Free SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense by LOU HOLLY Page B

passenger door and held it open. “Told her my name was Doctor Halloran and I was on call. Works every time.”
    Collette surprised Trick with a soft kiss, then placed a hand on the front of her short skirt as she got in, preserving the mystery of her femininity. He closed the door and walked around the back of the car thinking the kiss seemed promising. He got in and asked, “Would you like to come over to my place for a drink?”
    At first he thought Collette must not have heard him because she took a compact out of her purse and opened it, using the reflection to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. After pausing, she turned and said, “Something about you. I don’t know, maybe it’s not a good idea.”
    “Come on, I’ll take you back home the minute you say so.” Trick held three fingers up in a mock Boy Scout salute.
    “OK, just one drink. But you have to promise to be good. I’ve never been alone with a man before.”
    Trick squinted, furrowing his brow. “You mean …?”
    “No, I’m not a virgin and I’m not gay if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve never been with a real man, just guys my age.”
    Trick was at a loss for words so he just nodded and turned on the radio. While Sade’s sultry voice moaned, “Smooth Operator,” Collette lit a cigarette and put the passenger window down a few inches. She studied Trick’s profile and said, “You know, you’re not a bad looking guy, a little rough but kind of nice too.”
    “Thanks. I’ve been taking handsome lessons.”
    Collette giggled. “What?”
    “Yeah. Correspondence course, nine easy lessons to look more like Cary Grant.”
    “Oh, really? How’s that going?”
    “Lesson number one … have good looking parents. High cheekbones are a plus.”
    “What about lesson two?” she asked, playing along.
    “Stand tall, shoulders back. Think handsome and you’ll be handsome. Doesn’t matter if you have blue eyes or brown eyes, but if you have a nose like Jimmy Durante you’re liable to flunk the course.”
    “What about three?” Collette laughed.
    “That’s as far as I got. So, after seven more lessons, watch out. You might not be able to control yourself.”
    “Oh, boy, I can’t wait.”
    ***
    Trick opened a kitchen cabinet that contained several liquor bottles. “How about a twenty-four-year-old Scotch?”
    “Jumping bunnies,” Collette exclaimed in a way that made him feel a little uneasy. “That’s three years older than me.”
    Settling on the living room sofa, Collette inquired, “There’s still something I don’t get. Your name’s Patrick Halloran, but you don’t know if you’re Irish?”
    “It’s a long story.” Trick swirled the ice in his Chivas Regal and took a sip. “I started out as Baby Patrick in the orphanage, no last name. From what I’ve been able to find out, I was adopted by a couple named Halloran. The records were sealed but I paid someone under the table for information. I was told the Hallorans adopted me in a last ditch effort to save their marriage. It didn’t work out so they ditched me. The first thing I can remember as a kid, think I was about four, was being brought back to the orphanage. I didn’t understand. There was a lot of crying. I had this lump in my throat that didn’t go away for a long time.”
    “I’m surprised you can remember back that far,” Collette remarked.
    Trick could see sadness in Collette’s eyes. Compassion he could take but pity was something he couldn’t stand. He learned to differentiate between the two long ago. “Something like that you don’t forget. I felt like I wasn’t good enough. That stayed with me all through my childhood. Can’t remember all the details but there were other foster homes. I was bounced around like a paddle ball, so were my feelings. Every time I went to live with a new family, I prayed they would keep me, even the ones who treated me like shit.”
    “Sorry I touched a sore spot,” Collette said, looking uncomfortable. “Did