This isn’t the sort of place she usually comes to. In fact this is exactly the sort of place she usually avoids. Now the Tequila, that was closer to her style, although even that was a bit rough-and-tumble for her taste. She would much rather be sitting at the quite bar in Petit Paris.
Claudia was sitting on one of the stools at the bar with her hands in her lap, keeping them down and away from anyone’s sweaty body. Her discomfort could be seen in every ridged limb, the way she sat was still and leaning away from the person to her left to the empty space at her right. Her dress was as out of place as she was: a pair of dark blue jeans encased her slim, long legs, ending in a pair of velvet black heels. Her shirt brought on thoughts of a kimono with a pink and green flower pattern over a black background, a tie around the slender waist, ending in a black silk bow at her back. Her long black hair had been pulled away from her pale face into a ponytail and she wore dangling black chandelier earrings and necklace. She looked like she should be at the Petit Paris.
She didn’t belong here. The drinks were too strong for her taste, even the apple martini in front of her made her wince. She wanted wine…fine, aged red wine from France or Italy. The music was too loud and the people were too rowdy, to raunchy. Why on earth was she here? She had homework; she had overloaded herself with too many classes, including a Japanese class that she couldn’t get a hand of. She should be home trying to get a head start on that pesky Japanese.
She was here because she was avoiding Michael. A lady simply doesn’t behave like she had with Michael. All of that kissing in public was a bit too out of her league, her mother would have scorned her. She was probably rolling in her grave. Not that she didn’t like Michael, she just figured she needed some time away from the intelligent, overwhelming man to figure out what her next move was. She came here because Petit Paris had been where she had met Michael. She came here because it was the last place Michael would ever expect her to be.
Claudia defiantly sipped the Martini, holding her breath as it hit her tongue.
Tonight was a good night for Wilhelm; he had just finished showering off a recent kill. A kill that resulted with him becoming over two-hundred-thousand dollars richer. The beast inside was sedated for now because of the shear brutality he used to kill his target. Emanuel Hernandez was his targets name, and his target was one of the head members of the Los Locos Muertos, a powerful drug cartel. Uncharacteristically of the ‘hard’ acting tugs that one would unusually find in charge of a drug cartel, Emanuel cried and streamed as he died. His please for mercy fell on deft ears as Wilhelm literally shredded him to death. But enough talk of death. Wilhelm was out to have fun and it most likely wouldn’t be related to killing.
In the cool of the late night air Wilhelm walked. He enjoyed walking alone and thinking, but tonight he was walking towards one of his favorite clubs. The White Mice Club was one of his favorite places to party. He was dressed to party. His short cut blond hair was spiked up. He wore not too baggy blue jeans that ended frayed and torn, just the way he like them. His heavily muscle body was covered by a black short sleeve t-shirt with a large eagle on the front with the words ‘American Eagle’ written under it. The shirt in turn was covered by a black leather jacket.
He skipped the line into the club with a nod to the bouncers who all knew him. Once inside he stopped momentarily to enjoy the ambient smell of party in the club. It was an intricate smell consisting of sweet, smoke from both cigarettes and marijuana, the smell of much more hardcore drugs, and the slight smell of blood. His revel in the smell of the club ended and he made his way to the bar. The bar tender greeted him in the usual way with a large glass of Vodka mixed with Red Bull. “You’re on William” the bartender said as he picked up his own glass and raised it to his lips. Wilhelm smiled and downed his own Red Bull and Vodka mix much faster than the bartender. “Hey better luck next time Ted and get me another one.” Wilhelm sat down at the bar and started to cheek out the crowd when he noticed how odd the girl next to him looked. She seemed as if she didn’t want to be there and she dressed as if she wasn’t meant to. He just smiled and continued to look around the room.
The man sat down on her right, her only empty side, the direction she had been leaning towards. She straightened. At least he didn’t smell to the high heavens of BO like the man on her other side did. For one thing thankful in the entire night, the man had choose to hit on the busty, curvy blond model on his left instead of the busty, curvy black-haired model on his right. Of course, Claudia’s leaning away from him might have discouraged him. But then again, maybe she just wasn’t drunk enough for the man to bother wasting his time on, unlike the young woman to his other side that was thoroughly soused.
Claudia watched this familiar exchange between the bar tender and the new comer with some measure of guarded amusement. She took one more sip of her martini before setting the empty glass back down on the bar surface. That had been much stronger then she was used to and sweet enough to make her stomach hesitate.
Why was she here? To forget about Michael for a few hours or more. She needs to be objective about him and if she is going to be objective then she needs to stop thinking with a bias mind. What she needs is a distraction. This very on-Michael like gentlemen would be a perfect candidate. Small talk was needed.
“Your not new to the club by any chance,” she asked rhetorically and nearly sarcastically with a smile. Her voice was silky, soft, she obviously hasn't been talking with anyone tonight, otherwise all of the shouting over the music would have resulted in a hoarse voice by now. She also had a British acent that lilted in her words.
