What in the hell am I doing in a hotel bar on a Friday
night? I'd much rather be at home. But Weiss had pleaded with me to go
out. And since he had spent all day in
my office scouring every scrap of information we had on Irina, I felt obligated
to him.
But, if I had to go out, there was only one place I wanted
to be… the club… at least I could see Jess even if I couldn't talk to her or
touch her. But Weiss had shot that idea
down. Said it wasn't healthy. He's probably right.
But honestly, the bar at the Radisson? This place is not our style. Murphy's Pub is our style. Grumpy old men, just two beers on tap, and
food so greasy that swallowing is optional.
Not this yuppie, techno-trash, nightmare of fancy mixed drinks and
trendy appetizers.
After 25 minutes of discussing Weiss' decaying marriage,
we fall in to a silence interrupted only by one of us ordering another
drink. Just as well. I'm having trouble concentrating on anything
except Sydney.
She refused to let me report Sark's letter to the
Agency. So Weiss and I had to look
through the mountains of paper and electronic data on Irina by ourselves. We were searching for any scrap that would
give us a clue to where she is or what her plans are, but there was
nothing. A few random sightings in
Europe and South America, but she never stayed around long enough for anybody
to get any significant intel.
I trust Sydney's instincts about Sark being in LA, and I
certainly trust Sark to come through on his threats. I've called her every day since that meeting just to make sure
she's okay. I haven't had a decent
night's sleep since I read Sark's letter.
And last night I had a nightmare that she ran away with Sark. What a joke.
Suddenly, a martini glass is placed in front of me. Not a martini, though. At least not a traditional one. I can smell the pineapple juice and the
Malibu rum from 18 inches out.
I look the bartender in the eye. "What's this?" I ask.
"It's a bikini martini," she says with a wink and a smile.
Nice smile. Rest
of her is nice too. I smile back at her
sheepishly. "Actually, I know what it
is," I admit. "Why is it sitting in
front of me? Do I look like a bikini
martini kind of guy?"
She gives me a careful look and smiles again. "No, you don't, sir." Oh man, I thought she
was flirting with me until she hit that 'sir'.
"But the lady at the end of the bar seems to think that you might enjoy
it."
The bartender moves on to service other customers, giving
me a clear view of the mystery woman.
She's sitting on the other side of the square bar, looking directly at
me. Asian. No, maybe not Asian.
Maybe just trying to look Asian.
Long, shiny, black, hair.
Angular eyes, or at least made up to look angular. I couldn't see much of what she was wearing
– the bar blocked my view – but what I could see screamed red and tight. There was something unusual about her fair
complexion – it didn't seem quite right.
As my eyes travel over her body, a sly smile forms on her lips – her
bright red lips that are very nearly the same shade and intensity as her dress.
I give her a smile and a polite nod. She raises her matching drink to me as if in
a toast. I let my gaze fall down to the
surface of the bar. No way in hell I'm
drinking this drink. In fact, I can
barely stand the smell of it. It's
Jess' favorite mixed drink and just smelling it overwhelms me with loneliness…
Jess' favorite mixed drink…
I snap my head back up to get another look at the woman,
but she's gone. Then I spot her making
her way through the crowd towards me.
Her eyes are locked on mine and she gives me a familiar smile. I can't breathe. I actually cannot bring air into my body.
As she gets closer to me, she looks away, and the smile
vanishes. As she walks by she drops
something in my lap in one of the smoothest brush passes I've ever been part
of. Instinctively I put my hand over
the item without looking down. I
explore the item with my fingers, and I realize why we're at a hotel bar.
I sit at the bar as patiently as I can, and try to finish
my beer at a leisurely pace. As bottom
of the glass becomes visible, I address Weiss without looking at him, "You were
in on this obviously?"
He keeps his focus on one of the TVs hanging from the ceiling,
"Uh huh," he confirms.
"Damned foolish thing to do," I say, hoping he'll
disagree. "Seriously dangerous."
He was quiet for a few moments. "Relax, Mike. Everything
is taken care of. Just go have some
fun."
I grip the room key tightly. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude.
"Thanks, Eric."
I throw a tip on the bar and slide off the stool. "Hey, Mike," he says to me before I slip
away. "If you need any back up, you
know where I'll be." He laughs.