jewelry back—and I mean yesterday—I’m gonna end up as gator food.” The very thought made a chill run down his spine. “All right. I’ve gotta run, but I’ll try you again in a few hours. Please be around.”
Then Cecil slammed down the receiver, a sick feeling spreading in his gut. Eddie had been AWOL for a good thirty-six hours. Cecil knew he was head-over-heels for Sheila, the new woman he was seeing, and yeah, he could understand him spending all his time with her. But hell, Cecil had left a few messages for Eddie already, so he had to know he was urgently trying to reach him. If he hadn’tspent the last thirty-six hours in a body-lock with Sheila—and he couldn’t imagine that—then why wasn’t he answering his cell?
Cecil could think of only two answers to that question. Either Eddie was dead, or he was avoiding him. Cecil doubted the former, but he could easily picture the latter. As the saying went, there was no honor among thieves. Either way, the fact that he hadn’t heard from Eddie meant bad news.
“Shit,” Cecil mumbled, then leaned against the wall. How on earth had he gotten caught up in this whole scam, anyway? He’d been at one of his favorite Miami Beach night spots, hoping to meet a new woman, when Eddie had sat next to him at the bar. After sitting in silence for some time, Eddie had turned to him and asked if he had a light. Cecil didn’t, because he didn’t smoke, but Eddie’s question had broken the ice. They’d started talking, and had instantly hit it off.
Cecil wasn’t sure why Eddie had sat next to him nor why they’d started talking, but he had entertained the thought that fate had played a role in it all. At first, it had seemed like an incredible stroke of luck that he should meet a guy like Eddie, because he’d needed a new way to make a buck, and Eddie had provided that. In hindsight, Cecil couldn’t help wondering if Eddie had scoped him out because he recognized in Cecil a quality he had himself—the ability to con.
Shortly into their talk that evening, Eddie had flat out told Cecil that he only dated women who could give him things—material things. Cecil was pleasantly surprised to learn that he and Eddie had that in common. Eddie had said, “Some might call me a con artist, but hey, so be it. Atleast I’m driving a Porsche.” They’d both laughed, then had shared stories about their “conquests” and all the goods they’d received from horny older women.
Cecil didn’t particularly like the words “con artist.” It wasn’t that he had planned to use women for what they could give him, it had just happened that way. For whatever reason, older women found him attractive—older women who were usually looking for a boy toy. Connie, the first older woman he’d dated, had been married, like most of them after her. In the beginning, the fact that she’d been married had disturbed him, but Connie had lavished him with gifts every time he told her he thought they shouldn’t continue their relationship. He’d meant it, but her gifts had kept him around. Who wouldn’t stick around when someone bought you a sports car, or gave you a couple grand to go shopping?
At first, Cecil hadn’t felt that great about himself, because every time he accepted a gift from Connie, he felt he was leading her on. But then he’d realized the truth: Connie wasn’t in love with him any more than he was with her. She simply liked having him around, so much so that she’d bought him the condo on the beach so they could spend more time together outside of hotels. It was an expensive gift, yes, but why should he say no? She was using him for what he had to give, so why not accept what she could give him?
If a woman wanted to spend money on him and give him gifts, why shouldn’t he let them? It wasn’t his fault women wanted him so badly they’d do anything to keep him hanging around. Connie had opened him up to a whole new world in his early twenties, and it suited
Then Cecil slammed down the receiver, a sick feeling spreading in his gut. Eddie had been AWOL for a good thirty-six hours. Cecil knew he was head-over-heels for Sheila, the new woman he was seeing, and yeah, he could understand him spending all his time with her. But hell, Cecil had left a few messages for Eddie already, so he had to know he was urgently trying to reach him. If he hadn’tspent the last thirty-six hours in a body-lock with Sheila—and he couldn’t imagine that—then why wasn’t he answering his cell?
Cecil could think of only two answers to that question. Either Eddie was dead, or he was avoiding him. Cecil doubted the former, but he could easily picture the latter. As the saying went, there was no honor among thieves. Either way, the fact that he hadn’t heard from Eddie meant bad news.
“Shit,” Cecil mumbled, then leaned against the wall. How on earth had he gotten caught up in this whole scam, anyway? He’d been at one of his favorite Miami Beach night spots, hoping to meet a new woman, when Eddie had sat next to him at the bar. After sitting in silence for some time, Eddie had turned to him and asked if he had a light. Cecil didn’t, because he didn’t smoke, but Eddie’s question had broken the ice. They’d started talking, and had instantly hit it off.
Cecil wasn’t sure why Eddie had sat next to him nor why they’d started talking, but he had entertained the thought that fate had played a role in it all. At first, it had seemed like an incredible stroke of luck that he should meet a guy like Eddie, because he’d needed a new way to make a buck, and Eddie had provided that. In hindsight, Cecil couldn’t help wondering if Eddie had scoped him out because he recognized in Cecil a quality he had himself—the ability to con.
Shortly into their talk that evening, Eddie had flat out told Cecil that he only dated women who could give him things—material things. Cecil was pleasantly surprised to learn that he and Eddie had that in common. Eddie had said, “Some might call me a con artist, but hey, so be it. Atleast I’m driving a Porsche.” They’d both laughed, then had shared stories about their “conquests” and all the goods they’d received from horny older women.
Cecil didn’t particularly like the words “con artist.” It wasn’t that he had planned to use women for what they could give him, it had just happened that way. For whatever reason, older women found him attractive—older women who were usually looking for a boy toy. Connie, the first older woman he’d dated, had been married, like most of them after her. In the beginning, the fact that she’d been married had disturbed him, but Connie had lavished him with gifts every time he told her he thought they shouldn’t continue their relationship. He’d meant it, but her gifts had kept him around. Who wouldn’t stick around when someone bought you a sports car, or gave you a couple grand to go shopping?
At first, Cecil hadn’t felt that great about himself, because every time he accepted a gift from Connie, he felt he was leading her on. But then he’d realized the truth: Connie wasn’t in love with him any more than he was with her. She simply liked having him around, so much so that she’d bought him the condo on the beach so they could spend more time together outside of hotels. It was an expensive gift, yes, but why should he say no? She was using him for what he had to give, so why not accept what she could give him?
If a woman wanted to spend money on him and give him gifts, why shouldn’t he let them? It wasn’t his fault women wanted him so badly they’d do anything to keep him hanging around. Connie had opened him up to a whole new world in his early twenties, and it suited
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