*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Chapter 1
Cindy Scandurro cast a quick, practiced eye around and nodded in satisfaction. She relished her promotion to floor manager of Abdul's Department Store, was grateful for being pulled out of the anonymity of Credit Manager, tucked away in the dusty office on the third floor, to the wide open space of the ground floor of the trendy department store.
The small electronics display had its usual gathering of young teenagers admiring the latest gadgets. One of the youths, however, was paying more attention to his surroundings than to the gadget in front of him. Cindy almost smiled; he was a little too obvious to someone who knew the signs to look for.
"Got him," Hillary Monroe, one of the store employees said, smirking.
Cindy made a mental note to talk with Heather Lee, the head of Abdul's Security. Hillary Monroe seemed to have radar for shoplifters; she also had an eye for display arrangements that maximized appeal, but minimized theft potential.
As if Heather could sense Cindy's thoughts, the bone tin red head popped up.
"See Deputy Dawg's on it again," the young lady giggled.
Cindy couldn't help but giggle too; the young lady's enthusiasm and bubbly personality was contagious. That was part of what made the former high school cheerleader so effective at her job. Few shoppers would ever suspect that the flighty, giggly woman was monitoring the floor.
(One woman had actually asked Heather, "See anyone looking this way?"
"No, why?" Heather had asked.
"'Cause," the woman said and stuffed an alligator wallet into her purse.
"You're not supposed to do that!" Heather had gasped.
"Shit, ain't nobody going to miss it," the woman sneered.
When Heather walked into the small holding area, the woman actually told James Hebert, the store manager, "That girl didn't do nothing; she ain't with me. Y'all need to just let her go, you hear?"
"She's right," Heather told James, who was fighting hard not to laugh out loud. "I ain't one nothing; I don't even know her!")
The boy, unknowing that the gig was up, pocketed the item he had been looking at, nodded to his friends, and casually strolled toward the revolving door of the store.
His friends, without realizing it, made his escape nearly impossible. They all gave him their undivided attention, which would have alerted even the most inexperienced sales associate suspicious.
"Not so fast, Buddy," Hillary snapped when the boy reached to push the door. "What you got in that pocket?"
"Nothing," the boy denied.
"Thank you, Ms. Monroe," Heather smiled, showing the young man her security ID. "Want to come with me, Honey?"
The group of boys giggled and gasped as their friend was escorted to the bank of elevators by a smiling Heather Lee. None of the boys had any concern for their friend's well-being.
"Good job, Ms. Monroe," Cindy smiled as she walked down the Tiled aisle, checking on the various departments.
"Thank you, Mrs. Scandurro," Hillary beamed as she returned to her cash register.
Cindy passed the jewelry counter, avoiding any eye contact with Glen Simone.
She did not like the man, had actually tried to block his employment and had complained when the man was made manager of the jewelry counter.
She had no specific complaint, though; he just made her uncomfortable. James Hebert had smiled his patriarchal smile, thanked her for her concern, and dismissed her.
Glen smirked as Cindy Scandurro marched past his counter. He knew the woman was attracted to him. Because she was married, she felt guilty for her attraction to him and tried to mask it, claiming that she did not like him. She constantly found fault with him, with his work.
When he had been made manager, it had been Cindy that had protested. Obviously, she wanted him to be subservient to her; she knew that the next step was for him to be promoted to floor manager, be promoted to being her superior.
She also objected when he showed any attention to the several attractive young women that Abdul's hired, or to the scores of young women that flocked to the jewelry counter. More than once, James had pulled him into the office to talk about appropriate and inappropriate behavior.
It was obvious to Glen that James resented having to pass the torch on. At one time, James had been a bit of a hound himself. Age was catching up to the man.
At forty seven, Glen knew the time would come that he too would have to pass the torch on to someone younger, more attractive. That day had not come yet, so he religiously applied the hair coloring and skin bronzer.
"Hi, Ms. Scandurro," Tracy Mouton smiled as she passed the manager.
Cindy greeted the new employee, cursing herself for not being able to remember the attractive blonde's name.
Glen looked up and smiled; his latest conquest was walking toward him.
From the moment Tracy Mouton had been hired, Glen knew he had to have her. She had long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a body that just begged to be squeezed. Her chest was an impressive thirty eight Double D, her waist was almost impossibly tiny, twenty four inches around, and her succulent ass and hips swelled out to thirty four inches. Her legs, what was visible under the knee length skirts she wore, appeared to be muscular, tan legs.
Her lips were a beautiful dick sucking pout and her tongue was a delightful pink that often licked at her lips.
Tracy gave him a curt greeting, immediately pulled out her notebook and ran through her checklist.
"Just you and me right now; I'm off at six," Glen commented as she entered her code into the cash register.
"Uh huh," Tracy said.
The sparkle of her engagement and wedding rings meant absolutely nothing to Glen. He himself had worn four wedding bands but thankfully, was unencumbered by such symbols at present. Tammy Timmons, the woman he was living with at the moment was hinting that she'd like one, though.
