Intercontinental Hotel, Miami Florida

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When she told him the meeting was rescheduled, moved to Miami to accommodate her travel schedule, a short stop between Trinidad and Detroit, his mind went right to palm trees and pastels, Lambos and Cuban girls with dark skin on white sand beaches.  Elmore Leonard-style gun thugs sucking on toothpicks, killing time on a street corner, waiting for trouble.

When he checked in, though, and the automatic shades crawled up to the ceiling, he wondered why she didn’t just schedule the date for the handicap stall at Big Al’s Truck Stop, or that pirate hotel on Route 1.

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