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143 pages

English

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Katarina is 25, a charming, ambitious emigre from Russia looking for a better life. Alex is 79, a billionaire, and he likes her very much. When the old man suggests that after his passing Katarina would make better use of his estate, all in his family agree it would be better if she weren't around. When she vanishes, ransom notes start arriving as well as the ghosts of dead prostitutes.

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	15 octobre 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781506904191
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0180€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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The Old Man’s Girlfriend

By
Paul Victor
The Old Man’s Girlfriend
Copyright ©2017 Paul Victor

ISBN 978-1506-904-19-1 EBOOK

April 2017

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means ─electronic, mechanical, photo-copy, recording, or any other ─ except briefquotation in reviews, without the prior permission of the author or publisher.
ONE

Twenty Years Earlier

“Alex, get over here. Ineed you,” David Bronson groaned hoarsely into the phone.
“What’s the problem?”Alex asked, muting his annoyance at the late night phone call that woke himfrom a sound sleep.
“Just get over here.”
“David, it’s the middleof the goddamn night. What could be….”
“Alex! I need your helpand I need it now!” David insisted.
“Okay,” Alex said,stunned by the urgency in his brother’s voice. In a quiet staccato voice headded, “Okay. Take a breath. Tell me what happened.”
David Bronson forcedhimself to calm down, suppressing his urgency. “A dead body,” he said.
Alex hesitated, decidedthis was not the right time to ask a lot of questions. His brother, 48 yearsold and eleven years his junior, had screwed up again. “I’ll be right there.”
It took Alex Bronsontwenty minutes to get to his brother’s house. David opened the door before Alexcould knock.
“Come in,” Davidbreathe, turning to lead Alex through the foyer, up the stairs through hisbedroom and onto the balcony overlooking a small lake. He stepped to the fenceringing the perimeter of the balcony and turned back to face his brother’sexpectant look. He gestured with his head for Alex to look over the rail, butdidn’t look down himself. Alex stepped up and peered down. A woman, herdiaphanous clothing whipped by the wind over her lifeless body, lay awkwardlyamong the boulders positioned against the lower part of the house to simulate arugged eastern coastline.
“Who is she?”
“Does it fuckingmatter?” David snapped, his eyes growing large and wild, his face turning red.Alex locked eyes with his brother but showed no emotion. After a few secondsDavid dropped his head, furled his brow and squeezed his eyes closed. He shookhis head in denial and self reproach. When he looked up, he directed his gazetoward the darkness over the water.
“She’s a – whore,” heconfessed reluctantly. “One of my regulars.” He turned toward to his brotherand added, “Don’t be so shocked.” Although Alex showed no shock or disapproval,David felt compelled to justify his behavior with what sounded like a preparedanswer. “It’s easier with whores. No need to make idle conversation; nopretending to care about her life; no lingering afterwards. They get theirmoney, they just go.”
Alex fought the impulseto roll his eyes and toss off an ironic “thank you for explaining that.”Instead, he asked, “What happened?”
“She jumped.”
“Jumped?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t …. Damn. Ican’t ….”After several incoherent false starts, he said, “She had some crazyidea about marrying me. I told her it was nonsense. I mean we had kidded aroundabout what it would be like if we were married. She’d say stuff like 'I couldgive you one of those every night.’” He looked to see if his brotherunderstood. Alex bobbed his head knowingly. “But it was nonsense, just talk.She had to know that.”
“You told her you hadno intention of marrying her.”
“Right.”
“Tonight?”
“Right.”
And?”
“And – she – she was onthe bed. She stood up, walked out to the balcony and jumped over the rail.”
“ Just jumped?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you?”
“I was standing at thefoot of the bed. She got up, walked to the rail, and jumped.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No.” He frowned,shaking his head from side to side and repeated more emphatically, “I don’tknow. She was muttering something before - something about I didn’t care abouther. I was just using her. Hell, yes, I was using her.” His tone was angry anddefensive. “I mean what the hell was she thinking? She’s – was - a whore.”
“Who's home? Theservants?” Alex Bronson asked.
“No one. They leave at6.”
They stood on thebalcony, facing each other absorbing the event, when they were startled by anangry voice coming from the front of the house. They turned simultaneouslytoward the bedroom door. There was nothing there but the angry shouts of a man comingup the stairs. Alex reentered the bedroom with David trailing several stepsbehind. A large man appeared in the doorway, demanding, “Where is she?”
“How did you get inhere?” Alex asked.
“The fucking door wasopen.”
Alex remembered thatDavid had not closed it when he let him in.
“Who are you?” David Bronsonasked.
“Never the fuck mindwho I am. Where is she?” The two brothers stared at him blankly. After a fewmoments, the man said, “Annie. Where’s Annie?”
“Who are you?” Davidasked again.
“I’m the guy who takescare of her. I dropped her off at your front door and now I’m here to pick herup. Where is she?”
Involuntarily, Davidhalf turned back toward the balcony, stopping himself too late to keep the pimpfrom noticing. The man brushed between the two brothers and rushed toward therailing. He looked down, motionless for ten seconds. When he turned around hiseyes were cold and a switch blade snapped open in his hand. He held the knifelike a flashlight pointed at the brothers. He walked menacingly toward the twomen, waving the knife threateningly at the brothers’ faces. David Bronson grabbedthe man’s wrist with both hands, pinning the knife flat against the intruder'schest. When the pimp pivoted to face David, Alex picked up a solid metalsculpture on a dresser beside him. He clubbed the man on the back of his headcausing his legs to buckle and his body to collapse onto the knife David hadpinned against him. The blade entered just under the ribs. In shocked disbeliefthe pimp stepped back and looked down at the knife, hilt deep his body.Clutching it with both hands, he was unable to muster the strength to pull itout. In slow motion he sank to the floor, finally falling onto his chest anddriving the blade deeper into his body. The two brothers stood frozen, gazingat the body laying at the feet. After a moment Alex dropped to a knee besidethe body, checked the man's pulse, and declared, “I think he’s dead.”
David said, “This isn’tmy fault. I ….”
“Shut up, David.”
Alex walked to the edgeof David’s bed and sat down. After a few moments, David shuffled over and satdown beside his brother.
“I’m going to call oneof my security people. I think he’ll be able to help us,” Alex said.
An hour later BobCurry, Alex Bronson’s chief of security, would explain that dying so quicklyfrom a single knife wound was unusual. Typically, a person wanting to killsomeone with a knife would jab the victim repeatedly, a dozen or more times, tobe certain of hitting a vital organ or producing enough damage forexsanguination.
The lesson had beendelivered in a low key, clinical fashion as if the security chief had said itmany times before. His eyes were distant, seemingly unaffected by neither thedead man on the floor nor the body on the rocks outside. In that same tone heinformed the brothers that he needed a couple of blankets to take care of theirproblem.
Curry wrapped the deadbodies in separate blankets and carried them to the truck of the pimp's car.Before driving off he instructed David to have the carpet in his bedroom in hisbedroom replaced as soon as possible. He added, “If anyone asks, the girl washere and her pimp picked her up. You didn’t see the pimp. You heard his carpull up to the front of the house. That's all you know.” He turned to Alex,“You weren't here.”
Alex watched the securityman drive away in the pimp’s car, the dead bodies in the trunk. He realizedthat although one problem may have been solved, another had been created. Hehad entered a new phase of his relationship with his security man, one in whichAlex was unsure about how the power was distributed.
Two

