Charles Mcintosh paused for a moment as he handled his phone and nodded, "Yes, to have some drinks."
"Feeling down?"
"It's nothing, just bored at home alone."
Sylvan Cheney didn't ask further; he roughly knew why Charles Mcintosh would hit the bars.
The Rolls-Royce weaved through the night, speeding along the roads.
The VISTA bar, private room 8888.
Jesse Rowan had already arrived.
He was flirting and laughing with a hostess who was keeping him company.
"Mr. Rowan, your watch is so pretty, is that a diamond?" The girl leaned closer, pointing at the dial, her eyes glued to his watch.
"Yeah, looks nice, doesn't it?"
"Must be expensive."
"Not so much. Stay with me for a week and I'll give it to you," Jesse squinted his eyes, looking at her.
"Are you serious, Mr. Rowan?" Sparkling delight showed in the girl's eyes.
"Just kidding."
"Oh my, Mr. Rowan, you're so bad, so awfully bad." The girl stretched out her hand and shyly punched him lightly.
