Around siesta time in the floating harbor off San Diego, Estralita DellaGuardia, dressed fashionably in white blouse and slacks, walked up on a pair of muscular legs in blue jeans sticking out of the hold of her runabout RANA. At first, the legs reminded her of mawkish parody of dying bug but then she didn't recall Poppie telling her anything was out of order with the electric motors and charging systems. She drew her pistol halfway before recognizing the broad shoulders and tribal tattoos snaking up the man's muscular back. She giggled, nymph-like, loud enough for him to hear and feigned distress.
"Oooh a thief, a scoundrel, a bad man is vandalizing my launch, help, help," He set a screwdriver on the deck and closed the cover on the electric box.
"Big Es? Estralita?"
"One wrong move and I shoot your cojones into tomorrow," Estralita barked like a drill sergeant.
"You wouldn't shoot the cojones off the man you used to play with in the big hot-tub? The man you once pledged to marry and swore to secrecy in the attic of your house." He slid his body back, turned and stood a head taller than Estralita.
"Why if it isn't little Tony Tonero all grown up," she squealed, bouncing like a little girl meeting a rock star, her breasts akimbo, her eyes admiring the thick nipple ring in his chest that matched tribal tattoos. He bowed, flourishing the grease rag. She reached out to hug but grease on his hands and forearms forced air-kisses. The muscles of his chest and arms rippled as he wiped his hands.
"The one, the only at your service. And may I say, you are the prettiest Big Es in harbor." Estralita blushed and demurred coquettishly, breasts jiggling, hips swaying.