Backstory

Except for his firsttwo years in high school, David Bronson was always the other Bronson. He hadbeen an athlete – a swimmer showing great promise, which withered away afterhis sophomore year. For two years he had competed successfully with the legendof his older brother Alex, who, David was sure, never suffered the kind ofangst a person who has to prove himself does. Alex seemed to glide throughlife, not needing or seeking the approval of others. He did what he did and ifyou didn’t like it, too bad.
What bothered Davidmost was that Alex didn't seem to do anything to earn his status: he wasn't asports star, not class president, not best looking. He was just himself. Yearsafter high school David Bronson realized that Alex's total comfort in beinghimself, more than anything else, contributed to his great success. Alex had nofear of failure and no shame when he did fail. The envy David felt for hisbrother at times lapped over into hate.
David Bronson retired afinancially successful man – a multimillionaire – but his worth did not compareto his brother’s wealth, which was in the billions. When David stopped workinghe enjoyed the stereotypical vision of retirement for about four months: 4 or 5days a week at the club with others like himself – on permanent vacation withhis cohorts, reminiscing and congratulating themselves on their successes, butnow on the sidelines watching others make big deals that had once been veryimportant to them.
There was, of course,the sex but even that was a pale version of what it had been. The last time ithad been really good was with Annie the night she died. Starting a few monthsafter she had been disposed of and David Bronson not yet 50, his sexualfailures became chronic. Now in his late 60s, even with the pills it didn'twork. He was, as his doctor told him, in that 30% of the male population forwhom the pills are ineffect