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= THE HILL CLUB =

a Night Shots short story (Suspense)

by John Argo

8.

There was a young man in his twenties with her, with short hair, firm muscles, and hard eyes. The two men gruffly hi'd.

"Is this stuff really going to grow, or is this another wasted effort at family farming?" Linda asked. She could have been a renaissance princess, Lou thought, remembering the expensive coffee table books at the Milanese mansion. Then it came back to him—she looked like Vera Milanese and he'd really liked her. That had been different too. Instead of the usual thing where he moved in as with Marie, Vera had kept him on the side while her husband, Freddie Fortiano, ran with the big tough ruthless men at the mansion. Lou would have been content to stay that way with Vera for a while but her father found out. And of course Freddie, the frigging Mediterranean cuckold, had shown up with a fucking gun to blow both their brains out, and the old man right behind Freddie waving a bird piece. Lou had cold-cocked the old man down on the first floor, and he'd gone down hard on his head. It was Vera who'd shot Freddie to death on the stairs, though of course she blamed Lou and there was no way Lou could go back (or would want to go back) and set all that straight. No doubt there was 30 pieces of silver on his head from here to Sicily for messing with those people.

Ah, but Linda Argento, the unreachable one. Like one of those maidens in the coffee table book reproductions of Renaissance paintings. There was something so solid and assured about her. She was attractive, not beautiful, barely even pretty. Her features however were regal. Also, she was cool or hip or whatever the term was for her generation. Her clothing, her rings, her bracelets, her sunglasses, her attitude all spoke of the beach, of tennis, sports cars, of money, of power, of the Hill Club. "Nice talking with you," Linda said after their brief, cool conversation. The two men bye'd.

Marie arrived and looked after the young couple. "Her boyfriend is a policeman. Isn't he cute? Oh you wouldn't know. She thinks she can go off and live her life, but she has to come back and give me hell about my life. They are kids."

"She doesn't like me."

"Oh she'll warm up to you. You'll see. I made one or two boyfriend mistakes since my divorce, and she never lets me live it down."

Lou sensed that the time was coming to move on. He would make his preparations carefully. Much more carefully than last time. Marie was eager in bed. She was infatuated with him, and he wished he could get her to slow down. He enjoyed the sex, but this middle-aged woman behaving like a dizzy girl was starting to turn him off. Lou knew himself well enough. Once he started getting cool, it was time to go. He had never been able to stay anywhere or be anyone for any length of time.

Marie seemed to sense his mood. She hovered around, frowning. Her face broke into wrinkles that recorded old hurts. "I'm only worried about a deal in New York," he told her.

What was that look in her eyes? Pain? Suspicion?

"You talk in your sleep," she accused.

"Do I say anything interesting?" he asked laughing. He watched her eyes. She did not answer. Her friend from Saudi was due back next week. Time to make like a banana and split.

Linda began to greet him, smiling, when they met. And they met in the oddest places. The Hill Club, of course. The town park. The golf course. Lou ended up showing her how to improve her short swing. The boyfriend was not around, and she let him put his arms around her while he helped her swing the club. He felt her firm body against his; he felt himself stirring; felt a rare burst of spring fever butterflies in his gut; wanted her badly. She actually gave him a small hug before hurrying off.

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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.