated, he climbed into his hotel bed, alone and lonely. He felt crushed and disillusioned, not understanding why his recent good fortune would not entitle him to any available female he wanted. Bummed out, he deciding to celebrate tomorrow, quietly, by himself.
Chapter 24
Ginger Mae Shrute sat on the bar stool, scanning her reflection in the expensive mirror on the back bar of the tony Martini Madness on Park Avenue, a great location to spot lonely business men, casually enjoying a quiet drink before dinner. From the distance, she realized she still projected a glamorous image, even though she leaned to the mature side. Only up close could you discern the lines around her eyes that even Botox failed to completely obliterate. And yeah, she knew the five extra few pounds needed to come off. But luckily, she still projected the look that helped her face maintained its healthy, pretty girl next door appeal. Lucky with her choice of plastic surgeons, she thought cynically, having been nipped and tucked for years. She knew she could pass for thirty five, quite a distance from her actual forty eight. She tried to banish the worry about her longevity in her chosen industry that remained a game for the youthful. She still managed to rope them in but she figured she would last maybe three years before she faced reducing her fees or starting to risk rejection. Her new priority forced her to save every dollar she could, squirreling it away for the time when she could say fuck you to the johns and grab her runaway money to make a last stab at a normal life. As if anyone actually lived a normal life anymore. But she must think of Daisy now.
She checked her emerging grayish brown roots in the mirror, noting she could get away with them for another two weeks, tops. She even gave up her hairdresser, saving money by coloring her hair herself. Two separate processes. Two separate colors. It looked fairly good. Had to keep her short blond locks natural looking. She dropped her nail salon too. Glancing at her rosy pink oval nails, she noticed a few chips. A home manicure just doesn’t hold up half as well as a pro job.
“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” Looking up into the bright blue eyes of a friendly and eager businessman, probably from the Midwest, she dismissed him with a cool eye flick. He was clearly not clued in and would be a waste of her valuable time. Probably thought he found himself a single NYC career girl that would be overjoyed to burn her evening talking to a married Minnesota businessman in the big city without his wife. He would shoo her out his hotel room door in the morning with a promise to call her next time he’s back in town, and then zip back to his upstanding wife and children, while congratulating himself on his sophisticated daring in the big city.
“Miss, would you care for a cocktail?” asked Mr. Daring Businessman, trying again. She turned to respond as he stuck out his hand to introduce himself.
“Hi, I’m Jackson Bonderclod, friends just call me Jack.” Sighing audibly, Ginger Mae tired
ly gathered her drink and purse, shot Mr. Daring Businessman a casual go fuck yourself look, and left him standing with his hand still proffered, an embarrassed surprised look on his marginally attractive face. She slid off her bar stool, noticing the bartender observing the exchange. Well, this should get his panties out of the knot she probably wadded them up in as he tried to figure out if he was going to have a problem running off a working girl. What working girl would rebuff Mr. Daring Businessman? The smart ones, she grinned to herself, watching the bartender visibly relax as she took a new seat at a small table in the back of the room; all the better to observe her targets from.
She scanned the room, noting the slim prospects. Implementing her new plan required a target; just the right type, the easily manipulated. A dork, hungry to experience what it would be like to have the enthralled attention of the cheerleader that rebuffed him in high school, the homecoming beauty queen he secretly beat off to in the privacy of his stinking adolescent bedroom.
She shook her head as she evaluated every man in the room. She knew men better than she knew herself. The disgusting predictability of men always revolved around their cocks. If she got an extra dollar for every time, even the most educated, confidant or successful john said to her, with a nod to their cocks, so, how ya like it, she could retire; if I could just stop laughing first. They never understood that a woman judges a man differently. Bright confident smile? Check. Any brains? Check. Can he make me laugh? Check. Does he have a good heart? Check. Does he have any money? Well, can’t have everything. These characteristics made the sex good. Not the size of his cock. A woman only cares about the cock if it doesn’t work. The johns all think, the bigger the cock, the more a woman will like the sex, therefore, by extension, them. The only thing Ginger Mae could say about the occasional large dick she encountered, and she really meant occasional, was that you weren’t touching her with it. She definitely wasn’t into pain. And it sure felt miserable, regardless of how hard she faked it. Want to impress a john? Tell him what a sensational cock he had. He would fall in love. If she realized that when she was eighteen, she would probably own the world by now.
Well, she knew it now. And she planned on making it pay off in a big way. While she still could dazzle them. The last time she found the perfect john, it lasted five years. She hadn’t found it necessary to see any other johns the whole time. He gave her a luxury apartment, charge accounts, elegant dinners, international vacations. All paid for by him. She thought it would go on forever. And she actually grew fond of him. The fact that she spent all major holidays and most weekends alone mattered little. Just as she got ready to convince him to sign the apartment over to her, she discovered her pregnancy. Foolishly, she misjudged him. Where she assumed it would only make him feel more responsible, financially of course, she forgot how men react when cornered with their own indiscretions.
He cut off her charge accounts without warning. She found herself locked out of her apartment and her frantic calls to his cell stopped getting an answer. The apartment house concierge hand delivered an envelope containing a tersely worded note with ten thousand dollars enclosed. She burned with the humiliating memory. Two words—Move on.
And she had, of course. A cheap apartment and back to work, fast, before she started to show. Not that the johns would even care all that much. She worked up until her seventh month. And then Daisy came. She gave birth alone, in her apartment, no one the wiser. She planned to take the baby and leave it at the local firehouse but inexplicably, she changed her mind. She kept the baby, found an Armenian woman from her apartment house to babysit and went back to work four months after the birth. That was over five years ago and to this day, sadly, her little Daisy had yet to utter a single word.
