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was unavoidable. I’m really sorry,’ he added, giving her a long, sincere stare.
    He had the blackest eyes she’d ever seen, thick jet hair, and dark olive skin–with a two-day stubble. He was handsome, with a dangerous edge–an irresistible combination.
    So this is Michael Scorsinni , she thought. Quincy never told me he looked like a movie star–only better.
    ‘Uh…hi,’ she said, and wondered if this might turn out to be easier than she’d thought.

Chapter Four
    ‘H ow’s everything?’ Eric Vernon said, sliding onto a bar stool next to Arliss Shepherd.
    Arliss bobbed his head several times. Eric Vernon made him fidgety, he couldn’t figure out what the man was after. No one kept on buying drinks unless they were after some thing.
    ‘Another beer?’ Eric offered.
    Arliss bobbed his head again. Rule one. Never turn down a free drink, even though he still had a half-full bottle clutched in his hand.
    ‘Pattie,’ Eric said, snapping his fingers to attract the attention of a half-clad woman with a lopsided boob job, who toiled behind the scuffed wooden bar. ‘Another bottle for my friend.’ He patted Arliss on the shoulder. ‘Been thinking about you,’ he said.
    ‘You have?’ Arliss replied, stifling a fast-rising burp.
    ‘I was remembering that conversation we had the other night.’
    Arliss scratched his head. If the conversation wasn’t about tits and ass, he did not retain it.
    ‘Yes,’ Eric continued, thinking that Arliss Shepherd smelled like a Mexican meal left out in the sun for a week. Putrid. But since he wasn’t about to hire him for his good hygiene, who cared if he stank? ‘I was thinking ’bout how you said you hated your job.’
    ‘I do,’ Arliss agreed, nodding furiously. ‘I certainly do.’
    And who wouldn’t? He was the caretaker of a big old building filled with nothing but rats and roaches and memories of the time it was a flourishing dress company. Why the owners needed a caretaker in a place they’d been threatening to pull down for years, was beyond him. In the meantime, it was his job to keep the transients out and the place protected.
    Protected from what? Who knew? Who cared?
    He’d fashioned himself a makeshift apartment in the basement, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone–except the snotty-nosed son of the owner, who put in an occasional appearance.
    Still, what kind of an existence was it to be shut up in a deserted old building all day and most of the night? Arliss wished for something better, although deep down he knew there wasn’t anything better. He had no qualifications, he could barely read, he was fortunate to have any kind of job at all. However, it certainly didn’t stop him from complaining, which–after several beers too many–he’d obviously been doing to this Eric Vernon character.
    Pattie slid a cold bottle of Heineken in front of him while shooting Eric a flirtatious sideways glance. This infuriated Arliss, because he’d been trying to get her to pay attention to him for months.
    ‘She’ll give ya crabs,’ he muttered to Eric, as Pattie sashayed off.
    Eric got it immediately. ‘Not interested,’ he said abruptly.
    Why not? Arliss thought. You one of them faggot freaks? Prudently, he kept his thoughts to himself. If Eric Vernon was a fag it was none of his business as long as the man kept on buying. He lifted the cold bottle of beer to his lips. ‘You married?’ he asked.
    ‘No,’ Eric replied. ‘Are you?’ He asked the questioneven though he already knew the answer. He knew everything about Arliss Shepherd that needed knowing.
    Arliss shook his greasy head. ‘I’m stupid, not soft,’ he said scornfully. ‘Wimmen give a man nothin’ but trouble.’
    ‘Right,’ Eric agreed, his small, sharp eyes checking out the bar.
    ‘Course, they’re all right for some things,’ Arliss added, with a lewd wink.
    Eric had endured enough small-talk, weeks of it in fact. What he needed now was action. Leaning closer to Arliss,