Limbo by Vincent McConnor

Author:Vincent McConnor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, crime, rape, murder, los angeles
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

The elegant restaurant was quiet, as always, in spite of its crowded tables. There was muted laughter from time to time, and the faint sound of drawn corks. Conversation was low and laughter discreet.

As they ate dinner, Lolo studied Morita across the table. She was the only woman he’d ever known who looked even more beautiful when she was eating. Perhaps because she ate with such appetite. Tonight her glossy black hair was swept high on top of her head, where it was arranged in a thick coil twined with pearls, and she was wearing a plain yellow dress that made the other women look overdressed. Around her shoulders was a white scarf embroidered with a design of silver and violet.

She glanced at him provocatively, but said nothing.

He picked up the delicate wineglass in his brown fingers, uncomfortably aware of their size, and drained the last of his wine.

Driving here in the black Rolls, they’d enjoyed a glass of champagne from the built-in bar as a new Montand number played on the stereo. Riding in the silent Rolls with silver-haired Georges in his gray uniform at the wheel was like floating across a dark pool in Samoa.

Lolo looked up as the waiter refilled their wineglasses and wondered if he was Hawaiian. The youth wasn’t tall enough—or heavy enough—to be Samoan.

Morita gave the waiter one of her flashing smiles and, as he departed with their empty wine bottle, turned back to her food. “These prawns are delicious. A perfect dinner…”

“It’s Polynesian deluxe. Better than I ever ate in Samoa.”

“There are several Chino-Polynesian restaurants in Paris, but none serve food as subtle as this. My favorite restaurant in Los Angeles! Our first meal together was here. At your suggestion. And I’ve never eaten here with anyone but you, mon flic.”

He raised his glass. “To us…”

She snatched up her wineglass. “Toujours à nous!”

They drank, their eyes locked across the table, set the glasses down, and gave their attention to the food again.

He was grateful that she hadn’t mentioned last night’s murder, had asked no questions. He’d pushed the Jogger out of his thoughts, at least until tomorrow morning. He was aware that she was waiting for him to speak before starting a conversation. “You’ve never told me…

She looked up, smiling, from her plate. “Yes?”

“How long Georges has worked for you. Where you found him.”

“Georges is the perfect servant, but he isn’t a servant at all. And I didn’t find him. He and his wife were a gift.”

“What do you mean?”

“A precious gift. I pay them an enormous salary, of course. Georges is my major-domo, my butler, chauffeur, and bodyguard…”

“Bodyguard?”

“He carries a gun at all times.”

“Does he?”

“For which, of course, he has a proper license. And his wife, Claire, is my proxy mother and confidante. My own dear Maman knows her and approves.”

“You mother found them for you to bring to California?”

“No. Although she was delighted. I’ve told you—one of my protectors in France was an official of the Sûreté.”

“Your Paris flic!”

“Georges was also a flic.

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