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Did He Find What He was Looking for?

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The hotel bar was covered in a haze of cloudy smoke. Visibility was almost limited, but Thomas had found who he was looking for. “May I?” he asked politely to the woman sitting alone in one of four corner tables the bar owned. The woman raised an eyebrow. She was sizing him up, judging him, as he guessed she would. They all did. Thomas, at thirty nine, was well-built and fit. He exercised daily and visited a Vietnamese nail salon two times a week and allowed the ladies working there to give him manicures and pedicures. Thomas took cleanliness very importantly. He had taken to wearing nothing but suits when in public. Kept his dark, curly hair short. Easier to keep out of the way. He could tell by the woman’s assessment of him that she approved. Most women claimed they don’t have preferences when it comes to men and size, but that was a bald-faced lie. This one liked them tall. The woman was very pretty. Pale. She certainly fit the scene of an elegant jazz bar, dressed the way she was. Black dress with long lace sleeves, black cut short in a blunt Louise Brooks bob. Red lipstick. Very James Bond femme fatale. Thomas liked her immediately. “Do I have a choice?” she asked, taking a drag from a cigarette and doing him the courtesy of blowing a smoke ring in his face. French accent. Lovely. “That’s elegant,” he smirks, as he pulls out the chair opposite the woman and takes a seat. “You know there’s hydrogen cyanide in cigarettes, ma’am. Same stuff the Germans used in the gas

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