As promised, Frank wasn't gone long. Maybe 20 minutes, tops. He returned to the Palm, smiled and nodded at the young female clerk who took over the night shift, and headed for Lauren's room. He didn't see the clerk as her eyes followed him until he was out of sight, the smile still curling her lips.<br/><br/>Frank opened the door. "Honey I'm home!"<br/><br/>But Lauren had nodded off. Her head was lolling. Frank smirked and loudly plunked the bag of provisions on the table. She snapped awake.<br/><br/>"Beer for me. Wine for you. But later," he said pulling out a six pack of Hamm's and a bottle of red wine. Also in the bag were some chips, a large pickle in a vacuum sealed pouch and a sack of brownies. No one accused Frank of being nutritional.<br/><br/>"How you doing, Lauren?"<br/><br/>Frank checked her bonds. Satisfied, he used the bottle opener from his keychain and released a beer. He took a chug and burped.<br/><br/>"Sorry."<br/><br/>It was dark now.<br/><br/>"We have a two hour drive ahead of us. There's a safe house I arranged in New Mexico. We will stay there for the night. It's remote so if you play your cards right, you can sleep without a muzzle tonight. Sound good? You can eat and drink as well."<br/><br/>Frank sidled up to the bound and gagged, gorgeous redhead. "Remember. If I thought they would kill you, I wouldn't take the job. And if I find out between here and there, I won't make the drop. And that's a twenty-five hundred clam decision, sister."<br/><br/>Frank sat on the bed and drank his beer. He opened the chips and ate a handful. He sighed. At the safe house he would need to check in with the DA, despite how late it would be in Chicago.