THE GOOD SWIMMER(Charles E.J. Moulton) THE GOOD SWIMMER
A SHORT STORY BY CHARLES E.J. MOULTON

Angela had not been standing on on the platform in Naples very long when she saw the man. His long brown hair was curly and hanging down toward his back. That was not only the one attribute that made it hard for any woman not to look. The other one was a pair of bedroom eyes that seemed to speak of sweaty sex in dark corners. This exotic looking man was a real looker. Angela tried not to look. She tried very hard. But being a woman of the world, she knew that any woman trying to avoid a handsome man would actually just end up in his arms.
So, accordingly, Angela took a quick gaze at her Rolex and assessed that it was 12:01. She adjusted her wonderbra, tucked in her Yves Saint-Laurent blouse into her white Boss jeans and walked with her bag toward the gate where he stood, obviously waiting for a train.
She knew very well that Andrew, as well, was waiting for her in Rome, but Andrew, just like this man, was also a lover and he would have to wait. They had tickets for the opera tomorrow, but what was the opera in comparison with a fine Italian. L'amore veloce di uomini italiani di dare alle donne la massima soddisfazione.
She took a quick look at the time-table on the schedule above the door. There was another train leaving for Rome at three. That gave her enough time to seduce the man. She went over to him and she gave him a smile.
He smiled back. The handsome man actually smiled when he saw Angela.
It was a bedroom smile.
No words were necessary. Yes, there were words spoken. A few hellos, a few smiles, a few informative tidbits exchanges. But it turned out that the man was an Italian entrepeneur and owner of seven exclusive restaurants in Naples. Angela’s phone rang several times on the way to the man’s house, but Angela didn’t bother to answer. She knew it was Andrew.
The Italian man was still anonymous to her, no names necessary. They arrived at his house. The couple walked out onto the terrace. There, gazing out upon garden of roses, they made passionate love to the music of Giacomo Puccini.
But there was a visitor.
There was a knife on the table next to the pool.
Don Roberto had just arrived inside his own mansion, one the long-haired man had pretended was his own. He saw his longhaired assasin making love to a beautiful blonde woman on his terrace. He smiled, for he knew that anyone who knew that his killer and he were connected had to die.
Then, he recognized the woman and realized who she was.
He went out upon the porch, unseen by the couple, smoking his cigar and waited for the climax. The woman groaned and moaned and came to her expected climax.
It was then that she saw the fat man standing on his balcony. Everything became clear, she knew that her own lust had put her in a precarious position. Angela heard her own phone ringing in her purse again and it made her eager to make a decision.
She took her phone out of her purse and answered the call.
Andrew was friendly, Angela was polite and the two men looked at her with a solemn look of surprise. They saw the woman looking at her watch, adjusting her wonderbra and tucking her blouse into her jeans as she spoke to an American business-man in Rome.
Without a word, she took a short look at the two men, waved and left the house. A man named Luigi was already there outside the house when she took a sharp exit out of the main gate. He smiled.
“The knife is on the table next to the pool,” Angela said. “Make it quick. Don Roberto is a good swimmer.”
Luigi nodded, knowing very well that Angela’s lover Andrew was waiting in Rome. After all, their protegée was singing Alfredo in La Traviata tomorrow evening.
Angela knew that there were enough people in Naples to take over the mafioso house. Don Roberto had proven to be a very bad manager of mafia affairs. Andrew had good connections to her husband and would soon see to a change of management within the Naples mafia community.
As she walked to the railway station, she heard screams emanting from the garden behind the big house on the corner.
The main thing was that Angela had had her fun.
Her groin was still aching with the sweaty fruits of desire.
The pool was filling up red with the blood of two former mafia members from Naples that had dared to challenge the boss’s wife.

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