PULP FICTION IN TUCSON

 Copyright 2011 by Sam yulish

Ojos Verdes.  I’ve always been a sucker for green eyes—and for excitement. So I knew I was in trouble the second she walked over to the table where my unsuccessful book signing had now been over for about 15 minutes. She was tall and thin, but not too thin. She had a profile. No make-up that I could detect, thin lips, nice shapely, proportionate bare legs. She walked with just the slightest hunch, maybe 2 degrees forward, hardly noticeable. Light, red hair, slightly curled, a little bit of gray mixed in, but not much. I guessed her age the same as mine, mid-fifties. Her dress was on the light reddish side—a good match for her Irish skin tone. WAY  TO  GO! It’s always been the natural girl for me.

The problem was that I had stayed out of trouble for five or six years now, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Dames. Nothing but fun and excitement—and trouble. Before she said one word I knew I was caught—hook, line, and sinker. I thought, Let the adventure begin.

“Mr. Winslow, I presume?”

“Yea, just call me Sam.”

I’m usually a polite guy, but when trouble comes knocking, I go into my gangster mode of discourse.

“Did you want me to sign a book for you?” I asked.

“Uh, no thanks.” She got up real close and personal, and just eyed me up and down, like she was buying a new, a new—something.

“Did you lose something in my clothes,” I asked.

She was looking at my knees at the time, a little bent over, and then turned her head up in my direction, showing off those mesmerizing green eyes, smiled, and replied, “Cute.”

She took one step back, straightened up, unabashedly adjusted her left bra strap, and said, “You’ll do.”

“Yea, sweetheart, what if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will, Sammy.” Her tone was not threatening. It was more on the friendly side, perhaps even motherly. “You will if you want to get the 200,000 smackers.”

Now, I’m not a greedy man, but I don’t like being broke, either.