“Out of all the people in this world, Dani, you’re the only one who never lied to me. Not once. Even before you knew my flaw, you always told me the truth.”
I looked around the room, absorbing Caro’s words as I tried to stay on task. I saw our objective scale across the sidelines of the dance floor with a young lady in tow.
“Caro, he’s here,” I said, as I nodded in his direction. Caro threw her head back in an overt fashion to view him.
“Well, well, let me get my camera,” she said.
“Here,” I said, pulling mine out of my jacket pocket and sliding it into her hand, “Do you have an angle?”
She positioned it on my shoulder and I listened to the clicks as she took several pictures. We tried to be discreet because, although Franklin owned the place. If his clientele knew they were being surveyed by Franklin’s people, well, he’d have no clientele. This is where they came to be without the need to hide.
“He’s going up to VIP,” Caro said, handing me her drink, “That’s where we’ll get the pictures we’re looking for.”
She walked past me, towards the stairs to the VIP. I stood in the middle of the dance floor, holding two drinks, alone. I quickly made my way back to the bar, downed the rest of her drink, and continued sipping my own. I sat with my back facing the bar, and watched the stairs intently awaiting her return.
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind me with a small tap. Not wanting to avert my attention, I reluctantly turned around. It was the bartender from before. I raised my eyebrows to him.
“Yes?”
“Hi, yes, ma’am, I just wanted to say that I am so sorry for what I said earlier to Carolina,” he started, abandoning the swagger from before, and attempting to convey ultimate sincerity, “Please tell her that I didn’t mean any disrespect, I didn’t know who she was.”
I began to say something when I felt a grip reach around my arm and pull me away from the bar.
“We’re leaving,” came Caro’s voice in my ear. She quickly led me to the door by the arm.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing there had been a hitch.
“Nothing, we’re going to have a good night,” she said, waving at the valet, handing her ticket to the assistant.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” I asked, knowing something was off.
“Hey, I got you something,” she said, opening her purse a little to reveal a champagne bottle, cork un-popped. I looked up immediately, as my face grew stone cold serious.
“Caro—” I began.
“Oh, look, the car’s here,” she said.
“What did you do, Caro—” I started once more, then did a double take to the car that had pulled up, a black Ferrari convertible. The valet jumped out of the car and handed the keys to Caro. She dangled them in front of me.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Hell. . . Yes,” I replied with my mouth open.
A commotion erupted behind us as a man came stumbling out of the entrance, still trying to fix his appearance.
“Get back here, you fucking bitch!” the man shouted in Caro’s direction.
“Time to go, Dani, now, now, now,” she said as she slid into the passenger side, and locked the door. I ran around the front of the car to the driver’s side and jerked on the door handle. The man began rushing over. The door was locked, of course, Caro laughed at my attempt to open it. I jumped over the driver’s side door and thrust the keys into the ignition. The engine ignited on command and I slammed the gas petal.
Speeding through the streets, attempting to get to the highway, I looked over at Caro in the passenger seat. She had her arm outstretched towards the sky and sunglasses concealing her face, but the sunglasses could not mask her delight. I entered the on ramp at a cool 85 miles per hour. There was little traffic but still a few scattered cars in various lanes.
“Faster,” said Caro, lifting her hand above the windshield line.
95 miles per hour.
“Faster, Dani,” she said.
105 Miles per hour.
“Whoaaaaaaaaa!” she yelled at the wind as it swept by.
115 Miles per hour, 125, 130, 140. Cars whipped by and removed themselves from our path as quickly as possible.
Approaching 145 miles per hour, I took the car back down to a relatively reasonable speed and exited. I drove up to the city outlook with its gorgeous display of stars and skyline, then parked the car and unbuckled my seat belt.
“Caro, we would have looked really stupid if this car was a stick shift,” I said with a false seriousness.
“Yeah,” she said, pinching her fingers together, “maybe just a little.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed the champagne bottle out of her purse. She popped the cork through the open roof, and carbonation dripped onto the upholstery.
“Whoa!” she cheered. She took a drink, then passed the bottle to me, and I followed suit. I passed the bottle back to her and she began to exit the vehicle.
I followed. She leaned back against the hood of the car.
“Franklin’s going to be pissed,” I said, walking towards the front of the car.
As I was rounding it, a sensation started to