"Hey!" Hillary chanced a quick step over to the jewelry counter.
Glen ignored the young woman; she was equally as attractive as Tracy, with long blonde hair, heart shaped face, ice cold blue eyes, large breasts, small waist, and tight ass. But Hillary was condescending, rude, arrogant.
Tracy was all of those things, but unlike Hillary, who was stationed twenty feet away, Tracy was in close proximity to him. He could smell her light perfume, her heady sweat, her sugar free gum, usually mint. He could clearly make out the straps of her bra through her blouses, could hear the rustle of her stockings as she walked.
Tracy smiled at her new friend. When she had first started training at Abdul's, it had been Hillary that volunteered to show her the procedures.
"What time you going to dinner?" Hillary asked.
"Damn, girl!" Tracy laughed. "I just got here!"
"I'm pulling a double; Eileen's 'SICK' again," Hillary said.
"Sick?" Tracy snorted. "Hmm! On a Monday? Sick? Hmm!"
"I know, right?" Hillary said.
"I'll call you," Tracy promised.
"Wings?" Hillary asked.
"You know it!" Tracy said.
"There's this bar, the Dead End? Got some of the best wings anywhere," Glen offered.
"A strip club? Oh, oh, okay," Tracy rolled her eyes at him.
Hillary saw a woman, obviously baffled by all the different gadgets available.
"Oops, got to earn my commission," Hillary smiled and walked over to the customer.
"Yeah, you probably wouldn't want to go there," Glen smiled seductively. "Then girls take one look at you and quit."
Tracy ignored him and grabbed the glass cleaner and rag and began cleaning the counter.
"Ever been in there, though? Nice place," Glen continued.
Tracy saw that a ring was missing from its mount.
"Sell that ring?" she asked Glen, speaking directly to him.
"The princess cut? Put it on layaway," Glen said.
"And didn't put anything in its place?" she asked him, her disapproval evident.
"Didn't have time; just rang it up..." Glen said.
"Last transaction on the register when I logged in was at eleven twenty four," Tracy cut him off. "One o'clock now. What have you been doing all that time?"
Glen pulled the heavy ring of keys from the shelf and resisted the urge to throw them at her. He squatted down and unlocked the case. He peered through the glass and saw Cindy looking at him. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement.
Cindy had been at the cosmetics counter and had overheard the exchange between Tracy and Glen. The smile she wore was not for Glen, but for the bright, energetic woman that was busily cleaning the area.
"What the fuck; you ain't half bad for an old broad," Glen smiled at Cindy, then slid the panel shut and locked it.
"Okay, going to lunch now," Glen said to Tracy.
She did not look up, just nodded to acknowledge that she'd heard him.
Glen Simone did not look at James Kowalski as the officer ambled into the store. Why should he? An overweight aging police officer held no interest for him.
Glen did not curtly when the police officer entered the elevator with him.
"Three please," James asked.
James did not press for conversation; he wanted to get away from the salesman. The overwhelming cologne, the dyed hair, and the artificial tan the man sported told James Kowalski everything he needed to know about Glen Simone. The man was a sleazy amoral person trying to cling onto his youth with all the desperation of a drowning man clinging onto a life raft.
"Thanks," the police officer said and turned right, heading toward the Security office.
"Uh huh," Glen said and turned left, toward his locker.
Tammy had packed him a lunch. Glen hated eating the sandwiches made with slightly stale bread, the little bag of potato chips and whatever fruit she put into the paper bag. He would rather go down to the Dead End and have their plate lunch, or their excellent wings, would rather look for Tammy's replacement among the very nubile young ladies that worked there. But Tammy had sat him down and shown him a ledger, showing him their income and their expenses.
Courtney had managed, somehow, to start squeezing child support out of him for Glen Junior and Robert. Eight hundred a month came directly out of his pay check before he even saw a penny of his money.
"We can't afford twenty, thirty dollars a day for you to go eat out," Tammy had said.
"Uh, what about this over here?" Glen had argued. "You're making..."
"Said that right," she had smirked. "I'm making. I'M MAKING. Lucky I don't start charging you rent, mother fucker."
Tammy had been very easy to seduce; the thirty two year old accountant was going over his income tax returns with him and Glen had put on his smile and charm.
The woman looked up, surprised. Glen was one of the few that had flirted with her although she didn't understand why more of her clients didn't flirt with her. She was the proper weight for her height of nearly six feet, wore fashionable clothes, and had no rings signifying any attachment status.
The problem was that she tended to talk in an almost bored tone of voice that made people feel that she was uninterested in them. Her blonde hair was cut in an extremely unflattering style, parted in the middle, with bangs that reached her shoulders, but the back of her hair just reached the nape of her neck. It hadn't looked good when Suzanne Vega wore it cut like that, and it didn't look good now. Tammy had liked it, though, thought it looked smart, sophisticated, and artistic.
Glen had assumed that Tammy was lesbian and had flirted with her, almost as a joke. He had to admit; he did relish the idea of seducing a lesbian and sending her home with something different for her girlfriend to taste.
