Page 62 of Last Seen Alive
And Larry here was the key to acquiring the most beautiful piece of art she’d ever seen. One Fabergé egg. Studded with diamonds, rubies, platinum, and gold.Objet d’art. Priceless.
She had never seen one of these magnificent creations in person until she’d brought it into the gallery for Lawson’s art collector. It was truly the most breathtaking, exquisite piece of work she’d ever seen. She wanted it for herself, and one day it would be hers. She always got what she wanted.
The bus stopped, letting air out of its brakes.
Larry was getting up. She did too.
He entered the bar with its flashing neon signs in the window. She followed him.
It was ten o’clock at night, and the place was packed.
She snagged a chair at a table with a couple in their thirties. They didn’t want company, but she convinced them she was just waiting for a friend and wouldn’t talk to them. They went back to their own business, chatting each other up. First date, she’d guess by the asinine questions being tossed back and forth.
Tonight she’d dressed to be seen but not remembered, and even if someone recalled a woman in tight blue jeans and a breast-hugging shirt, they’d remember a blond. This wig never let her down. When she’d first followed Larry here, she hadn’t gone inside. Her designer skirt and thigh-high boots would have instantly given her away as not belonging. And if they didn’t, then the diamond tennis bracelet that kept peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her jacket would.
“What can I get ya?” A female server came to the edge of the table.
“I’ll have a draft beer.”
“We have several on tap. Which one, and what size?”
She wasn’t a beer drinker but went with the largest sign on display behind the bar. “A small draft of Guinness.”
The server walked off without a word.
Claire had her eye on Larry, who had bellied up to the bar. From this perspective she was looking at his back, but he’d already slung a shot of whiskey down his throat and now had a glass of frothy beer to his lips.
It didn’t stop him from flagging down the bartender. Shortly later another shot and a fresh beer.
“Here.” The server had returned with her Guinness and set it down with enough force to slosh some of the liquid over the rim of the glass and onto the table.
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh. Are you gonna have anything to eat? I can get ya a menu.”
She shook her head, and the server walked off. Claire was homed in on Larry Belt.
He was going to make this easy-peasy. An alcoholic with another weakness to exploit. He was single and likely hadn’t been laid in months.
She grabbed her drink and went over to Larry at the bar. “Hey, there. This spot taken?” She pointed to the stool next to Larry where a man in his seventies was seated. He looked at her, smiled at Larry, and found another spot to sit.
“Not now,” Larry said with a crooked grin.
There wasn’t anything attractive about the man at a distance, and being up close certainly didn’t change her mind. His teeth were yellowed, his eyes bloodshot, and his face pockmarked.
“I see you’re drinking Guinness.” He pointed at the dark liquid in her glass.
She smiled, pouring on the charm. “Why, yes, I am.” She took a long draw on the beer, rolling her eyes back afterward and slowly licking her lips.
Larry was staring at her mouth, likely sporting wood. Filthy man.
“Can I, er, get you another one?”
Her glass was only a third down, if that. “Sure.”
He shot back the whiskey and flagged down the bartender again.
“Actually…” She laid her hand on his forearm and instinctively wanted to recoil. His hair was pasted to his sweaty flesh. “Could we, maybe, get a room somewhere?” She flashed her most daring smile.
