Resuscitation by D. M. Annechino Page B

decided to grease it up with Bed Head and let it run wild. He was certain that none of his friends or work colleagues would ever patronize a place like Henry’s, so he felt secure his covert operation would go unnoticed by anyone significant. Not wanting to deal with explaining to his wife why he required a rental car, Julian had parked it in the far corner of a Food Mart only a few blocks away from Henry’s.
    Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror and appraised his appearance one last time before he left the house. “Perfect,” he whispered. Satisfied that he looked the part, he headed for Henry’s, confident that tonight he would steal someone’s heart.
     
     
    Sami had no idea how to comfort Al, except to keep her distance and make herself available if he needed to talk. She also kept topping off his coffee. Since receiving the phone call from Ricardo, Al had been on the Internet searching for the quickest flight to Rio, but hadn’t uttered a sound. Aleta was Al’s only living relative. And even though he hadn’t seen his sister in years, they talked on the telephone every couple months and stayed in touch with brief e-mails. He’d been saying for ages that he wanted to visit her, but every time he seriously thought about it, either he was knee-deep in a murder investigation or Aleta was globetrotting with her wealthy boyfriend.
    “Shit,” Al muttered. He slammed the lid on the laptop computer and stood up, pushing the chair so forcefully it fell backwards. “Except for a red-eye late tonight, not a single fucking flight out of here until Monday.”
    “Then book the red-eye,” Sami suggested.
    “It’s twenty-two hundred dollars. I’ve got five-hundred to my name and not enough available credit on my Visa.”
    “Then use my credit card.”
    “I hate to borrow money from you. This is your house and your furniture. All I pay for is food and utilities.”
    “If you want to argue gender roles in this relationship or debate financial responsibilities, this is neither the time nor place.” Under the circumstances, this was not the way she wanted to speak to him. But sometimes he just pushed her buttons. “Cut the macho bullshit, Al. Get your ass on that damn computer right now, while there’s still a ticket available.”
    His stern face relaxed and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He walked over to Sami and gave her a bear hug. “I’m a little wired, Sami. Sorry.”
    “You have every right to be. Now book the damn flight and get packed.”
     
     
    Julian eased out of the rental car and handed the valet parking attendant a ten-dollar bill. A big burly man with a shaved head sat near the entrance checking IDs. Julian tried to walk past the man, but he pressed the palm of his enormous hand against Julian’s chest.
    “ID please,” the man said with a deep, throaty voice.
    “You’re kidding me, right?”
    “I don’t kid, Bro. I have no sense of humor.”
    “I’m forty-two years old.”
    “Well you look pretty fucking good for your age. Where’s your ID?”
    Julian opened his wallet and handed the man the phony driver’s license he’d bought in Tijuana.
    The man checked the license, looked at Julian, and checked the license again.
    “You having a bad-hair day, Bro?”
    “Just trying to look stylish.”
    “I don’t think it’s working, Bro.”
    “I thought you said you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
    “I don’t.”
    The man yielded and let Julian through the door to Henry’s Hideaway. Julian hadn’t been proofed in years and felt more complimented than insulted that the bouncer asked for ID. But he didn’t appreciate the man’s wise-ass attitude. He’d been worried about his appearance of late, noticing crow’s-feet and slight puffiness under his eyes. Not to mention that his once six-pack abs had surrendered to a muffin-top. He hated the aging process and wished he could stay young forever.
    Julian walked toward the bar, weaving his way through a