to do so with style.
Day 3: 5:12 p.m.
Gordon Ring loved to gamble. Living in Los Angeles made quick getaways to Las Vegas all the easier. Not much planning had to go into a trip, just the urge to make some cash, or in Gordon’s case, lose it. His Southwest flight returned to Los Angeles International Airport eight minutes late, dispersing its passengers at Gate 3A. Gordon was one of the last to exit, as he had forgotten to print his boarding pass early. As a consequence of the Southwest open seating policy, Gordon found himself in the rear of the airplane, wedged between a balding man with fat shoulders and someone who looked like a retired biker. Gordon did not feel much like complaining; while growing up in Chicago, he had never dreamed of doing Christmas in Vegas. It had been a blast. A buddy he waited tables with at Pecca, the hot new Italian place on La Brea, knew a guy who comped them some rooms at the Venetian. Gordon had moved to L.A. less than a year before, looking for his big break. He had been to Vegas many times, but never like this, as a high roller. This trip was different; they met chicks, ate great food, got laid and cleaned up at the tables; Gordon pocketed a cool $2270 from the roulette wheel. He wished that he could have stayed longer, but work called and he was not about to compromise his job. A couple of grand was good but certainly not enough to change his lifestyle. He also had an audition lined up for a horror flick the day after tomorrow and he wanted to practice his frightened look in the mirror. Gordon Ring did not know that he had already landed the role.
Day 3: 10:00 p.m.
There was much to admire about the new lady newscaster; it added some extra spice to his delight at seeing himself mentioned on TV.
“I’m Stacy Davenport and here’s what’s happening in our world tonight. The culinary world was shocked today with the death of one of its rising stars. Audrey La Pense, the chef owner of La Pense restaurant in Los Angeles, was found murdered this morning at her home in Santa Monica. This is the third brutal murder in three days in Southern California; our own Gisele An is in Santa Monica. Gisele…”
The lady reporter was standing outside the La Pense home.
“Thank you, Stacy. Another day and another gruesome death has occurred in Los Angeles. Top French chef Audrey La Pense was found dead in her home in Santa Monica early this morning, according to the police, the victim of foul play…”
The anchor lady was pretty, but the reporter transfixed him. He watched her tell the story with rapt attention; the way she moved her mouth, the way she held her head and kept her composure. She really was the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. He was dying to meet her; perhaps she would return the favor.
Day 3: 11:15 p.m.
They were naked, on their backs, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep after the events of the day. The celebratory dinner at the Palm was fine; the food, good, the wine, expensive. They talked about the case but the conversation was filled with words neither of them wanted to say. When Jim was a civilian, they had shared their thoughts freely, like comrades in arms. That would be changing now. Jim was back on the police inside now, privy to data they both knew he could not share. She was still a television producer whose job it was to get that information. She was excited that he got the promotion and, whether he deserved it or not, they both knew that it could very clearly be a political maneuver to keep sensitive case facts under wraps.
Lisa had no idea where this would take their relationship. Though she said nothing about it, internally she felt as if she was already in retreat.
Jim sensed this in their sex. Life had seemed brighter earlier in the day, when he was jobless and facing an inquisition from his superiors. Since relationships were not static but dynamic in nature, he always let circumstances run their course. Still, he
Day 3: 5:12 p.m.
Gordon Ring loved to gamble. Living in Los Angeles made quick getaways to Las Vegas all the easier. Not much planning had to go into a trip, just the urge to make some cash, or in Gordon’s case, lose it. His Southwest flight returned to Los Angeles International Airport eight minutes late, dispersing its passengers at Gate 3A. Gordon was one of the last to exit, as he had forgotten to print his boarding pass early. As a consequence of the Southwest open seating policy, Gordon found himself in the rear of the airplane, wedged between a balding man with fat shoulders and someone who looked like a retired biker. Gordon did not feel much like complaining; while growing up in Chicago, he had never dreamed of doing Christmas in Vegas. It had been a blast. A buddy he waited tables with at Pecca, the hot new Italian place on La Brea, knew a guy who comped them some rooms at the Venetian. Gordon had moved to L.A. less than a year before, looking for his big break. He had been to Vegas many times, but never like this, as a high roller. This trip was different; they met chicks, ate great food, got laid and cleaned up at the tables; Gordon pocketed a cool $2270 from the roulette wheel. He wished that he could have stayed longer, but work called and he was not about to compromise his job. A couple of grand was good but certainly not enough to change his lifestyle. He also had an audition lined up for a horror flick the day after tomorrow and he wanted to practice his frightened look in the mirror. Gordon Ring did not know that he had already landed the role.
Day 3: 10:00 p.m.
There was much to admire about the new lady newscaster; it added some extra spice to his delight at seeing himself mentioned on TV.
“I’m Stacy Davenport and here’s what’s happening in our world tonight. The culinary world was shocked today with the death of one of its rising stars. Audrey La Pense, the chef owner of La Pense restaurant in Los Angeles, was found murdered this morning at her home in Santa Monica. This is the third brutal murder in three days in Southern California; our own Gisele An is in Santa Monica. Gisele…”
The lady reporter was standing outside the La Pense home.
“Thank you, Stacy. Another day and another gruesome death has occurred in Los Angeles. Top French chef Audrey La Pense was found dead in her home in Santa Monica early this morning, according to the police, the victim of foul play…”
The anchor lady was pretty, but the reporter transfixed him. He watched her tell the story with rapt attention; the way she moved her mouth, the way she held her head and kept her composure. She really was the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. He was dying to meet her; perhaps she would return the favor.
Day 3: 11:15 p.m.
They were naked, on their backs, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep after the events of the day. The celebratory dinner at the Palm was fine; the food, good, the wine, expensive. They talked about the case but the conversation was filled with words neither of them wanted to say. When Jim was a civilian, they had shared their thoughts freely, like comrades in arms. That would be changing now. Jim was back on the police inside now, privy to data they both knew he could not share. She was still a television producer whose job it was to get that information. She was excited that he got the promotion and, whether he deserved it or not, they both knew that it could very clearly be a political maneuver to keep sensitive case facts under wraps.
Lisa had no idea where this would take their relationship. Though she said nothing about it, internally she felt as if she was already in retreat.
Jim sensed this in their sex. Life had seemed brighter earlier in the day, when he was jobless and facing an inquisition from his superiors. Since relationships were not static but dynamic in nature, he always let circumstances run their course. Still, he
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