2.
 Lou Burns sized the woman up as he approached her. She looked rich and sassy with blond hair and a wry red lipstick smile for nobody in particular. She tapped a long cigarette against the bar. Lou pulled out his new silver Colibri lighter. She had her back to him. Tanned, fit, she wore a knee length black dress, and a black bow behind her head that brought her gold brocade hair together in a tight shell. He saw her age as she turned her face. He flicked the lighter, and her features silvered. She puckered her lips and sucked on his flame. She must have been gorgeous once, he thought, liking her mouth and her eyes.
She looked away.
Say something dumb, he thought. "Um, I don't smoke."
She looked at the wall. "I'm glad to hear that."
"I'm sorry." He started to turn away; he wasn't going to work too hard on this.
"Why are you sorry?"
Game point. "I thought I might be bothering you."
She was careful, and crisp. "I'm just killing a little time. Want to sit down? I'll buy us a drink." Before she could call the waiter, he pulled the Royal House of Saud Bank Black and Gold Card from the breast pocket of his dark suit and laid the card on the bar. She looked at him differently. Then she read the name on the card. "Carlo Milanese. You don't look like a Carlo."
"My father was Italian, but my mother was German." Lou said. The truth was, he'd never known his parents. "You can call me Charlie. It's my nickname. What's your name?"
"Marie Argento."
"You're Italian too." He stepped around this conversation like a cat.
"My husband was. I'm English. Smith." She laughed.
"Oh come on. Smith. Sounds like an alibi." How handsome she looked. He began to warm to her. "Let me guess. You're a spy."
"Here in The Hill Club?" Her gaze elevatored from his eyes to his crotch measuring. "You look more the exotic type." Her tone suggested someone about to order ice cream.
He took a decaf Kona coffee with a shot of Martel. She asked for a melon margarita. "What do you do, Charlie?"
"I'm in sales. International stuff. Heavy equipment."
"I know someone you ought to meet."
His stomach panged. Oh god no.
"I have a friend who's lived in Saudi Arabia. He sells oil rigging equipment and charges megabucks to maintain it."
"Sure," Lou said, checking where the exits were.
"He's over in Saudi now." She stubbed the cigarette out. "He'll be back next month and you can meet him."
"Great." He felt relieved. Maybe he'd be gone by then, if necessary. "Are you married?"
"Honey, if I were married, would I be sitting with you here in my country club bar? I'm divorced."
He lifted his coffee. "I like to stay out of trouble."
She laughed. "I don't blame you."
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