Black Dahlia: European Vacation Part II

Note: Character derived from The Wingman Series by Michael Davis, WC writer. Recommend reading at www.chanceransom.com

 

 

 

 Morning had turned into afternoon and still no word from The Order. I can’t hide out in this suite forever, although I probably could live here. I decided to head to the lobby for tea time, in hopes of making contact with The Spotter.

 

The host sits me on the patio facing Hyde Park. The sun is still pretty high, so he adjusts the umbrella. A slight breeze comes across the greens, making it a perfect setting. He hands me menu and then leaves.

“May I take your order?”

I look up to see the wait staff or should I say the limo driver.

“Yes, I would like the lemon grass tea and the cucumber croissant.”

Her name tag states Elle. She takes the menu from me.

“Very good Ma’am. I’ll have that right out.” 

She turns on her heal, heading back inside. She returns momentarily, without my order.

“Terribly sorry, appears we are out of cucumber croissants, would you like to select something else?”

She hands the menu back to me. I open it up. There is a note taped inside. I discretely slide it down and continue reviewing the menu.

“I think the water crest then," handing her back the menu. I then discretely slip the note into my handbag.

“Very good and again I do apologize.”

With that, she leaves again and does not return, a different server brings me my order.

After I am through with my tea, I decide to take a stroll on the grounds of Hyde Park. After walking a sufficient amount of distance from the hotel, I stop at a bench to retrieve the note.

“Agent 6696, I am Agent 7004, code name London Fog. I am your Escort. I can tell you that your assignment has picked The Kingly to go to tomorrow evening. There will be a message on your phone inviting you to come with her. I have taken the liberty of sending you the location map, escape routes and possible bombardiers who maybe a threat at this establishment.  I will be awaiting your instructions and good luck.”

Ok, why is everyone wishing me good luck?

I decide to head back to the room to retrieve the information and to see if indeed there is a voice message for me. I start to walk down the path, but feel the need to stop. Something feels off, nothing I can put my finger on, but it is there. It feels like I’m being watched. This uneasiness hastens my step. I resist the urge to look around, keeping my eyes focused on the hotel ahead.

“Eyes on the prize, Elizabeth,” I mutter to myself as I forge ahead.

I continue through the restaurant, then the lobby to the lift. The feeling doesn’t leave me. The reflection of the mirrored doors gives me a look of what’s behind me. Nothing, not even a breeze. The doors open and I step inside letting them close behind me before turning around.

Back at my room, there indeed is a blinking light on the phone indicating a message, as well as the surveillance. This looks as bad as Rasputin’s. I decide not to retrieve the phone message, instead, I decide to go to the nightclub as a preview to the big show.

Armed with my member’s card, a smart black Dolce & Gabbana suit and a Prada handbag, I head down to the lobby, and get in a cab.

I arrive at The Kingly and for a Monday, it is in high swing. The all white interior, and plush leather booths are packed with bodies. The only color comes from the exotic fish tanks that divide the vignettes.

Yes, very reminiscent of Rasputin’s except that it is much lighter in looks and atmosphere. This is going to be some task. I hope the others won’t be as intricate as this is.

I head straight up to the bar and slide onto the trendy stool.

“What’ll it will be Red?”

The comment from the bartender caught me off guard, not so much the red statement, but the fact of his American accent.

I respond, “Martini, Blue Sapphire and dirty it up a bit.”

“You got it Red.”

He quickly mixes the martini and sets it in front of me.

I steal the olives from the glass and look into the bar length mirror, reflecting the scene behind me, not taking much interest until I catch a small movement, a wingman’s coat.

So I ever so slowly turn around, taking my drink with me, I slide off the stool and head in the direction that I have no business going to.

You’re just checking it out, I try to convince myself.

Part of the surveillance, yeah that’s it.

Got to see who’s here.

Then I spot her, the target.

Not your assignment Elizabeth, I remind myself. You are strictly here for a pre-run, but she is quite young. Probably has no idea about what is to transpire. An innocent.

