Chapter Eighteen
Later that night, Elizabeth Anderson was shaking her t**s against the pole on stage at Tinsel Town when Claude Jorgensen eased through the door next to the bar. He glanced at Elizabeth’s naked frame, nodded to the barman who pointed, and made his way toward a table reserved for two where Frank Miranda sat. He pulled out a chair and sat, dressed for business. “Hello, Franklin.”
Frank, likewise dressed for business, jumped, pulled his eyes away from Liz and settled them on his visitor. Frank had not seen Claude Jorgensen in months. He had expected someone from Keck International to meet him tonight; the phone call had come earlier in the day, but Claude? “You work for Jonathon?” he asked.
“I work for the old man, Caruthers; the rest of Keck works for Jonathon.” Jorgenson
