Michele Bravo and the Mystery of Mr. Largo, Ch. 7

Chapter Seven: Cat or Mouse?

The cliché of someone getting arrested is when a heavy hand falls on a single shoulder, with the curt words, “Police.” Michelle Bravo had never been caught by the police…or any other law enforcement agency, or any non-law enforcement agency, come to that, but she knew the cliché. One hand on a shoulder – police. A hand on each shoulder? Lover. Or a lover-wannabe, in this case, she corrected.

Michele looked straight ahead. “Mr. Largo,” she said.

He kept his hands on his shoulders. A pleasant feeling, Michele thought, and a more self-confident act than she had expected from him.

“You look like you’re doing well,” he said.

“I’m having fun,” said Michele. “That’s about all that can be said.” Truth to tell, she was up by about a thousand dollars after three hours work. But it didn’t do to boast.

Largo was not deceived. He’d been watching her print out her slips on a regular basis for the last hour.

“It’s so noisy in here,” said Largo. “Not to mention smoky. Care to go to the bar for a drink?”

Michele punched the button to print out her winnings, but said, “There is no bar here. Unless you mean the ice cream bar? I happen to know that that stays open 24 hours.”

“Ice cream it is then,” said Largo.

A few minutes later they were seated in the Polar Bar – as Michele had pointed out, a 24-hour café that served desserts. Michele was working her way through a double hot fudge sundae, while Largo drank coffee. Largo liked watching her eat the ice cream, dipping her spoon into the treat, then conveying it to her mouth and savoring it with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t be seen together,” said Michele softly, as she savored another morsel. She was leaning forward so as not to drip ice cream onto her shirt.

“It can’t do any harm,” said Largo, equally softly. He had to lean close to hear her. It was very intime, he thought. “I would think that it’s after the job that we shouldn’t meet.”

Michele gave him a brief smile.

“Have you been playing blackjack?” she asked.

“No…I’m not really much of a gambler. But I guessed you’d be at the roulette. You’re very good.”

“Patience and money management, that’s all it is,” commented Michele. “Make a plan, play the plan, and you’ll walk out a winner.”

“Only to lose it the next time you come.”

Michele smiled again. She…or rather Taran Tula, this particular identity who was the only one who went into casinos…never lost. She didn’t understand how people could lose at video roulette, but most did. It was very sad.

“I was wondering,” said Largo…”I’ve heard so much about the way you work…it’d be an education.”

Michele stabbed her spoon into the remnants of her ice cream sundae and said, quietly but very very firmly. “No. I work alone. And so do you – that’s your reputation, Mr. Largo.”

“Yes, I know…it’s just….”

“Just what?”

“Well, I just find you so damn sexy,” he blurted out.

“Everybody does,” said Michele quietly. “At least, everyone who likes dangerous women. Which you do, apparently.”

“Are you dangerous?” said Largo in a whisper.

Michele chuckled. “You have no idea, Mr. Largo. You have no idea.” She retrieved her spoon and finished off the last of her ice cream sundae. Then she said, “I’m going to get an early start tomorrow morning. You will not hear from me again, until I call to tell you my portion of the job is complete.”

She stood up, and Largo did also, quickly. “As you wish,” he said quietly.

“I’d prefer to go up to my room alone, Mr. Largo,” she said with a smile.

Largo held up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. I…. I’m sorry….”

Michele spun on her heel and walked out of the café without looking back.

The false Mr. Largo sighed. He really had wanted to go up with her… but duty called. He took a large plastic bag out of his pocket, put his hand into it, picked up the spoon, and turned the bag inside out over it. He had noticed that she hadn’t touched her sundae glass at all – so there’d be no fingerprints on that. But there would be a decent left thumb print on the spoon, with any luck.

The false Mr. Largo looked at the spoon, grimaced at what it portended, then tucked the bag into his pocket, and went up to his room.