She is sore when she climbs out of the rented Aston Martin. Her hip joints hurt and pain radiates from between her legs as she walks up the bleach white driveway through the blazing Vegas heat to a sprawling mint green stucco mansion. She ignores the pain, as delicious as it is, to the best of her ability. She ignores the memories of Mandrake and Mint that the transient aches purge within in her. She has to be calm, collected, there is business to take care of, snafus to avoid.
Kent Ugon has on a tailored suit, smiles with his eyes and his mouth. She knows his type and is dressed as skimpily as she is with her posture ten degrees past erect to influence him in every way. She is doing it because he's the type that wants her to, and wants to reward her for doing it. Anything to get a deal.
"Mira, so great to finally meet you!" Kent Ugon says, extending his hand. Slight African accent, glaringly white teeth. She takes his hand and he helps her through the threshold. She spins around and takes it in. High windows and ceilings, marble floors, an indoor pool through a pair of double doors to her right, a sprawling white room to her left that is big enough for shindigs Mira would never venture to throw. Before her, a winding staircase leads to rooms with archway's framed with embellished molding painted metallic gold--a little too gaudy for her tastes but she knows Mandrake will appreciate such features. A heavy gold and crystal chandelier hangs above them, "there's an oak and marble library on the other level. Well stocked, too, the previous owner was a rare book collector. Said the books would go to the next buyer, some fued with his wife."
"As is often the case, one's feud is another's gain."
"I hope this will be one of those cases," he says. "So tell me, what do you think?" He asks after he has shown her the upper rooms, let her dip a toe in the pool and handed her one of the heavy, delicate books from the library's shelves.
She slides her sunglasses up into her curls, smiles. "I love it. How much?"
"For you, 2.5 million. The books alone are worth nearly half that that so you're getting a pretty good deal."
Mira hopes this is the case. She is no expert in rare goods, books. Lucky for her she has Mint. They agree to meet the next day for the appraisal and she says goodbye to Kent Ugon, a real estate broker recommended by her mother in a thinly veiled attempt to set them up, she is sure.
On her way back to the hotel she stops at a bar named May Breeze. The décor is monochromatic. It is as if she's stepped into a tub of butter. Yellow walls, floor, appliances, booths, tables, bowls, glass ware, shelving. She takes a seat in one of the cracked yellow stools, orders a vodka soda from a dark skinned girl wearing a yellow mini skirt. Dollar bills litter her cleavage, and Mira continues her efforts to gain her bearings in a place this jarring. She has not taken three sips of her drink when a man slides into the seat beside her. He smells sweaty, like a man accustomed to working outdoors. Mira catches his reflection in the mirror that covers the wall behind the bar, and as she had supposed, he is staring right at her. She becomes aware of the gun on her thigh. She crosses her legs and winces. They should've gone a little easier on her, her having to deal with two of them, after all.
"You sure are pretty," the man says. She finally turns to meet his gaze directly. He is handsome, clean shaven, olive skinned. He turns to face her so that she can see his badge and Mira hopes his eyes miss the tremor that travels through her at the sight of it.
"Why thank you," she says. She begins to take deeper sips of her drink. She watches the news program playing on the television above the bar, remains calm.
"I mean it. I'm sure you hear it all the time, but you are quite breathtaking. May I ask your name?"
Mira holds out her hand and he takes it, turns it over and kisses her palm. Mira leans closer to him. Anything for a good deal. "Mira, " she says into his ear.
"I'm Sheriff Scott Delray of the Clark County Sheriff's Department. Been looking for you for days, and just my luck, I find you here. I was told you are beautiful," he says in his deep, vaguely foreign voice, "but I still didn't anticipate this."
"Who told you such a thing?" Her mind clicks into gear. She takes a sip of his drink and then feigns that it was a mistake. He is drinking what tastes like whiskey, straight. He's not on duty, and if he is she is in even more trouble than she thought.
He smiles and takes a swig right after her. "Most recently, a woman by the name of Lola. She told me that I would know that I had the right woman the moment I laid eyes on you. She said that you have this look about you, something subtly beautiful, haunted."
