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time when both of them had been at
a low ebb in their lives. Kruger was in a deep rough patch
following the disappearance of his second wife with some creep of a
Disney executive in Orlando. Kruger felt he had been struck by
lightning because he had been truly, madly, passionately in love
with the woman, worshipped the ground she glided over, even. For
all that, she had dumped him with all the ceremony of taking the
trash out, leaving a gaping hole in his heart.
    His response had been to throw himself into his work in a big
way. Often he worked fourteen hours per day: never less than
eleven. Then, because he had problems sleeping even after such
exhausting hours, he found himself drifting through Miami
nightlife; clubs, bars: strip-joints, often finding solace at four
in the morning: clutching a half-empty bottle of
bourbon.
    Since the age of fourteen, Felicity had been trying to make it
big as a singer. She was always on the periphery of a big break and
had been the backing singer for several big acts. She had released
one single which sold a couple of thousand copies before sinking
without trace.
    When she hit her thirties her agency dropped her like a hot
fajita; it became apparent that despite her good looks and superb
voice, she lacked that certain ‘something’ to set her apart from
the crowd. And she had passed into that dangerous decade in life
when women do not become stars.
    She gravitated south, following club and hotel work, hit the
bottle, dabbled in dope, and managed to eke out a reasonable living
as a hotel singer around. Miami and Fort Lauderdale. It was in a
hotel in the latter town at three in the morning that she met
Kruger, clinging precariously to a bar stool.
    After exchanging their tales of woe, the next logical step for
two lonely people was obvious. That same night they booked into a
suite, ripped each other’s clothes off, fell onto the bed and
humped way past dawn. They emerged three days later, much the worse
for wear.
    A whirlwind romance followed, with little thought for future
compatibility. Marriage seemed the natural progression, though each
soon discovered that a relationship based solely on
mutually-attracted genitalia does not make for a lasting
partnership.
    Living together as man and wife proved to be a horrendous
experience for both.
    Felicity was naturally a slob. She kept late hours, slept all
day.
    Kruger, on the other hand, was a well-ordered man who liked
routine and tidiness. When he eventually got himself back on an
even keel and out of the bottle, he realised that returning home to
an apartment which looked like it had been burglarised and a wife
who was still in bed - usually full of crumbs - was not what he
wanted.
    The disputes between them were out of this world.
    Then one night Felicity was singing in a grotty hotel in Lemon
City owned (although she did not know this at the time) by Mario
Bussola. He happened to be in the audience and became smitten by
her gravelly voice and curvaceous appearance. After her set, he
summoned her to a private room and they almost immediately began an
adulterous relationship; Bussola also gave her a fat contract to
sing in his chain of six hotels.
    She fell in love with the overweight gangster.
    It was the end for her and Kruger. Though she was technically
responsible for the downfall of the marriage, that didn’t mean she
left the relationship without a fight for a huge percentage of
Kruger’s stash.
    Kruger wasn’t sorry to see her go.
     
     
    Back in the present, Kruger glanced down at his gold Rolex.
With a quick grin he thought maybe he was being too harsh. A few
good things had come from the brief relationship: the London
honeymoon, the Rolex, the sex - which had been tremendous - and he
had recovered his self-esteem.
    He smiled at her and sighed. She did look good sitting there
in her work-out gear, the spandex clinging tightly to the shapely
outline of her body.
    ‘ So, c’mon, what’s all this about? I didn’t return your