Limits of Stupidity (short story) - eBook

This gripping erotic crime story follows the unlikely duo of two women as they attempt to get their due from a powerful husband.

K, a waitress in a swanky restaurant who unknowingly finds herself in the middle of a passionate affair with her boss’s wife, Mitzi.

When Mitzi proposes a plan to escape her husband’s oppressive grasp, K finds herself thrust into a world of crime, greed, and lust. 

With an unexpected twist at every turn, readers will be taken on a suspenseful roller coaster as K and Mitzi fight to get what is owed to them.

If you enjoyed the Miki Radicci Series or Cities That Eat Islands, then you’ll be captivated by this thrilling adventure. Buy it now!

Bonus story: Geek With Numbers.

From the collection A Sandwich Can't Stop a Bullet.

Excerpt:

“You forgot my bacon again,” Cornelius whined, making his fat, pimpled nose flared up. He squinted, balled his fists, and pressed his nose into his chin.

I grabbed the side order of pig from the window and brought it over to him, making sure he saw how much of a shit I gave with the expression on my face. The small dish banged loudly next to his order of three over-easy eggs, hash, and white toast.

“I didn’t forget,” - you old freak, I wanted to add -  “I just don’t have three hands,” and flashed him a smile. I walked off and glanced over at Matty, my boss and owner of the Tonnelle Dinner working the register by the entrance. He paid out a trucker and threw me a sour eye under a thick raised brow. I knew what he was thinking, Bitch, stop pissing off the customers even if they’re worthless screws. They have cash and are worth it.

I broke off his righteous scrutiny, moved to the new customer at the counter and took his order. The job sucked but it was the only kind of work I could get while passing through. Where was I going? Didn’t know. At least here there was a pleasant view working the floor. Mitzi. Her perfect body wrapped tight in a blue and white waitress uniform showed off her curves, moving just right while serving the hogs while her tan skin that graced sculpted lips pinched to a slight kiss. Her eyes flattened along with her nose and made me wonder what part of South America she was from. All through our shifts we exchanged glances and smiles and even pleasantries. What I would do to feel her body pressed against my breasts and thighs, to feel her curves in my hands, her mouth on mine.

What I would do to make her leave her husband, Matty.

**

During my break in the back booth, I spotted Gild sweeping in and slapping meet hooks with Matty at the register. The slick Latino always dressed in an ivory sports jacket, black pants, and black shoes to match his slicked-back black hair and graying sides. He smiled like a cat in heat. Matty never smiled back. Not even a grin. It was just not Matty’s way.

Gild small-talked with Matty until he could snatch one of the waitresses or Mitzi to run the register. Matty then led Gild into his office for business. What kind? I wasn’t positive. But it happened every Monday night at 8PM. Just like every day Matty sat in the front booth and pretended to do bills or read the newspapers while the same familiar slick or skuzzy or professional faces stopped by for a quick exchange of words and hands. Peeking, I saw that those faces slip Matty green.

Were the two related? I bet my ass on it.

Maybe that was it. Matty was fronting a betting ring for Gild. It sure wasn’t drugs. The diner wasn’t that fancy. Just some small joint where truckers and travelers stopped for a crappy meal on the way to Secaucus or Union City or waited until their car was fixed at one of the garages that crowded Tonnelle Avenue.

Either way, a lot of cash had to be in that safe before Gild picked it up on Monday. Matty wasn’t gonna tell me crap except how to do my job better or how to mind my business. But someone else might.