by Glenn Smith
Flint picked up the card Ava had placed on the table, slipped it into his shirt pocket, paid Shana, left her a ridiculously large tip. As he turned to leave, his new smart phone signaled a call. It was Laura Syms saying that Ava had just phoned her.
“Hey, since you are already at the Driskill, let’s have a drink. I’m almost back from saving the Alamo. I can be there in ten minutes. Unless you are too tied up.”
“Never too tied up for a woman who’ll do to ride the river with,” Flint said. “What shall I tell Shana you want to drink?”
“A margarita!”
Shana touched Flint’s sleeve, handed him a fresh iced tea, said “she’ll want a frozen margarita, rimmed with lime and salt on the glass.”
Flint smiled, said thanks, sat back down.
