David Crane

The wife_s young lover

CHAPTER ONE

Green Street comes snaking furtively out of the quagmire of the slums – a cobbled road not much bigger than an alley with derelict buildings, condemned tenements and warehouses lining either side. It ends at the junction with Broad Street which, although also a slum street, is respectable in comparison with Green and has functioning enterprises and businesses – such as pawn shops and saloons.

In front of one of these saloons, the Golden Garter, young Billy Wilson had set up his shoeshine box. He had considered the location carefully, tempted to work outside the pawn shop because the men who came out of that establishment would have money, having pawned their watches – or someone else's watches, more likely – but Billy had figured that the drunks staggering out of the Golden Garter would be more generous.

Billy was poor. He was a good-looking kid, with crisp hair and a wiry body, but his clothing reflected his penury – a ragged T-shirt and jeans that had been stained with shoe polish. But he was not inordinately poor for that section of the city, where everyone was poor. He was a cheerful lad who whistled while he worked and shined a shoe with dexterity and class.

He had just finished polishing a pair of expensive but ancient brogues and was waiting for another customer when he noticed a gleaming Cadillac cruising slowly down Broad Street. He looked admiringly at the car. Then he looked to see who the driver was, figuring that only a pimp could have a car like that in a slum like this.

But a woman was driving.

She was going past very slowly, looking out. She was about thirty years old, Billy figured, and good-looking. She had blonde hair worn in a style that must have taken her hairdresser ages to make look casual. Her mouth was full and sensual, her eyes smoky gray. She looked sort of excited, Billy thought. He figured that she was lost and had driven into the slums by mistake and was bemused by the whole situation.

The Cadillac turned onto Green Street.

A drunk wobbled out of the bar and peered at Billy with cloudy eyes, as if wondering if the kid was a lamp post upon which he should piss. Billy started shining his shoes without asking. The guy was too drunk to know the difference, but Billy, being proud and professional, gave him a decent shine. The guy gave him a quarter. Not bad.

Then the Cadillac came down Broad Street again.

The woman was still gazing out as she slowly cruised past, and this time Billy realized that she was looking at him. He figured she wanted to ask directions.