“Must be tough, being a cow,” Jack observed, scanning the menu.
“Never asked,” Brian noted. “Never heard any complaints, though.”
“Talk to my sister. She’s turning into a vegan, except for the shoes.” Jack chuckled. “How’s the wine list?”
“Ordered,” the Marine responded. “Lacrima Christi del Vesuvio. I discovered it in Naples on a Med Cruise. The Tears of Christ from Vesuvius. Took a trip to Pompeii, and the guide said they’ve been growing wine grapes there for about two thousand years, and I assumed they have it pretty well figured out. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it all,” Brian promised.
“Brian knows his wine, Jack,” Dominic said.
“You say it like you’re surprised,” Brian shot back. “I’m not your typical jarhead, you know.”
“I stand corrected.”
The bottle came a minute later. The waiter opened it with a flourish.
“Where do you eat in Naples?”
“My boy, you have to work real hard to find a bad restaurant in Italy,” Dominic told him. “The stuff you buy on the street is as good as most sit-down restaurants over here. But this place is seriously okay. He’s a paisano.”
Brian tuned in: “In Naples, there’s a place on the waterfront called La Bersagliera, about a mile from the big fortress. Now, I’ll risk a fistfight and say that’s the best restaurant in the entire world.”
“No. Rome, Alfonso Ricci’s, ’bout half a mile east of Vatican City,” Dominic pronounced.
“Guess I’ll take your word for it.”
The food came, along with more wine, and the conversation turned to women. All three dated, but casually. The Carusos joked that they were looking for the perfect Italian girl; for Jack’s part, he was looking for a girl he could “bring home to Mom.”
“So what’re you saying, cuz?” Brian asked. “You don’t like ’em a little slutty?”
“In the bedroom, hell, yes,”Jack replied.“But out in public… Not a big fan of halter tops and giant tramp stamps.”
Dominic chuckled at this. “Brian, what was the name of that girl, you know the one, the stripper with the tattoo?”
“Ah, shit…”
Dominic was still laughing. He turned to Jack and said, half conspiratorially, “She had this tattoo just below her belly button: a downward arrow with the words Slippery When Wet. Problem was, she spelled slippery with one p.”
Jack burst out laughing. “What was her name?”
Brian shook his head. “No way.”
“Tell him,” Dominic said.
“Come on,” Jack prodded.
“Candy.”
More laughter. “Spelled with a y or an ie?” Jack asked.
“Neither. Two e’s. Okay, okay, so she wasn’t the brightest bulb. We weren’t exactly on the marriage track. What about you, Jack? What’s your taste? Jessica Alba, maybe? Scarlett Johansson?”
“Charlize Theron.”
“Good choice,” Dominic observed.
From a nearby stool at the bar they heard, “I’d go for Holly Madison. Great boobs.”
The three of them turned to see a woman smiling at them. She was a redhead, tall, with green eyes and a wide smile. “Just my two cents,” she added.
“The woman has a point,” Dominic observed. “Then again, if we’re talking about intellect…”
“Intellect?” the woman replied. “I thought we were talking about sex. If you’re going to bring brainpower into it, then I’d have to go with… Paris Hilton.”
There were a few moments of silence before the woman’s deadpan expression showed a hint of a smile. Jack, Dominic, and Brian burst out lauging. The Marine said, “I suppose now would be the time to ask if you want to join us.”
“Love to.”
She picked up her freshly refilled glass of wine and moved to their table, taking a seat beside Dominic. “I’m Wendy,” she said. “Spelled with a y on the end,” she added. “Sorry, I couldn’t help eavesdropping.” She said to Dominic, “So we know Jack likes Charlize and Brian goes for dyslexic strippers-”
“That hurts,” Brian said.
“-but what about you?”
“You want my real answer?”
“Of course.”
“It’s going to sound like a line.”
“Try me.”
“I prefer redheads.”
Jack groaned. “So smooth.”
Wendy studied Dominic’s face for moment. “He’s telling the truth, I think.”
“He is,” Brian confirmed. “He’s still got a poster of Lucille Ball in his room.”
General laughter.
“Bullshit, bro.” To Wendy: “You meeting someone?”
“I was. A girlfriend. She texted me, said she couldn’t make it.”
The four of them ate dinner, shared more wine, and talked until nearly eleven, when Jack announced he was going home. Brian, having seen the same signs his cousin had, bowed out as well, and soon Dominic and Wendy were alone. They chatted for a few more minutes before she said, “So…”
The opening was there, and Dominic took it. “You wanna get out of here?”
Wendy smiled at him. “My place is a couple blocks from here.”
They were kissing before the elevator doors closed, parted briefly when the car reached her floor, then moved together to her door, then inside, where the clothes started coming off. Once in the bedroom, Wendy wriggled the rest of the way out of her dress, revealing a lacy black bra and matching panties. She sat down on the bed before Dominic, grabbed the end of his belt, whipped it free, then lay back on the bed. “Your turn.” A lock of red hair had fallen over one of Wendy’s eyes.
“Wow,” Dominic breathed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied with a giggle.
Dominic took off his pants and got onto the bed. They kissed for thirty seconds before Wendy pulled away. She rolled over and opened her nightstand drawer. “A little something to set the mood,” she said, looking back at him, then rolled over with a tiny rectangular mirror and a thumb-sized glass vial.
“What’s that?” Dominic asked.
“It’ll make it better,” Wendy said.
Ah, shit, Dominic thought. She saw his expression change and said, “What?”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Why, what’s the matter? It’s just a little coke.”
Dominic got up, retrieved his pants, and slipped them on.
“You’re going?” Wendy said, sitting up.
“Yep.”
“You’re kidding me? Just because of-”
“Yep.”
“God, what’s your problem?”
Dominic didn’t answer. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and slipped it on. He headed for the door.
“You’re an asshole,” Wendy said.
Dominic stopped and turned around. He fished his wallet from his pants and flipped it open to reveal his FBI badge.
“Oh, shit,” Wendy whispered. “I didn’t… Are you going to-”
“No. This is your lucky day.”
He walked out.
Tariq Himsi was contemplating the power of money. And the vagaries of choice. Finding the Emir a companion, even for a fleeting assignation, was a delicate proposition. His tastes were specific; his security paramount. Fortunately, the whores here were plentiful, easy to find on the street, and, as it turned out, quite accustomed to unusual requests, such as being driven to an undisclosed location in a vehicle with blacked-out windows. His earlier surveillance had shown that while morally corrupt, these women were far from stupid: They patrolled their corners in twos and threes, and whenever one of their cohorts got into a car, one of the others would take down the license plate number. A quick trip to one of the local airport’s off-property park-and-ride lots had solved this problem. License plates were easy to install and even easier to dispose of. Almost as easy as disguising his appearance with thick black glasses and a baseball cap.