The Abducted Heiress: An Alex Booker Thriller by Al Macy

Author:Al Macy [Macy, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-19T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Sandwiched between our break-in during the early morning hours and my possible abduction the coming night, Faith and I attempted a normal lunch at Ocean Prime on Larimer Square. I had the blackened Colorado bass, and Faith, a poke bowl filled with ahi tuna, salmon, and avocado. Would this be my last meal? Seated at one of the sidewalk tables, we lingered and engaged in my new favorite activity: people watching.

Since being de-aged, I’d developed a fascination with the signs of age. What distinguishes a thirty year old from a twenty-five year old, for example? We’d chosen a good time for the activity since the sidewalk was jammed with tourists and workers on their lunch breaks. Three women in office clothes laughed and jostled one another as they passed. I caught the alcohol on their breath, but their boss was unlikely to be as perceptive as I was.

The temperature was in the high eighties, at the top edge of my comfort window, but the awning kept the noon sun away. I pointed out a lone air car high above the city, and Faith nodded but didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“I don’t think air cars will ever catch on,” I said.

She shrugged.

I took her hand. “Are you worried about tonight?”

“We need to talk.”

Those are perhaps the four scariest words a man can hear. I waited.

“There’s something we’ve avoided discussing,” she said.

“Air cars?”

The corners of her mouth twitched up but only for a second. She leaned forward, still holding my hand. “We’ve talked about the problem of you looking younger than I do, but it’s only going to get worse. A lot worse.”

“Yeah … I know.”

“How long before people think you’re my son? Then my grandson. It’ll be worse for you.”

I frowned. “Worse for me?”

“Can you imagine making love to an old lady? It will probably—”

“I don’t have to imagine it.”

The man at the table behind Faith turned and looked at me.

I ignored him. “Kaysa was sixty-eight when … when we were last together.”

Faith whispered, “But you were both old then.”

“What difference does that make?” It was the right thing to say, but she had a point. The god of coincidence chose that moment to send an ancient woman inching along on the sidewalk toward our table. Her hump rivaled Quasimodo’s, and the saggy, wrinkled skin that hung from her upper arms reminded me of a turkey wattle. When a tennis ball on the foot of her walker got hung up on something, she stumbled forward, saved from a broken hip only by the quick actions of a passing tourist.

Faith jerked her chin toward the old woman. “Can you picture sleeping with her?”

“Give me a second. I haven’t seen her butt yet.”

Faith ignored my joke. “Can you imagine making love to her today? And how often do you think she would want to be intimate?”

I guessed never. “There’s more to life than making love.”

“Would you think that when trying to be faithful to a woman like that? To me when

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