Oil Change: a Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries book 4)
“There were so many in the quarter. All he knew was that he had studiously avoided the known tourist spots—Pat O’Brien’s, The Napoleon House, The Olde Absinthe—simply on the off change that he might be seen.
But he would not be seen.
He had been too careful.
The plan had taken months to perfect, but he had overlooked no detail.
And tomorrow—today, actually, since it was almost 3 AM—today, in little more than seven hours he would be on a tramp steamer heading to Hamburg.
A day or so in that festi...ve German port city, with its sailors’ quarters and legalized prostitution, then on to London.
London with money.
He knew a woman there. She had no idea that he was coming, and she would probably be shacked up with someone. But she would be glad to see him.
She always was.
And as for his days on the Aquatica, the work he had done there… …that was all in the past.
So that when the fruition of that work actually took place, he would be half a world away.
Such were his thoughts upon paying his bar tab, tottering his way drunkenly along whatever semi-deserted street—for streets in the Quarter are never completely deserted—finding the key to the apartment door, slipping it into the lock, and turning it.MoreLess
But he would not be seen.
He had been too careful.
The plan had taken months to perfect, but he had overlooked no detail.
And tomorrow—today, actually, since it was almost 3 AM—today, in little more than seven hours he would be on a tramp steamer heading to Hamburg.
A day or so in that festi...ve German port city, with its sailors’ quarters and legalized prostitution, then on to London.
London with money.
He knew a woman there. She had no idea that he was coming, and she would probably be shacked up with someone. But she would be glad to see him.
She always was.
And as for his days on the Aquatica, the work he had done there… …that was all in the past.
So that when the fruition of that work actually took place, he would be half a world away.
Such were his thoughts upon paying his bar tab, tottering his way drunkenly along whatever semi-deserted street—for streets in the Quarter are never completely deserted—finding the key to the apartment door, slipping it into the lock, and turning it.MoreLess
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