A clattering at the door to the bar caught her attention. Glancing out the windows, she discovered snow, the flakes backlit by the streetlights like rare mid-summer fireflies. Her attention wandered back to the squat figure at the door. She tapped a slender finger on the varnished tabletop. Hmm, she wondered, let’s size this guy up.
His head bulged, out of proportion with his body, bandy legs encased in the most ridiculous screaming yellow cowboy boots. He removed a black leather trench coat trimmed in a silver fur of some sort. Even from her distant seat she could see the buttery texture of the coat. She assumed the boots, although tasteless, cost a pretty penny. Then he looked up, spotting her staring. She extended a modest smile, trying valiantly to repress her revulsion as she got a clear look at his face. Oh well, duty calls. And quite possibly, he might be the ticket she longed for.
His unsophisticated demeanor stood out like a swarm of hornets at a nudist camp; a real rube. They made the easiest targets; especially the unfortunate looking ones. Time to start her act.
Waving wildly to catch his attention, she stood up, dropping her purse in the process. She bent down to retrieve it, allowing him to glimpse the correct amount of thigh. Straightening, she beckoned him to her table again, as he just stood there with his mouth open, the dull look in his eyes, testimony to slow brain function. She crooked her finger again, encouraging him with another nonthreatening smile. He turned and looked over his right shoulder, then his left. Seeing no one, he hesitantly moved in her direction. As he neared, she pulled out a chair from her table and patted it enthusiastically. Plastering a big smile on her face as he sat, she said to herself, okay Ginger Mae, let’s land this big tuna.
“Hi, I was beginning to think you were standing me up. It’s a good thing I waited the extra hour; thought I might have gotten the time wrong.” She opened her eyes wide, batting them charmingly.
“Lady, I have no idea what you’re talkin bout. You must have me confused with someone else.” Looking around, he snapped his fingers summoning the attention of the frowning cocktail waitress. “I’m here to celebrate and I don’t want no trouble. Ya want something ta drink, since you’re here anyway?”
“You mean you aren’t my date? You’re wearing pretty yellow cowboy boots like Alice told me you would be. And you sure are handsome like she said you would be. Are you saying you’re not Jonathan Littlecock?”
“Littlecock? Are you kidding me?” He laughed so hard slapping his knee, the bartender looked up to give them a glare. She joined in with his laughter and with that, the ice broke. It didn’t take Ginger Mae long to convince her new friend that her date failed to show up. It didn’t take him long to convince her to spend her evening celebrating with him at his hotel. She knew she picked the right guy when they left Martini Madness and he took her to his car, a showy Lamborghini SUV with a tacky lightning bolt decal down the side. Her eyes started tabulating major dollar signs.
She almost blew it when they got into the SUV. The odorously strange stale smell in the vehicle, combined with the alcohol made her nauseous. When her new friend abruptly slid his dirty fingers up her dress and started pawing around, her automatic response was to pop her blade out of her purse and hold it to his throat.
“Now little lady,” he gasped. “I thought we were friends here. Why don’t you put your shiny baby away, so we can work out this misunderstanding?” And they actually did. He really warmed up to her after she put her blade away. Who knew he had a thing for knives and blondes. Maybe this is going to be easier than she thought.
“Okay lover, time to saddle up.”
“What did you say?” She looked at his face in surprise, the tone of voice sounding strangled. His big head sat half in shadow, the streetlights failing to fully dispel the winter darkness.
“You alright, lover?” She placed a concerned hand on his meaty thigh. His big pudgy maw slipped down on hers. He softly patted her hand. In the shadows, she could see a surprisingly enigmatic smile under his crooked nose. She had him. She didn’t know what just happened, but she knew. She had him.
###
Armoni fidgeted, glancing at his Rolex. Time to get his hotel room packed up. He floated, high on an emotional cloud. All thanks to Ginger Mae Shrute. His very own high class dream girl. And boy
could she suck cock. No wonder the guys always wanted the high class babes. Who knew? Now he could join the club. A fine babe like her doesn’t come along very often. And she likes knives. Best of all she likes him. He hadn’t minded a bit when after their night of fuckin’ she needed the bucks to have a limo take her home. Of course, that’s how she got around town. And after all, her date woulda taken her home. Good thing the bum never showed.
Luck sure smiled down on him. Packing up all the new things Ginger Mae helped him buy for himself, took a long time. He hoped she wasn’t running late, like him. She asked that most of the goodies he splurged on for her go directly to her home address. She planned to send for them after they got to Florida. Yup, she was going with him.
They fooled around so much he decided to delay his trip for a full week. He bent over a box, wincing as the soreness of his cock reminded him of all the fucking they did. She sure was hot for him and his cock; definitely a lot to handle for such a sweetie. And he truly sensed something else in her. Something like he felt in himself and Kelly. He fully intended to bring it to the surface. Yeah, his plans for her made him hard. He just had to be careful how he introduced her to them. She probably nurses some tender sensibilities, a dame like her.
He filled her in a little, watching closely to see how she reacted to it. He left some of the details vague. Like how his sister and Tomas’s murder went down. He wasn’t really sure how it happened himself. She knew he lusted for revenge. And she thought he aimed to recover something valuable they stole from him. She flipped over the idea to go with him, even though it meant she must quit her important job with a small investment company on Wall Street. He might need some investment advice himself, for sure. Maybe, if things worked out the way he hoped, he would marry her ass and make her take care of all that. The only fly in the ointment; her infernal insistence on all those showers and baths; for Christ sakes, what a pain in his ass. He tolerated it only because she let him take a few special sexual liberties; made him feel like a king.
Echo Page 18
