The Tease Sin for Me by Gil Brewer

Author:Gil Brewer [Brewer, Gil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, mysteries, Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9781951473044
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2020-07-08T12:00:00+00:00

THE END

SIN

FOR

ME

one

I was pretty high when I walked into the office at one o’clock that Tuesday afternoon in August. Babcock Realty. What I had descended to. I had just finished soaking up some ten gin-and-tonics at The Tiger’s Lounge over on Sixteenth, and nothing did any good. It never would. For a long time I’d been this way, and for six months it had been bad. It wouldn’t get any better, either. And the heat didn’t help. The Denver weatherman said it was ninety-three, and even though it was a dry heat, I was glad the office was air-conditioned.

I trudged over to my desk, planked myself down, and stared at a map of foothill subdivision area on the wall. Brownie was over at his desk, cramped above a pencil, but I had ignored him.

“Hi, Jesse.”

“Brownie.”

Charles “Brownie” Babcock, owner and proprietor of the establishment. I probably owed him a lot. I didn’t like to think of it. He’d been the only person who would take me in, the way things were. It wasn’t paying off for him, either. But he never said anything. He was a friend. I had some friends, all right.

But I was bitter.

It was just me, and I couldn’t help it.

Self-pity, stop riding me.

Germaine, I thought again. It would always be Germaine. And there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. She wasn’t my wife any more, she was Paul Knowles’ wife, and I wondered if the son-of-a-bitch was happy. Happy with Germaine? It was to laugh at—heartily.

But, oh—the son-of-a-bitch, I thought. Oh, the dirty son-of-a-bitch, living With her in the house I had built for her when I’d been riding high; living with Germaine in that house.

It ate at me like acid.

I stared out the plate glass windows at sun-blasted Lincoln Street, and wondered what the rest of the day would bring. Just more memories and hate, I knew. Like always. I was deep in a swamp, and I couldn’t get out. I needed help, and I wouldn’t get any.

A tall, young, curvy girl strolled past, with a ripe hip swing, lingering in front of the windows. She had long red hair, and she wore a red man’s T-shirt, stretched tautly over full, thrusting breasts. She was carrying a tennis racket. Her lips were parted and there was an expression on her face of deep amusement. She was really something, and she knew it. She was on parade.

I glanced over at Brownie.

He hadn’t missed a thing. He never would. He licked his lips, and rapped at the desk with his pencil, holding the pencil in his pink, clenched fist, He was stocky, Brownie was, in a dark, lightweight suit, white shirt, and maroon tie; stocky, and round-faced, with button eyes that shone in his face like wet raisins. He smoothed his thinning, dark hair back with his other hand, and whistled.

“Get a load,” he said. “I sure wouldn’t mind pumping that.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

He always “pumped” them.

“Yeah,” I said.

The girl meandered on past the front of the office, and vanished with a flirt of denimed behind.

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