Red Roses and Dry Gin: Waiting For a Sign

Jacqueline slapped her arm, killing the mosquito that had mistaken her for easy prey. There were a lot of things that could be said about Mexico but so far she was unimpressed. Mostly it was hot and dirty. A young senorita swayed by in a long colourful skirt and a sleeveless blouse that clung tightly to her generous chest. Jacqueline quickly revised her opinion. Maybe Mexico did have something more to offer than the job.

She sighed. Her annoyance could be attributed to boredom and too much waiting. Idly, she swished the remnants of her Martini around in the glass and made a face. At the Porta de Cielo rum was considered low class and to keep her cover, she’d had to give up her precious Mojitos.

A waiter in a crisp white suit stiffly walked to her table bearing a dozen red roses and presented them with a bow. “Compliments of the gentleman Salazar.”

“It’s about time.”

The waiter raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting these?”

Jacqueline shooed both the question and the waiter away. It was time to work.

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