Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous by J. Brandon Best

hint of jealousy.
    Alessiya had pre-planned the purchase with Rita who only had to deliver them. Seeing the boots a week or two before, she had asked Rita to lure Bronte into buying them for her. The two were partners in a sense - partners in crime with Alessiya the ring leader and Rita her helper. All Bronte’s mail had been written by Alessiya, so it was payback time for Rita. After all, she had become $1500 richer since carrying out the alleged nose job scam devised by Alessiya.
    Secretly, Alessiya had always considered Zhana beautiful. Publicly however, she would never admit to such a thing, preferring only to comment that Zhana had a big nose. That had been the basis of ingenuity behind the $1500 rhinoplasty story.
    ‘Anyway where’s Bronte now, and what are your plans for tonight? You going out someplace?’ Rita looked hesitant then said,
    ‘I don’t want to go out tonight… not with him… I’ve been with him all afternoon…’ Never confront today what you can still avoid tomorrow , this was Rita’s philosophy, put to good use that evening. She was terrified at the prospect of physical or sexual encounters, or more correctly, of her obvious lack of experience appearing plainly evident to the man.
    ‘I thought you’d be more interested in making money… or at least having a good time without paying for it?’ Alessiya had gold-digging down to a fine art - with no need of a sieve or metal detector.
    ‘God Oly, I thought scoring the boots was pretty decent for only the first day?’
    ‘Yea, well… I’ll call Anton and have him keep an eye on Bronte’s apartment.’
    ‘Why would you do that? What can that do?’
    ‘I don’t imagine he will sit in twiddling his thumbs… might see if I can get Anton to steer him to The Intourist or Valya’s place…’ she seemed to be thinking out loud. ‘Maybe I can get him laid and cash in, that’s why!’ Alessiya laughed loudly as she began to dial a number. Rita wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but she was equally unsure she wanted to ask.
     
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    When he finally emerged from his apartment, the resident black dog he met earlier ran barking alongside a Volga with tinted glass that had pulled into the complex. Seeing Bronte, the hound wandered over to inform him that someone in the car was interested in him. But on a mission to drink beer and annoyed with himself, the footwear world and Rita, he merely brushed the dog on the head and walked on, ignoring the barking voice of the furry God spelled backwards.
    It was a warm evening. Bronte wore a tee shirt with a light jacket, cotton slacks and leather loafers. He may have been strolling for ten or fifteen minutes when he came upon a large, open and breezy canteen with big sails overhead. From all appearances it seemed like a good place to drink and grab some food. The place wasn’t crowded so he took up a table not too far from a group of young women in their mid twenties.
    Looking them over quickly, he wasn’t sure what fashion catalogue they had come from, but it certainly featured attractive young models. And, he was even more delighted to notice they were in the habit of looking his way frequently. Of course he still hadn’t given thought to the fact he was obviously of foreign appearance. Not that he resembled a Kalahari Bushman, just that people here saw Germans and other Europeans but not suntanned Australians, not at this time of year. Some guy in an overcoat with up-turned collar and beanie wandered in and after looking around aimlessly, walked out. Bronte hoped it wasn’t a signal the beer would be warm or flat.
    He ordered a half litre and after hand signals and baby talk full of ahs, ums and goo-gaas, managed to tell the waitress he wanted pistachio nuts. It was so easy a three year old could have explained it, he thought . When she returned with the beer and some pretzels, Bronte thought next time he