From what I can tell, she appears to be about 21, 22, blonde, busty and a bit too tipsy. Her revealing white halter top dress looks like a knock off of a DKNY I saw last week, so I’m assuming she can’t be a regular here. Worst of all, she is alone. The wingman has in his service an office boy reject, certainly not up to the caliber of her. How the heck was he able sneak him in here? The light wash jeans on the bombardier should have been enough to get him rejected at the door, not to mention the plaid shirt. I wonder who the wingman paid off to get them in. I decide to go covert and slip into the empty booth to the right to see what was going on.

The wingman gets to the table and begins chatting up the girl, who immediately responds to his charming words. Then he does a classic move. He starts to sing the accolades of his assignment.

If there is one thing I've learned in this business, there are only three types of men in this world: arse, legs or breast. By the way this bombardier he staring below the neck, I'd say this one is the third option. I don't think he's looked in the up direction once.

In her adult beverage induced coma, she starts to take interest in the copy boy. Oh this is bad. Where are her friends?

Not your assignment Elizabeth, I remind myself, but I can’t leave her to fend for herself now can I? What kind of Guardian would I be?

I’m just about to intervene when I hear my name.

“Ms. Montenegro.”

Who is calling my name?

“Ms. Montenegro!”

I finally see the face frantically calling my name. It is Julianna Marks and by the looks of it, she’s already had a couple. Her red dress is a stand out, but I’m not sure of the maker. Whoever it is, it looks like it was especially made for her, hugging every curve she has. She begins waving her arm, pushing herself through the crowd, trying to get to me.

“Ms. Montenegro,” she gasps as she reaches me.  “I’m so glad you got my message.”

“Oh, well, yes.” I am instantly regretting not picking up that message.

“So do you like the room?” her voice sounding hopeful.

“Very much so.” I try not to sound too distracted. I turn so she has to move to the right. There I have a view of the girl, who is dangerously close to becoming the wingman’s victim. She’s leaning closer to office boy reject .

“Well, I am glad that it meets your expectations.”

“Uh huh.”

“So I wondering if we could meet tomorr..”

“I’m sorry could you excuse me for just one moment.” I just can’t stand by and allow this atrocity to happen. “I’ll be right back. I just need to say hello to someone. Is there a table that you have reserved?”

She points in a general direction the opposite end of the bar.

“Great, I’ll meet you over there.”

She stumbles in the direction she waved at, of course catching every coat tail riding male, within earshots attention.

This is going to be interesting. No spotter, no advance team, I’m going to have to be on my toes. I am a experienced Escort . I can do this.

I push my way over to the table and slide into the empty spot next to her.

“There you are,” I say to the blonde. Thank goodness she’s the kind of drunk that loves everyone at the bar.

“Heyyyyyy,” she slurs out and puts her arm around me. She looks at me like do I know you, but then decides she has met me before.

“Who are your new friends?” I say as I turn to the wingman and his assignment, smiling sweetly. The wingman is not someone I am familiar with, and I am really feeling the weight of not having backup.

 

The wingman is about to introduce them, when I hear a screech of laughter. Oh no! I quickly turn to see my main assignment, being chatted up by some nobody. 

“I’ll be right back,” I say to the two as I unwrap the blonde’s arm from around my neck. Drink in hand, I squeeze my way back across the bar to the other side.

I barely reach Julianna in time to save her from being escorted out of The Kingly.

“Julianna, where is your table? You weren’t planning on leaving were you?” I ask her as I try to get her back away from the cad.

‘Oh no, we were just going out for a drive.” Julianna’s slur is getting more pronounced. Then she whispers, “He’s a producer.”

Like hell he is. He looks none to please that I thwarted his plan to get Julianna out of the club and get his picture snapped by the paparazzi.

Just as I’m about to get her settled back in the booth when I see across the room Blondie engaged in a deep conversation with the bombardier, he’s moved even closer. Great.

“Julianna, I really need to use the ladies room. Can I trust you are going to be here when I get back?”

“Shure..” she giggles out. I must be insane.

