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A Worse Idea 39

Prometheus sat up. “It’s possible. She’s not in the safest line of work.”

“Uh, bartending?” Anne panicked. “Haha, yeah. Bartending sure is…”

Prometheus tilted his head down slightly, peering over his sunglasses at Anne. It was what many people referred to as ‘The Look’.

“You mean the other line of work.”

“Yeah,” Prometheus said. “You know what she’s been up to lately?”

“Honestly?” Anne said. “Not really. I know she’s been at the bar a lot, and I didn’t even think she was up to anything in her other, uh, realm?”

Realm? Anne thought to herself. Who uses the word realm? Is there really a crime realm? The underworld but like a realm? The underrealm?

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Prometheus asked.

“Last night.”

“You know she’s not considered a missing person until forty-eight hours go by.”

“Yeah, but a lot can happen in forty-eight hours.”

“Is there something that makes you think she might’ve gone missing?”

Anne gulped. She really didn’t want to think about last night.

“Explain it in the car.” Prometheus got up off the lounge chair. He finished his beer bottle and set it down next to his chair.

“You’re just going to leave that there?” Anne asked, following Prometheus as he walked towards the hotel.

“We don’t have time,” Prometheus said. “Stanley pays people to take care of the trash.”

Oh, right, Anne thought. That’s why I always call this guy an asshole.

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