Page 31 of The Alibi Club

Lorna was bemused by her straightforward charm.

The cute guy chuckled.

She spotted her pack of smokes and bent down to grab them. When she stood back up to face him, hoping to flirt a little more, she said, “Hi, I’m Shannon.”

Oh, big mistake, Lorna thought. His muscles were chiseled, the dewy skin of his late twenties firmly intact. This was a man who abused pre-workout protein powder shakes and self-tanning lotion, not nicotine.

He stared at the pack of cigarettes as if it were a live cockroach wriggling around in her hand. “Nice to meet you … I’ve uh … got a thing.” He gave her a small wave and walked on. “Get that taken care of,” he said, pointing to her elbow.

Shannon sighed and watched him go.

Lorna felt for her. Californians considered cigarette smoking as ghastly as human trafficking. Lorna put down her paper, drained her espresso, picked up the spare napkins, and sauntered over to where Shannon was standing.

“You okay?” Lorna asked, approaching with napkins like white flags proclaiming she came in peace. “I saw what happened.”

Shannon glanced up at Lorna, who was impeccably dressed in tailored linen pants and a striped sweater.

“Fine, no permanent damage done.” She looked at the man walking away with a forlorn expression. “I just … miss Florida. And the men who live there.”

Lorna looked in the direction of the surfer chic guy. “Too vain anyway. You’d end up in a locked-horns battle over the bathroom mirror.”

Shannon smiled at that. “He did smell of mousse and surf wax.”

“You look like you could use a drink,” Lorna stated. Catnip for Shannon.

Shannon hesitated and then shrugged. “I could. Where to?”

“Critters?” Lorna said, knowing from Oritte’s extensive notes that this was Shannon’s favorite haunt.

“That’s my favorite bar.”

“Good margaritas,” Lorna said.

“I’m partial to the Cosmopolitans.”

Oh, I know. Lorna said, “Shall we?”

Twenty minutes later, Lorna and Shannon entered Critters Pub in North Hermosa, one street off the beach, and bellied up to the bar.

“How are you two lovely ladies this evening?” The bartender sidled up with a twirl of his mustache and a twinkle in his eye.

Shannon’s shoulders finally relaxed. Lorna didn’t miss a thing. “Hi, Nick, I had a run in with some hooligans on e-bikes.” She showed off her bloodstained elbow.

“That calls for a Cosmo.” Nick nodded at Lorna. “And you, madam?”

“Margarita,” Lorna said.

As he began chilling her martini glass, he asked Shannon, “How’s my favorite pharma rep?”

“Well, Viagra sales are stronger than ever. Same with antidepressants.”

“If that doesn’t sum up LA, I don’t know what does.” Nick assessed his vodka amounts before excusing himself to retrieve another bottle when Shannon gave a sad nod.

Lorna surveyed the bar for any decent possible Dinner for Six candidates. Pickings were slim. There were some work associates in button-down shirts sitting on the other side of the bar, but both had rings on their fingers. Next to them, an aging drunk who resembled a fat Tom Selleck was in midburp. To his right were a couple of guys with neck tattoos wearing Dodger hats drinking whiskey with a beer back. She mulled over these sad possibilities just as the drinks arrived. Nick put a lemon twist in Shannon’s Cosmo and backed away with a flourish, but not before setting down a bar cloth with ice in it for Shannon’s injury.

She nodded and took a long sip before putting the makeshift ice pack to work.

“Los Angeles is tricky, isn’t it,” Shannon said more to herself than to Lorna.