Miles tastes the tangy sweetness of the San Francisco cocktail the cute bartender just handed to him. Everyone on the cruise ship is dressed extra sharp tonight. He checks his jacket pocket — the raygun is still there, concealed. Only one more hour until they arrive and he can sell the damn thing. Just gotta keep a low profile.
“I like your jacket,” says the cute bartender.
“Thanks,” says Miles, sipping the drink — then, cocky: “Armani.”
“Very nice,” smiles the bartender, clearly checking him out.
The door slams as they tumble into the bathroom stall, hands all over each other. Miles throws off the jacket, which lands on the floor with a “clink”. Abruptly, they stop making out.
“What was that?”
Glass shatters as Miles bursts through the window. A long drop, followed by a splash. Luckily, land is not that far. Suit ruined and tangy aftertaste washed away by salt water, he stands dripping on the shore.
“Deal’s still on, but there’s been a delay,” he says into his phone, frustrated.
Hot boys — truly his one weakness.