were never gonna tell me, were you?” I ask her.
“No,” Simone snorts.
I put my hand over hers, on the tabletop. Her hand is slim and perfectly shaped. It makes mine look like a baseball mitt by comparison.
The jukebox in the corner switches records. Even though it’s a 20’s style speakeasy, most of the music that plays is actually from the 60s or 70s, since that’s the “good old days” for most of the patrons.
“Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash begins to play.
“Dance with me,” I say to Simone.
“Nobody’s dancing,” she says.
“We are,” I say, pulling her up from the table.
I’m a shit dancer. I already know that.
It doesn’t matter. I just want to hold Simone against my chest. Nobody cares that we’re dancing. They give us a glance, then return to their conversations.
I can smell the sweet, clean scent of Simone’s hair. She knows exactly how to move.
“Ring of Fire” — Johnny Cash (Spotify)
“Ring of Fire” — Johnny Cash (Apple Music)
After a few more songs, we sit down at our little table again. We try all the drinks, as well as the food. Simone is flushed from the liquor. Her cheeks turn pink and she gets more talkative than ever. She asks me all kinds of questions.
I haven’t drunk much, but I feel intoxicated by the sight of her. By the color in her face and the brightness of her eyes. They alter, depending on the light. Sometimes they’re clear and golden like honey. Here, in lower light, they look as orange as amber.
“Are you . . . a mafioso?” Simone whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear.
“I guess.” I shrug. “It’s not like a gang you join. It’s a family business.”
“What do you mean?” Simone asks. She looks genuinely curious, not judgmental.
“Well . . .” I try to think how to explain it. “Like all businesses, there’s the deals you run above board, and the ones that exploit the loopholes. There’s the laws you follow and the ones you don’t, because fuck the people who made those laws—they’re just as dirty, and they exploit them just the same for money and power.”
I try to think how to phrase this without insulting her.
“Your father—he makes deals, he calls in favors. He has his friends and his enemies. My father’s the same.”
“I suppose,” Simone says, toying with the glass of her Sidecar. “It’s not only back-door business deals, though, is it?”
She looks up at me, not wanting to offend me with the question, but wanting to know the truth.
“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”
Nero and I knocked over two armored trucks in Canaryville just last month. I’m not above any kind of crime, not really.
I don’t give a fuck about stealing from a bank. Banks, governments, businesses—you show me one that’s truly clean. It’s all a system to shuffle money around, and I have as much right to siphon off a few thousand as any fat cat banker.
I wouldn’t hurt somebody for fun. But when there’s a reason . . . I don’t hesitate.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Simone asks, so quietly that I can barely hear her over the music.
I feel my jaw clench involuntarily. I killed someone the night we met. And that wasn’t the first time.
“What do you think?” I ask Simone.
She bites her lip, unable to answer. Or unwilling.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”
We get back into the Bronco. I drive east, over to Lakeshore Drive. I’ve got the windows down, and the cool night air streams through.
Simone looks a little sleepy, because it’s getting late, or because she’s not used to the drinks. I pull her head down onto my lap, so she’s closer and she can rest.
She lays there, with her hand on my thigh.
The warmth of her cheek against my crotch, and the friction whenever she moves her head even a little, starts to excite me. I can smell her light perfume. I know she can feel my cock swelling under my pants, and that turns me on more.
When I’m too hard for her not to notice, she lifts her head a little. But she doesn’t sit up. She starts unbuttoning my jeans instead.
She slides down the zipper, reaching into my boxers with her slim hand. She pulls my cock out.
It looks as thick as her wrist, the head flopping heavily into her palm. She startles but squeezes it tentatively. A little clear fluid beads up at the tip.
She licks her lips to moisten them. Then she licks the head of my