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Brian: Are you wildly suggesting, dinner and movie? You rebel. You are being bold tonight!
Brian hit send, he didn’t do emojis no matter how much Sway tried to convince him. He didn’t get to see Sway’s response until he’d followed the Buick to their destination which ended up being the Whitley off Peachtree Road. A ritzy four-star hotel. Brian had a pretty good suspicion who was staying there. He’d get Ford right on it. Robert Clarkson probably wasn’t staying there under his own name, but once they acquired the registry they’d deduce who was helping their jumper.
He checked Sway’s last message.
Sway: See you at your place at seven. Be there, or be… okay, I’m shutting up, I’m tired.
Brian stifled another laugh. He’d take care of his overworked nurse tonight. With lightness in his chest, Brian realized his evening had just gotten a helluva lot better. But, first, duty called. He parked his Mustang at the back in the visitors’ parking and got out. He buttoned his coat and walked around the building, taking pictures with a device that resembled an ink pen. If they were going to do a recovery here, Duke would want to know the most inconspicuous entrances and exits. Despite the noise they had to make sometimes, Duke didn’t like his face or his business’s name flashed across the news. As soon as Brian stepped through the double doors into the lobby, he stood out like a sore thumb. Men were dressed in business suits, even the ones who were milling about were dressed for success. Strong jawlines and power executive-style haircuts. The women looked just as regal in their fine clothing and designer cashmere coats. Maybe they all knew his leather coat was hand-me-down and over six years old. He wasn’t sure, but they sneered at him the same way they did Julia Roberts’ character when she’d tried to shop on Rodeo Drive in her hooker clothes.
Walking tall as if he belonged there, Brian moved through the lavish lobby, towards an upscale restaurant. It was pretty empty, but it was also nearing five. Business was probably about to pick up any minute. Brian was led to a secluded four-top in the back and sat facing the door. He wasn’t expecting to find anyone, he just needed a few pictures for his references. He didn’t always rely on Google Earth, they weren’t always accurate. Call it the ex-spy in him, but his intelligence had to be one hundred percent accurate, his team relied on it.
“Good evening. Welcome to LaRoy’s. My name is Gene, I’ll be your server. May I start you off with a cocktail, sir?”
Brian glanced up at the young waiter with the long ponytail twisted up at his nape. He set down a single page menu with dishes on it that Brian had never heard of. What the hell was a De Jaeger, Sashimi, or Fregola in a salad? Brian shook his head.
The waiter tilted his head in confusion. “We have a variety of beverages. Is there something you’re in the mood for? The food is exquisite. Our chef studied in France and is considered one of the best in Atlanta. You sure you wouldn’t like to maybe sample something? Or would you like to see the wine list?”
Brian sometimes forgot how pushy really nice places could be about satisfying the customer. Brian wasn’t done scoping the hotel, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by sitting there without even a glass of water. Instead of shaking his head again, he nodded and pointed to the seared lamb with Israeli couscous. Lamb he knew. The other dishes were more eccentric than the one he chose. But his palette reveled trying new flavors.
The waiter smiled broadly and noted. “Ah. Good choice. That was just added to the menu last weekend and we sold out before the dinner service was over. You’ll love it.” The guy was so happy to have a customer that it seemed he hadn’t paid attention to the fact that Brian wasn’t speaking. “I’ll be right back with some warm rolls and some water to start?”
Brian nodded again then sat back and got comfortable. If the restaurant didn’t get too busy, this might be a good exit route. Brian snapped a couple of pictures of the emergency door that would result in an alarm sounding if it was opened, and a few shots of the patio.
The waiter brought out a wicker-type basket of rolls and softened honey-butter spread. He robotically turned over one of the water goblets and filled it with chilled water from a large bottle labeled Evian. Brian quirked a brow. Significant difference from the tap water he was probably served at the diners he frequented. Regardless, he was going to act as if he was used to this treatment. When the waiter finished pouring his water, he took the white cloth napkin that was draped over his right arm and swathed it neatly around the bottle, tying a neat knot directly over the logo and sat it in a metal ice bucket that’d been promptly placed there by another young waiter.
