Bel Air Road ignored surrounding unpleasantries.
The neighborhood occupied itself with the morning’s more uplifting intrigues and necessities.
Nothing untoward appeared to be taking place at the Hotel Bel-Air.
None of the guests at breakfast on the patio suggested anything the least bit inappropriate.
A geologist on the run from her former employer, an energy company.
An investment banker on the run from her former employer, a Mexican cartel.
A professional car thief and pickpocket, on the run from a few hundred different law enforcement agencies.
A forensic accountant who had just quit her job.
Her brother, a network security analyst, who had also just quit his job.
That morning on the patio at the Hotel Bel-Air, soft clouds of steam curled off the cups of coffee in delicate uncertainty.
