The Deadly Seven

Winston Cross [4/7]

A large green field stretched out in front of an ancient estate that once belonged to a billionaire.  Dotting the lawn in neat rows, were people sitting in sport chairs.  They were all looking ahead of them at a man behind a podium and at a fashionably old Mustang convertible dated from the 1930’s.  The man behind the podium leaned over a microphone and boomed out in his auctioneer voice,

“Starting bid is eighty-thousand dollars.  Do I have eighty-thousand? Eighty-thousand?”

In the front row, a young man in a starch white button-down shirt and pressed khaki pants, lowered his black and silver Oakley sunglasses and raised his hand.  

The auctioneer motioned to him and upped the price another ten grand. 

Hiding his chestnut brown eyes behind his shades again, thirty-two –year-old Winston Cross turned to the man sitting three seats down.  He had been a competitor of Winston’s for years at every auto auction held in Brooklyn.  Winston couldn’t let him walk away with another authentic vehicle. 

“I’ve got a hundred-thousand.  Do I have a hundred-and-fifty?  A hundred-fifty?”

Winston raised his hand again and then looked at his opponent, who raised his hand as well, along with a smirk.  Pursing his thin lips and clutching the canvas armrests, he stared at the car with burning desire.  With the way Winston fought for antiques, people would think he had never had anything precious in his life.  But in fact, Winston had been to over fifty car auctions and, with the exceptions of thirty-one losses, managed to walk away with another car to add to his personal collection.  Back at home, he had twenty-two vehicles; all either from a specific year or a certain model.  He was not in need of another automobile.

“We’ve got a hundred-and eighty.  Do I have a hundred-and-ninety?”

“Two-hundred!”  Winston shouted.

“I have two-hundred thousand?  Do I have two-hundred-and-ten?  Two-hundred-and-ten?  Anyone?”

Sitting taller in his seat and shifting his jaw in growing anticipation of his win, Winston eyed his competitor and chuckled to himself.  Winston Cross was an extremely attractive man with short brown hair that laid in tapered strands about his head.  He had large, puppyish eyes that were accompanied by expressive eyebrows that spoke what he was thinking even if he didn’t say a word. 

Winston Cross was the newest CEO of a family oil business stationed in Iran.  And every year, he travelled to New York and lived there for six months before moving back to Iran for the remaining months of the year.  He was very good at his job and his father, who was currently suffering from a stroke, had placed Winston’s name on his will to inherit the business.  He had two other siblings who were older than him and a step-brother, but they had all proven to be irresponsible with the family money and reputation.  Winston was the only blood relative the senior Cross trusted.

Apart from his routine auction attendance, Winston was also known for his womanizing.  He never meant to “hurt” any woman, but later admitted he just loved.  And women loved him.  Winston was a hard person to dislike with his gentle and playful manner as well as a business approach to most anything.  However, unlike most men, he got along with his past lovers and visited them off and on whenever he was in their area.  Indeed, Winston was the lady’s man and the men’s hero, but when it came to playing a game of poker, his charms and taste in automobiles did not last long at the table.