SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense by LOU HOLLY

sleeping. He conked out about an hour ago. He ought to be up soon. C’mon, back here.”
    Trick followed her back to the kitchen in the wake of her Dior’s Poison perfume, watching her ass as she walked, throbbing memories haunting him with every step. She suddenly stopped, pivoted and folded her arms across her chest. “OK, why the hangdog look? Wait, don’t tell me. You got fired.”
    “I quit.” Trick recognized that look. “OK, here comes the I told you sos .”
    “Big man with big ideas.” Ginger smirked and shook her head. “Couldn’t hack it, huh?”
    “No real man would have put up with that bullshit.”
    Ginger toyed with the emerald pendant that hung from an 18 karat rope chain he bought for her birthday four years earlier. It was just another reminder of how much he had then and how little he had now. The precious stone, that was easily affordable to him then, picked up the green in her hazel eyes. Those eyes that had a way of looking down at him, even though she was five-foot-five and he was six inches taller. “I thought a real man can put up with things weaker men can’t.”
    “You weren’t there. You don’t know.” Trick looked away and studied the crude finger-painting of a man, woman and little boy holding hands that was secured to the refrigerator with black and white Scottie dog magnets. “I’ll find another way.”
    “You’re thinking about it,” Ginger said, arching her left eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
    “No. I mean, of course it crossed my mind. That doesn’t mean I’m seriously considering it. There’s a difference.”
    “You’re going to fold,” Ginger taunted, waving a finger at him, “go back to it.”
    “You’re wrong. I wouldn’t do anything that would take me away from Pat again.”
    Ginger tapped a Virginia Slim out of a tight pack and put it between her full, red painted lips. “Well, if not drug dealing, what are you going to do? I need that child support coming in every month.”
    “Don’t worry.” Trick ran his fingertips over the lumpy texture of little Pat’s finger paint. The humming vibration of the refrigerator seemed to breathe life into the idealized, two dimensional family. “I’ll figure something out.”
    “Don’t give me that false bravado, Mr. Pessimism. Where are you going to find a good job? You hardly have any experience.” Ginger took a stick match from an open box and ran it up the zipper of her jeans. She lit her cigarette with the tiny bluish flame and blew smoke out the side of her mouth. “It’s not like you’re going to get an executive job somewhere.”
    “I’ll tell you something I’ve learned. Sometimes you don’t know if a situation is good or bad until some time has passed.”
    “Oh, boy.” Ginger rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I feel one of your speeches coming on.”
    “Give you an example. Before I met you, I was coming back from Baltimore. Just wrapped up some business out there and needed to get back quick to make another buy before my connect left town. I was driving to the airport and missed my turn on the highway. It was a while before I realized I had gone out of my way. So, I’m racing to get to the airport but when I got to the terminal it was too late, saw my plane pulling away from the gate.” Trick’s serious expression changed to a whimsical one. “Well, turned out that Southwest Airlines had another flight going to Midway an hour later. So, no big deal after all. Went to the bar, relaxed and had a drink.” Trick motioned with both hands. “Here’s the thing, the flight that I missed had mechanical problems and got diverted to Milwaukee. Turns out I got in a lot earlier than I would have if I made the first flight. Taught me something.”
    Ginger tapped a gray ash into the kitchen sink and asked, “So, what do airplanes have to do with you getting a job?”
    “Nothing. What I’m trying to say is, you don’t always know about things. Time tells the story.”
    “So, you’re