Jerry was indeed a handsome man, and not only that, he had whiff of rakish class about him. The devil-may-care smile, the mop of unruly but not untidy hair, the loafers and the tailor-made blazer with the funky silk lining.
He was working his way through a whisky at the bar while wryly batting away the enquiries from interested parties until a determined brunette brushed aside the competition and sat down on the stool beside him.
“I don’t understand what you are doing here.”
“I don’t either but it always makes sense in the end.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. But remember that I am dangerous.”
“Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?”
“Sure, but it is true nonetheless.”
“Well, I suppose there is always a little truth in melodrama.”
“One more drink and I swear you will be out of your depth.”
“Oh, please! I can take care of myself.”
When Jerry woke up the following morning, it took a few minutes to make sense of his surroundings. It was not his hotel, but the inside of a police cell. It made no sense and was not at all what was supposed to happen.
He went to the tiny opening in the door and shouted for someone to come.
No one came.
Thoroughly depressed, he sat down on the bed. To make matters worse, he had a hangover and was hungry.
Moments later, the door rattled as the bolt was drawn back.
In walked the brunette from last night. “Told you I was dangerous,” she said, smoothing down her uniform.