From the helicopter, medics eased a dark youth onto a stretcher and drove away. Another medic tended a young blonde lady in a black sari with blood all over her face. She sat on the bottom edge of the helicopter’s open side door with her hands on her lap as her head was being stitched up. “Wonder what they’ve been up to,” said Lucy. Ali shrugged. He was watching the tall, muscular man in the tight white T-shirt who had emerged from the same helicopter. His pale skin had blood on it. He waited as the medic took care of the woman. When the medic’s work was done, the bloody man and woman then entered the Helilounge. They submitted pistols to the doormen and sat at a table near Lucy and Ali, failing to notice the extra space available around them as they thumbed their phones while gabbing at each other. The pair sat side by side, facing the windows as Ali and Lucy did, who listened to their banter. “You got lucky with Natasha,” said the woman. “She would’ve chewed you out bad if she didn’t have to go pick up dad.” “I’m getting it already from Kennedy,” replied the man, grinning and typing. Their accents were American. A stunning Persian waitress approached. Ali pointed at his and Lucy’s wine glasses, making a circular motion to indicate another round. The server nodded to him and stopped at the new patrons’ table, her open-backed dress suggestive, bare legs shining bronze. “Hi, just a Stella,” said Hamish, not looking up from his phone. “A cold gewürztraminer, if you have it,” said Matilda, smiling up at the elegant server, who smiled back. She walked away, unphased by the blood. “I’ll never have hips like hers,” sighed Matilda. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0858WJT8C/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0