I grab the closest drink off a tray of a passing server and hurry as fast as one can in three inch heels, back across the club floor. The house music was pumping and people are starting fill in the dance floor, so I am holding the drink above my head squeezing past the human barricade.

Finally I make it back to my pro bono and none too soon. Looks like the wingman was about to fade away, leaving the bombardier to his target. She starts to get up to leave with him. Think Elizabeth, think.

“Wait, you weren’t going to leave were you…” and with that I do the only thing that is bound to get her away from the table, I toss my drink on her. The clear liquid doesn’t stain the white top, but it becomes apparent that she isn’t wearing bra either.

“Oh no, I am so sorry,” I feign an apology as I mop up her arms, and try to blot the chest area with the cocktail napkins on the table. In her drunken stupor, she just starts to giggle.

“We really should get you to the bathroom to clean this up.”

I then start guiding her to in the direction of the ladies room, as the confused bombardier steps aside. I try not to look at the wingman, for I think my smug smile might give me away.

She is completely inebriated and hanging onto me for dear life, as we stumble our way into the ladies room.

“Whhy did you throw your drink on me?” Maybe she’s not as far gone as I thought.

“Trust me. You’ll be grateful in the morning,” I respond as I hand her off to the nearest female, much to her dismay.

I then double back out the way I came. It looks like the “producer” is making another run for it. Great, this is getting exhausting. At this point, the five flights are looking better and better.

Once again, I swim upstream against the sea of humanity, bumping to the house music, and getting caught by a lone wolf insisting that we dance in the process. I try to decline, but he begins to produce a move that can only be described as humping dog. Oh please, can that possibly be attractive on any level? I manage to extract his grotesquely distorted body from mine and turn him towards a group of girls in the opposite direction, breaking protocol, but I felt a group would be able to handle the situation. I turn to see Julianna stand up, guided by the sucker fish. Instead of trying to get to her direct, I head straight for the exit. There would be no time before the “producer” gets her outside. I race on one side of the crowd, trying to keep him in my sights, while he and Julianna are on the other side.

He spots me and we lock eyes. He urgently tries to hurry Julianna along, who is dead bent on kissing everyone goodbye. I’m just about to the door when I slip on a spilled drink on the floor and I start sliding like someone who’s never been on skates before. As I try to get past the server with the tray of drinks, my arm knocks it, sending them flying in the air and onto the server, the producer, and the bouncer. They are now covered in various liquids. I’m just about on my own arse, when I feel someone’s hand catch my elbow. It’s the bartender.

“Hey Red, you sure do know how to make an exit,” he grins as he helps me to an upright position. I didn’t pay attention to it before, but there was something familiar about him.

“Er, thanks,” was about all I could muster out.

The commotion caught Julianna’s attention and she stops her long goodbye night and comes over to where I am.

“Ms. Montenegro are you hurt?” she questions

“Just my pride,” I mutter under my breath.

“What did you say?”

“Oh nothing, I’m perfectly fine, thanks to him.” I motion to the American bartender.

The crowd is starting to gather as people assist the alcohol soaked by standers, mopping up various faces, arms and clothing.

“Miss Marks, I think we should be leaving now,” I whisper to Julianna.

“My car is out front,” and with that she heads to the front door. As I follow her out, I notice the “producer” and his angry face. I mouth to him, “Better luck next time.”

 

I manage to get Julianna in the limo waiting for her. I can’t say I am all that surprised to see that the driver is Elle.

Julianna lays her head down on the cool leather seat and proceeds to pass out.

I feel like passing out myself. I can’t believe I pulled it off, not gracefully but I pulled it off.

“You really should have picked up the message,” scolds Elle, “You could of have had a spotting team tonight.

She was right. A lot of my event filled evening could have been averted.

"Yes, you are right. What's on the agenda next?"

Author's Note

Other Black Dahlia works: Black Dahlia, Black Dahlia: Keep your enemies closer, Black Dahlia: Belize

Reviews

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Throwing the drink on her, slick move... a great addition to your story... the main character is quite witty... I look forward to the next part.