When Dimple looked down, heart thudding, the dim light reflecting off the liquid within the glass revealed a perfect mirror image of herself. Cheeks flushed a healthy red from exertion, colorful lights glimmering in her dark gaze. Dimple had never looked better. She pawned the Scotch off on an actor she vaguely recognized and moved to where she could watch the orchestrated chaos unfold.
She looked up again just in time to see the waiter had made the smart choice. Almost in slow motion, he handed Hector the tainted glass. Olsen didn’t so much as look up, let alone thank him. In fact, the only one who acknowledged the waiter’s presence was the C-lister with an empty glass, berating him.
Any of Dimple’s guilt, though, was quickly overshadowed by the excitement of Olsen taking a sizable sip. There was a pause as he stared deeply into his drink with a puzzled expression. Dimple waited, shoulders squared, for the accusations to come flying, but Olsen didn’t so much as blink before tipping the rest back.
Not long after she watched Olsen down the liquid as though it were water, she saw his pupils blow wide, and standing up was evidently becoming an ordeal. He excused himself and began stumbling in the direction of the bathroom.
Dimple was already trailing behind him. “Excuse me, I’ll be in the restroom,” she whispered into her mic.
Saffi began to protest, but it was too late. The wiring from Dimple’s ears had long since been tossed unceremoniously into a pottedplant. She passed the group of older men, their amusement apparent over how quickly their friend had gotten plastered.
Hector was stumbling more than Dimple had anticipated and she found herself in the hallway ahead of the restroom before he’d taken ten steps. It was no matter; he would have to pass her on his way there. A speaker positioned strategically to her left would make conversation difficult to overhear.
It was unclear whether the investigators had noticed Olsen’s presence yet, but either way, it wouldn’t be long before Saffi realized Dimple was up to something. Perhaps she already had. Dimple would have to work quickly. Awaiting Hector’s appearance, she scanned the crowd for Shyla Patel. The actress was quite a ways back, but still visible, and that was all Dimple needed. She only had one shot at this.
A tall, hunched figure stumbled into her line of sight. Dimple stabilized Hector Olsen by the shoulder with one hand. The other dipped into his front pocket and fished out his keys, transferring them into her own. They clinked as they settled beside her lighter. She retreated, trying to avoid his pungent, alcohol-infused breath, but it was too late—Hector reached out and grasped her arm in an unforgiving grip. Everywhere his skin came into contact with felt like a burning poison. Dimple shivered in disgust.
“Well, hello there,” he slurred. “What’s your name?”
He didn’t recognize her.
“I’m married,” Dimple said instinctively, desperate to get his hands off her. “With kids.”
For a moment, his face twisted in disgust, his grip loosening on her arm. Then it was back in full force, and he leaned even closer.
“How’s that? You don’t look a day over eighteen,” he purred.
Forget it, so what if he was holding on to her? It wasn’t as though he could do anything in front of so many people. And Dimple was running out of time. She put on her most severe expression.
“I have the perfect actress for your next movie,” she said, struggling to be heard over the pounding bass.
“The hell?” Hector exclaimed. He shoved her and Dimple nearly fell to the ground, catching herself on the wall at the last moment. Atleast he wasn’t touching her anymore. “Fucking leeches, I’m not here for work. Get outa my—”
“I promise you’ll love her,” Dimple tried, heart pounding as Hector continued to ignore her. She wracked her brain for something he could latch onto. “She’s beautiful—”
“I told you to fuck off!” he shouted.
Spit flew, his face inches from her own. Dimple flinched, taking an involuntary step back. A man just like him flashed through her mind, shouting at her for dropping his beer after he’d asked her to fetch it. Her hands dripping blood as she attempted to gather the broken pieces.
She had forgotten herself. Whatever delusion had made her think she could outwit a man like Hector Olsen quickly shattered. But she hadn’t come so far to give up now.
“I understand why me approaching you here might anger you.”
Hector’s face, however, only flushed redder at her acknowledgment. Then, not entirely unexpectedly, he flipped over a nearby table. An expensive-looking vase shattered into a thousand pieces across tile. It was all Dimple could do not to drop to her knees and immediately begin gathering the shards.
This drew a few lingering glances from the crowd. Many of them seemed to recognize Olsen, that this was typical of him, and turned away. Not that it mattered when the music completely overpowered their conversation.
“She’s right over there,” Dimple said in a weak final attempt, gesturing in Shyla’s direction.
The girl was almost too far to see through the crowd, but Hector faltered as soon as he laid eyes on her. Shyla was young and exactly his type. Hector stumbled a bit, but quickly righted himself. He seemed to have completely forgotten Dimple was there, choosing instead to stagger in Shyla’s direction.
“She wants to work for me?” he slurred, smug. “I think we can make something happen.”
Dimple felt immediate guilt for sending the man after Shyla, even though she knew the investigators were posted around the room for situations like these. She reminded herself that Olsen was drunkand high and Shyla was surrounded by people. All Dimple needed was for the man to approach her and cause a big enough scene for Dimple to slip away. Surely the investigators would pick up on the fact that another brown woman involved inInsomniabeing approached by their suspect was something to make noteof.
Saffi would pick up on it immediately, but her attention would be too focused on Dimple to acknowledge it. She would have to rely on Atlas and Eli to jump to the correct conclusion.
Heart pounding, Dimple watched as the dense crowd parted for Olsen. His attention didn’t waver from Shyla, but no one else seemed to catch on to his intentions. The man stopped inches away from her and only then did she look up. They seemed to exchange words, Olsen’s voice growing louder and more agitated as their conversation went on. From the corner of her eye, Dimple caught movement.
