The Sex Net (Danny Costello Book 1) by Bulmer Tony

Author:Bulmer, Tony [Bulmer, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Bullgod Publishing
Published: 2012-10-07T16:00:00+00:00

THE SEX NET 25

Driving the girls out to Malibu the toxic atmosphere eased considerably. It is amazing what a trip down the Pacific Coast Highway can do. We cruised down to the Ventura county line and ate at Neptune’s Net, a roadside joint on PCH. We chowed down on a fresh lobster and shrimp combo platter. Gulls soared, the ocean sparkled and a thousand LA troubles washed out on the ebbing tide. Dakota swore she saw dolphins, I wasn’t so sure. We all three watched the glittering ocean, hypnotized by the light and the sound of waves, falling lazily against the shore. Finally we all saw the dolphins, curving out of the water, swimming fast against the azure shoreline. The girls relaxed into the sun-drenched afternoon, talking about the aspirational minutiae of their Brentwood lives. Paris talked sports cars, Dakota talked motorbikes. I nixed both ideas firmly, but knew that their mother would have no such reservations. So I told them that if they worked hard at school a used SUV and dirt bike, for off-road Saturdays were definitely on the agenda. Paris said she wanted a Mercedes. I just smiled, told her she was going to have to think about taking on a paper route to fund it. She made pouty, but I could see she was already engaged in the fantasy of driving a European yuppie wagon around every teenage hotspot in Beverly Hills. It gave me a warm feeling to see her happy. I wondered how I could sell Paris the idea of a mid-priced domestic. More importantly, how would such a vehicle fit in with Kimberley’ color coordinated car-dealership aspirations? What would she say? What would the neighbors say?

We drove back to Brentwood with the windows down, feeling super relaxed, so relaxed there were no complaints about wind mussed hair or disagreements about radio stations. The sound of southern California enveloped us. The afternoon was beautiful, golden. But as the sound of sixties psychedelia flowed around us I sensed a dark, pulsing undercurrent of fear and decay edging in from the desert hills. Thoughts of poor dead Mimi swam through my head. Where was her father, what must he be thinking? What would I do and feel if one of my beautiful, crazy children were to… I pulled myself up short, checking my mirrors, expecting to see a purple-flake Chevy Tahoe cruising in my wake. Nothing—just the throb of the drive time pack. No way that Rothstein’s hired thugs could follow me in this kind of traffic.

As I cruised Sunset through Pacific Palisades, towards the former matrimonial home, the sun was already hitting the mountains, sinking fast into the LA night. The old neighborhood looked time-slip alien, a vision of a previous existence that already seemed to be a lifetime away. Thinking that I too had once lived her in this palm fringed Spanish-style enclave of mini-mansiondom seemed bizarre and unworldly. From the immaculately manicured lawns, to the white washed adobe. This was a realm of

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