Marcus was waiting there for me. He was German, five feet eleven inches tall, blonde, angular, and ruthless. ‘Is he here?’ he asked me. ‘Drives ... ’68 Shelby GT350, he’s six seven, blonde, can’t miss him.’ ‘I see him.’ I turned and saw Gunnar across the street, scanning the crowd. ‘I’ll distract him, fall back.’ He melded into the shadows and I made sure to stand up, knowing my red hair stood out in the crowd. Gunnar saw me and I pretended not to see him and walked to Cal. He revved his engine. She didn't even try to hide, nor coquettishly delay showing me, the tight slit at the top of her legs, between lovely lips which culminated in the most enchanting little dimple.She just stood before me as I took in her figure. A female without feminine wiles. Unaware of her tantalising waistline and hips. Smiling unconcerned as my eyes absorbed her genitals (no way am I descending to crude words to describe her genitals). Her young blonde maiden curls wove a pastel haze, like an impressionistic. More

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