He’d been in the mood for some music that drew him into his younger days when he’d sit outside a baseball park and daydream, with the palm trees swaying above his head and the wind flipping through his hair. Regardless of him feeling rather relaxed, a sense of urgency had begun to slowly creep up his spine like tiny fingers meandering towards the base of his neck. So he sat on the side of the road, his head still spinning from a rather loud and crazy evening and his hangover gripped his cranium as if it, too, was trying to read his damn mind. Wait a minute, what’s going on? That’s him getting in his car. Leaving early? She didn’t call me to tell me she was finished. That’s not like her. Something’s not right… He got out of the car, adjusted his Urwerk CC1 King Cobra watch and made his way into the L’Ermitage Beverly Hills Hotel, one of five hotels that he used in steady rotation. It had all the amenities needed to keep his clients exultant, his stable content, and most importantly, he did it so well, the staff, minus one manager that was well paid to keep his fucking mouth shut, remained none the wiser to his exploits.
