"They think they're being cute, using the other's first names backwards for access codes." But how ... that phone call?" Yeah," she said. "That phone ...all." Who was it?" John said, getting to his feet, and grabbing a bathrobe."I don't know," Heather said. "A man, I think. Maybe a younger man, but he was trying to disguise his voice." Mike?" Maybe," Heather said. "Maybe not. It had to come from Mike, somehow or other." You know," John said thoughtfully. "His buddy, Mark Gravengood, knows a lot. The most notable thing about Maureen Connelly was the size of her ass. She was a demure little thing with no boobs to attract any boys. Yet her posterior was shaped with huge scoops of ass cheeks like an African princess. The boys on the stairs all laughed till they fell down and struggled to peek under her short skirt whenever she went up. The girls all made fun of her, but were secretly jealous. They wished their asses were as round and shaped just like Maureen. But Irish girls are generally. For all intents and purposes, he was just another urban professional out for a long weekend of solitude and sport. He watched as a young woman got out of the red sedan that had just pulled in, a set of keys in her hand. She slowed as she approached the door, eyeing him from under batting lashes. From the expression on her face, he could tell she liked what she saw, as most women often did. Over the past eight years he had gotten to the point of ignoring such lustful glances because, as so many. I cruised his lounge room as the kettle came to a boil. It wasn't a room I was comfortable in. It was stainless steel and black and hard. An oversize television screen dominated the space. Everything had its place. It was the sort of room only visited even by its owner. I had been going out, and sleeping in, with him for almost a year but that remained the picture I had of him. He had all the toys --- tailored suit; red sports car; straight cut hair; straighter teeth; shiny trinkets --- but it.