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A small light spills down from the ceiling, directed right at the table, but it does nothing to distract from illuminated beauties below, or the several circulating girls walking the VIP Balcony.The waitress returns with your drink and you take in a moment to admire her as well. A silver name tag is clipped to her shirt and you read ?Amanda?. While they may not be performers, the wait-staff are encouraged to dress provocatively, and guests are encouraged to tip them well for it. The green plaid mini-skirt and white blouse are enough to make any man hard, especially knowing that these girls aren’t for sale. Some men try for them anyway, offering money, drugs, even power. Amanda gives you a smile as she deposits your drink in front of you. She leans over, her cleavage becoming your world view. Long blonde hair cascades down framing a cherubic face, crystal blue eyes, and a ?girl next door? appearance. She doesn’t exude sexuality as much as embodies it. There is an innocence. When he finally handed me the bottle, I looked at him, grinned and...Flashback – Ben – In the HIND 24 headed to MoscowWhat the hell! Tatiana didn't give the bottle of vodka to Jack. I couldn't believe it as she grinned at me (like a fucking Cheshire cat), unscrewed the top, tipped the bottle up and drained the rest of it without pausing (and there was close to half a bottle left). I complained, "Hey, that was my medicinal vodka."She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand a laughed, "And did you forget about my back? Because of it I am in the most pain of all of you."Elena confirmed Tatiana's self-assessment, "With the multitude of wounds, Tatiana's assessment is most likely accurate."I questioned if she could be in more pain than me, but I was smart enough not to counter Elena's claim. And Shit! I had forgotten temporarily about her back (probably because of the vodka) and her reminder made me feel like shit again. I profusely apologized, "Tatiana, I am so sorry about your back, I.
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Brown still stood there looking at her. She did not look him. ‘No, no, I don’t need anything, uh—thank you, just—the usual, you know, I’ll be on my way then.’ Bob removed his hand and stepped toward the street, waving an arm briskly. A cab drew up to the curb immediately. Bob opened the door for her. She looked at the cab. ‘My car…’ ‘Oh,’ Bob looked at her askance. ‘You drove here today?’ ‘Ah, no,’ she said. She got into the cab. Their eyes met as Bob went to shut the door, both uncomfortably aware of the man standing behind Bob. ‘Well,’ Bob said awkwardly, ‘have a nice day then.’ He was surprised when her hand reached out and gave his forearm a firm squeeze. That detail would jump out at him later, when he recited his story to the demanding policemen, over and over again, but that he would keep to himself. ‘Thank you, Bob. You too.’ She gave his arm a last pat and then withdrew into the depths of the cab. He shut the door and stood there as the cab drew away and then vanished.

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