Again Johnny had to resist the urge to burst out laughing.

The girls talked it over for a few moments while Johnny looked away, sipping his club soda, giving them space, and then Donna announced, “Well, I’m going home, it was really nice meeting you.”

“You too, hope to meet you again sometime,” Johnny said, thinking, Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

Donna left, and Johnny knew the last obstacle had been removed- it was pretty much home free from here.

And he didn’t waste any time. After he said something funny and she laughed, he leaned in and kissed her. He didn’t slobber over her with an open mouth. It was a simple, classy kiss. He kept his lips against hers for several seconds and then pulled back and said, sensitively yet with passion, “Do you want to get out of here?”

A few minutes later, they were in the cab. He was a total gentleman- kissing her, of course, but not trying to get in her panties or anything like that. The cab ride to Astoria might cost him about thirty- five, forty bucks, and he hoped that it was worth his while, that he wasn’t wasting a whole night with this woman. During the cab ride she said everything he expected her to say. I don’t usually do this. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? Maybe we should wait.

Playing the game, he kept saying things like “Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable,

I can go home.” Giving her every opportunity to back out of it. Yeah, right. In Astoria, he was disappointed when they pulled up in front of a modest twofamily house. He was hoping she lived in one of the new yuppie condos they’d put up out there; it would’ve been an indication that this was going to be worthwhile. Still, he was trying to be optimistic, not acting in any way disappointed. As soon as they entered her apartment, he switched on his passion button and began to give her the full Johnny Long lovemaking treatment. He kissed her lips softly, pushing her hair back away from her face, telling her over and over how beautiful she looked. They went into the bedroom and began to make love.

He asked her if she had candles and incense, knowing that women always loved that crap. She said she didn’t have incense but had candles and went to get them. She returned to bed, the candles lit, and Johnny began to make love to her the way only Johnny Long could. He knew he was the best lover in the world, and not only because women often told him he was. One day he’d gone to the library and read books by the so- called Casanovas, and those guys didn’t know anything he didn’t know. In one book, some French guy claimed he’d been with over a thousand women and had satisfied all of them. Johnny laughed when he read that- no one could give a woman more plea sure than Johnny Long. The last time he’d counted he estimated that he’d been with 450- plus women, but he was only thirty- one years old and planned to be in the thousands by the time he was thirty- five.

Johnny knew that writing a book about his own sex techniques would be impossible because he had no techniques. He couldn’t tell people to do this or do that and you’ll get a woman off every time, because nothing worked every time with every woman. Women were like trees: They were all different. It was all about instinct, getting into the woman’s head, feeling what she was feeling. He kissed Theresa very slowly and softly on her mouth and her neck, then moved to her breasts and stomach and inner thighs and finally worked his way lower. The entire time, like when he was talking to her at the bar, he was very attentive, picking up on the cues she gave him and playing off them. Like a super sex computer he instantly pro cessed the information she was giving him and transformed himself into her ideal lover, the man of her dreams. He pleasured her for a long time with the perfect intensity, and then he began to make love to her at the exact pace she wanted. She climaxed easily, moaning, “Oh, Gregory, oh, Gregory.” For a moment he’d forgotten he was Gregory and thought she’d confused him with somebody else.

He got her off four times, and he knew there was no chance she was faking.

No one could fake orgasms with him because he knew, he always knew. Afterward, he held her in his arms and gently stroked her hair and kissed her ear, gently sucking on her lobe for a while.

Later, when she finally fell asleep, he got out of bed, dressed silently, and got to work robbing her apartment.

He started with her purse, scoring $237- not bad at all for purse money; it more than covered the cab ride, so already the night was a success. He easily found her jewelry box in the top drawer of her dresser and took everything, noticing a couple of necklaces, both sterling, and rings that he thought would get him several hundred dollars for their gold value alone. With a little luck this would turn out to be a great score, and he knew that as long as he got away cleanly, he had almost no chance of getting caught. Theresa had no real information about him, and she probably wouldn’t even report the crime to the police. Johnny wasn’t sure why the women he screwed and robbed almost never tried to rat him out. Part of it probably was that they felt so ashamed and embarrassed about what had happened that they didn’t want their friends and family to find out about it, but Johnny liked to think that it was mainly because he’d left them so satisfied, giving them the best sex of their lives, so that in the morning they’d decided that, yeah, losing their money and other valuables sucked, but what did they really have to complain about?

He was about to leave the bedroom when he noticed, on the night table, the gold crucifix Theresa had been wearing at the bar. He snatched it and, on his way out, smiled, thinking how he’d have to go to church later and confess. He was still giggling about that one as he left the building and headed toward the subway station.

eight

“Johnny Long. That you?” The voice came from behind Johnny as he was entering the Astoria Boulevard subway station. He was surprised to hear his name spoken at three in the morning in Astoria, where he didn’t think he knew anyone.

For a moment he worried it was a cop. Just in case, he started reaching into the pocket of his jacket where he had a Kel- Tec.380.

But then he looked over his shoulder and actually had to blink, doing a double take.

“Carlos?” he asked.

He hadn’t seen Carlos Sanchez, his old friend from St. John’s, in how long? Eight, nine years? Nine years, but Carlos looked like he’d aged twenty. He was only four or five years older than Johnny, but he looked fifty with all of that gray in his hair, and his face looked old and drawn, too. Johnny had heard through Rayo, another guy from St. John’s, that Carlos had been away for dealing.

Carlos came over and gave Johnny a big hug. He reeked of booze and pot smoke, and Johnny couldn’t wait for the hug to end.

“It’s been a long time, bro,” Carlos said, finally letting go. “Been a long, long time. The hell you doin’ ’round here?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Johnny said. “I thought you were away.”

“Naw, man, that’s ancient history,” Carlos said. “Got out six months ago, and I’m livin’ here now, bro. Well, not here, here, I mean Queens, Bayside. I’m just here in Astoria on some business, know what I’m sayin’?”

Johnny wasn’t surprised Carlos was dealing again; the guy had been dealing since he was thirteen. Johnny had never touched drugs, not even pot, which was the main reason why he’d only been away one time. When you weren’t whacked out on drugs and could think clearly, it was easy to stay one step ahead of the cops.

“Where you living now?” Carlos asked.

“Still in Brooklyn,” Johnny said. “Got a little place out in Red Hook.”

“Yeah, how you gettin’ by?”

“I’m doing okay.”