Edward Lee Read Online Free

Flood,” Leon finished up. “Enjoy the beach.”
    “I will. Nice meeting you both.”
    Jinny made another nod and pained smile, while Leon’s own smile followed him out of the elevator into the atrium.
    Jesus, Flood thought. Some bag of worms. He made for the courtyard which would lead to the hotel’s own beach bar, but stalled when he reached for his cell phone. Damn it. He’d left it in his room, and he really needed to check his voice mail for the Seattle office. A queue of loud women in bikinis piled into the elevator cove, chattering, so Flood said To hell with going back up, and turned into a nicely paneled anteroom containing several payphones with private booths. He zipped in his credit card, was about to dial, when voices interrupted.
    “Shit, Leon, I really hurt.”
    “Well, I hope you learned your lesson.”
    “I did but I still hurt. Oscar didn’t have to hit me that hard.”
    “Osc wanted to hit you a lot harder, and would have if I’d told him too. Instead of giving me lip, try being grateful.”

    It’s them, Flood realized. They must be in one of the other booths and left the door ajar. Flood’s was ajar too.
    “When’s Oscar taking me home?”
    “When you finish blowing me. So shut up and do it.”
    Flood held the dead phone to his ear, feigning use, but sat tensed, listening.
    Moments of silence ticked by, then Leon grunted and said, “Yeah, yeah—shit. Slow now, suck it all out...” More silence. “No, no. Swallow... Good girl.”
    Love in the afternoon, Flood thought.

    “Osc took a couple girls to the Tradewinds Resort for that pilot conference. He’ll be here in a couple hours, then he’ll take you home.”
    “Leon, I need an oxy. Bad.”
    “One, and that’s it.”
    “ Leon! I really hurt! Please, gimme one for tonight, too. Please. ”
    “Jesus, Jinny, you’re gonna turn into a junkie like Ann and Therese.”
    “I can barely even walk. Oscar was hitting me so hard it felt like a sledgehammer.”
    “You girls take too much of this shit...”
    Oxy, Flood thought. Oxycodone, a morphine derivative and the number one prescription drug of abuse.
    “Ann’s supposed to meet me here for dinner,” Leon remarked. “Didn’t see her at all last night. Did you?”
    “Yeah, but just for a minute.”
    “How’d she do?”
    “Said she did one-hour tricks all day, then bagged an all-nighter with some rich guy from Maryland. And she said she needs more oxyies.”

    “I already gave her enough. You girls gotta watch it with that shit, I been telling you. Now come on. Let’s go to the bar and get some lunch, then you can wait for Oscar. You feeling better now?”
    “Yes. Thank you.”
    The door clattered open. Flood faked dialing the phone; in the corner of an eye he saw Leon and Jinny leave the anteroom, none the wiser of his presence.
    Very, very interesting, he thought. A day in the life of a pimp and prostitute. Flood dialed for real, found no messages in wait, then left.
    Now he got to thinking. How many of the beautiful women here were really call-girls? Everywhere he looked, they sat, walked, or waited. Why should I care? he asked himself. Whether they’re hookers or not, I can’t do anything with them anyway. He kept mental blinders on walking through the resort’s pool area, ignoring side-glimpses of more, more, more drop-dead-gorgeous women in the sparsest bikinis, all sprawled out on lounge chairs like things on deliberate display. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, cauterized. When did learned behavior sink into the psyche permanently? After three years? Flood wished it were so, wished that all desire would just die.
    The hotel’s beach bar was just as bad, preeminent breasts maximized by so many women sitting at tables, leaning over fruity drinks. The bar was sufficient but too busy. Flood wanted to find a remote place, where he could think...
    He embarked to the beach, clunky Seattle sandals sinking in sugar-white sand. The nearly wave-free Gulf of Mexico