By John Newton
Hook Line and Sinker
A summer’s day came. Carrying chilled Bollinger and two champagne flutes I trod the Riviera Beach seeking a target.
I’d call myself a gigolo if I knew how to say it but I’ve been through a dull patch. My last pickup saw through my rough-boy-trader-down-on-his-luck act in only three days and threw me out before I could tap her for cash.
So, struggling on my last thousand I decided this time to be the suave, sophisticated financier. Hence the Bolly, the flutes and the swish new show-off rich-young-man outfit, with my tanned and slightly oiled muscles gleaming in the sun.
Plenty of eyes fluttered in my direction from topless beach dollies with no obvious means of support. Financial support that is. Sorry girls. Its money I’m after.
Finally I caught a glance from a good prospect; not quite middle-aged, not quite beautiful, but draped across the sand in an expensive flowered one piece, fingers twinkling with diamonds.
I looked. She smiled. I winked.
‘Do you accept champagne from strangers?’
‘Only the best.’
She patted. I sat. We sipped Bollinger and chatted.
By sunset we were friends; by midnight lovers.
She’d taken the hook.
In her luxury villa we slept on silken sheets; dined cordon bleu and talked and talked and talked for a week.
She told me of her late husband’s great wealth.
I told her of my many big deals round the world.
Eyes sparkling, she showed great interest. I’ll soon tighten the line, reel her in and cash will come to Daddy.
One idyllic evening – a fragrant cliff top restaurant; dinner and champagne under the stars – I twitched the line.
‘One of my big projects is giving trouble, darling. I’m piled up at the banks and need short term finance. Can you help?’
‘How much?’
‘Quarter of a million.’
‘A lot of money.’
‘Yes, but your husband left you a fortune.’
‘No. Neither my husband nor his money exist.’
A shocked pause.
‘Don’t exist? What do you mean? What about the diamonds, the villa?’
She looked deep into my eyes, held my hand and whispered, ‘Oh my sweet darling. Like both of us they’re fake. We’re in the same game. I extract money from rich handsome men then disappear. I planned to tap you this evening. What perfect timing. We’re trying to con each other.’
Her eyes filled with tears, ‘What will you do now?’
Oh my God. What can I do? I’ve fallen in love with the damned woman. She’s hooked me.
She brushed my cheek with a kiss and murmured, ‘Trouble is, I fallen in love with you. Please don’t leave.’
She wept. I cried. We embraced. The Maitre, convinced I’d popped the question, sent across flowers and a violinist.
So what did we do?
In a close and loving partnership we spent four years conning cash from elderly businessmen before retiring from crime and opening an honest business.
I won’t tell you what business but promise it is honest. Well, almost honest.
Honestly.
[This is one of the intriguing short stories from the book John Newton’s Short Stories Volume One, which is available on Amazon – Click to buy]
Author Bio:
I’ve been writing books and short stories since the age of 9 with reasonable success. Two of my 14 books sold all round the world.
Contact Author:
John Newton
2 Sheraton Close
Eastbourne
BN214HQ
