CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gretchen wasn't waving her naked t**s at me as she usually did. That flashing glint was a wicked-looking Beretta automatic.
"Put it down, Gretchen baby-it's only me, your Philly boy! Now that you've caught me working overtime, how about us stripping for a quickie?" I said, hoping to distract her.
"Forget it, you miserable boy scout!" she rocked me with a gravelly voice. "This is a real gun, and it's going to give you some hot lead instead of hot p***y!"
The seals of self-deception dropped from my eyes as I sensed her true character.
No wonder, except once or twice when we had f****d like mad, she never had seemed quite real to me. The girl I thought I knew, the dainty lass of the modulated voice, the Emily Post manners, was a sham.
This obvious moll, her eyes as hard a
