Max stares at Anne Marie on the tiny black and white recording monitor. Look at her, rubbing that silly deodorant under her shaved arms. Powder on her crotch. Now pulling those see-through black panties on her ass.
He should ask Jerry for a bigger screen. Maybe one of those big plasma televisions like Jerry just bought for his apartment.
Max completes another set of one-hundred push-ups. He rolls onto his back for a set of sit-ups, but swaps his head for his feet so he can watch Anne Marie finish dressing. Hooking lace bra under her pillowy breasts; stuffing her soft flesh and into those small cups.
What would she do if he went next door right now, to her hotel room?
He sighs. Maybe she’s the woman to take Max away from this life. Anne Marie has been very nice to him, that’s for sure, like Jerry says. She has sex with him almost anytime he wants. Even cooks dinner for him once and a while.
He checks the lights on the recording equipment, just like Jerry showed him. Red and blue. Gauges okay. Everything is good, working fine. Jerry and the rest of Bluefish’s boys will be lining up to watch this tape.
Max wipes the sweat off his forehead, stands, and then bends at the waist, hands on his thighs. He takes a long slow breath. Then another.
He glances at the monitor. Bluefish says Anne Marie doesn’t know about the camera. But the way she’s playing with her breasts, she has to know she’s being watched.
She looks like she’s putting on a show.
Max unzips his pants.