“Yeah. Numero tres, I suspect.”
That would be Doc Jean, Frank thought. Now they’ll both be pissed at me.
The girl looked at Frank questioningly and then leaned over towards Frank and wrote a number on the back side of a napkin. The black ink was barely visible on the blue paper, but in the right light the numbers were clear enough.
“I think I know what you’re looking for and I can take care of you without all the glitz when you’re ready,” she said quietly, then moved on down the bar to take care of an older couple nursing their cucumber martinis.
***
Twenty-five floors up in one of three two-story Presidential Suites in The Towers, none of Silvia’s guests ever seemed surprised that the floor mounted telescope, which was a permanent fixture in the suite, could be removed from its pol
