It was such a little thing, could it honestly be the blame for the gore spilling in front of him? Without thinking, he set the gun on a small table near the door, nudging a set of keys over the edge and onto the floor. ‘Where have you been all this time?’ he asked, taking a step closer to the chair and the man dying in it. ‘We need to talk, you and I,’ he said, disregarding his own question. His voice seemed hollow to him, and tinny, and he wondered if it would be capable of the truths it would soon carry. The man seemed to sink further into the chair as Brian approached, and the stain of blood was spreading lower, almost to the straining waistband of his pants. But, even through the pain, a contemptuous fire burned in his glaring eyes. ‘What happened, that was a long time ago,’ he labored to say, a film of red spittle coating his lips. The heat that burned within Brian had been left simmering for years, but the man’s words brought all the anger and pain to a quick boil. Before. Steve's wife thought that his statement about exercising meant that he would be in the Clubhouse gym, and had no clue that his planned exercises would be illegal in some jurisdictions.And Dave Green, the senior member of the Board, was surreptitiously ogling Nancy Wilson, Tom's wife, in her basic black and white, eighteen hundred Euros in Italy. Dave was still distressed, even ashamed, of the ordeal he had put Nancy through that afternoon – though she always handled it well – at a time when he was allegedly in the Men's Card Room playing five and ten dollar poker.Together, the closets of these four women were filled with clothing that had cost enough to maintain a small village, but none of the eight cared. The people of that small village lived in a different world. Each of the women was then best described as arm candy. All eight knew each other in their rarified gated enclave, their homes on three acres or larger plots with the two professional golf courses weaving among them,.
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