Silence.
The lack of question-barrage was so nice, I didn’t actually notice it right away. I threw a couple more things in the bag, zipped it up, hauled it up over my shoulder, and then started towards the bedroom door.
Bridgett followed slowly.
Odin sneezed, glared at me, and then ran behind one of the chairs in the living room. He knew when I was going on a longer-than-usual trip. I wasn’t sure how, but he always knew. I coaxed him out from behind the chair, leashed him, and then looked back at Bridgett.
She wasn’t actually crying, but her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped.
It hit me then why giving a whore an orgasm wasn’t necessarily a great idea, especially not this one. She was having a hard enough time remembering what our relationship was, and I had just provided her with quite the holiday weekend.
“What?” I asked. I was being rather gruff, but I also had this feeling she was getting in far too deep for anyone’s benefit.
If I had to really admit it – which I didn’t, so I wouldn’t – I probably liked her. I wasn’t in love with her or anything ridiculous like that, and I wasn’t about to take her on as my girlfriend instead of my whore, but there was something about her I found intriguing besides the warmth of her mouth on my cock.
She gave me something I needed in the form of comfort and sleep.
I didn’t like the idea of needing her for anything. I didn’t want to have to rely on anyone for anything. It just wasn’t a good idea in this business to spread yourself too thin in the loyalty department. I had already been tested when I had to investigate Jonathan for an alibi, and he was as close to being a friend as anyone I knew.
The fact was, I had only one person who held my loyalty, and that was because he paid me for it.
Handsomely.
I walked over and placed my fingers around her upper arms. Her muscles tensed, and I could tell she wanted to back away from me, but she didn’t.
“What’s the problem?” I snapped.
Odin crouched down behind the edge of the couch and whined slightly. Bridgett glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Nothing,” she replied softly. “It’s all good.”
My hands slid up to her shoulders, and I crouched slightly to get a look into her eyes.
“You need to get something through your head, Bridgett,” I said as I gripped her shoulders just a bit more. “I’ve said this before, and you don’t have any clever ways of word-smithing it now. This is fucking – nothing more, nothing less. My cock goes in various places around your body for cash. You’re a whore, and I’m a regular john. There is nothing special here.”
She didn’t look up, and her muscles remained tense. It occurred to me that she might have thought I was going to hit her. I wouldn’t have – it wasn’t my style. If I was going to kill her that would be a whole other story, but I didn’t usually hit people I was going to kill. Not unless I really needed to do so.
“You got that?” I asked once more.
“I got it,” she answered quietly.
“You need me to cut you off? Find someone else?”
She looked up at me, and her eyes glistened. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed twice before she shook her head. She looked away from me and down to the floor.
“Truth hurts, huh?” I said bluntly, and she flinched as a tear finally escaped from her dampened lashes.
Maybe it was cruel, but it had to be done. The last thing I needed was a hooker who thought she was more to me than she was, and the last thing she needed was for someone in a rival boss’ business getting the idea she was important to me.
There was just no way I could give her what she wanted.
Chapter 7 – Easy Murder
Atlanta was always one of my favorite towns. It was decently warm, didn’t have the constant wind of Chicago, and the people were as entertaining as they could possibly be. Everyone always seemed just thrilled to death to be where they were, even if where they were was begging on a street corner or drunk in an alley. Even the drunks on the street entertained me.
“You see that guy?”
“What guy?” I asked the fifty-something black dude who was drinking a foul smelling liquid out of a paper bag. He’d been doing so since I sat down by the steps of the Marquis One Tower near one of the funky statues that may or may not be lions.
“The one over there!” He reached his arm out to its full extent, added a pointing finger, and shook it around in the air like a flopping fish on the rocks.
I laughed.
“There are twenty guys over there!”
“C’mon!” he insisted, and I had to get up to follow him.
As we rounded the corner, we faced the valet parking area of the Marriott Marquis. It was a beautiful area with a giant fountain underneath part of the hotel. The echo of the water as it moved over the cement structure was more deafening than the noise from the cars waiting to be valeted.
“That guy right there!” the drunk said as he waved his arms around a bit more. He reminded me of one of the characters from Sponge Bob, but I couldn’t remember which one. “It’s that guy! That one guy – from the movies!”
My ears perked up a bit. I was supposed to meet Jim in an hour at the Hyatt, not the Marriott, which was right across the street. I wondered if something was wrong, though I knew the two hotels were attached by a skywalk. Scanning the motor area, I didn’t see any sign of either of them, so I looked back at my inebriated friend.
“It’s Mel Gibson!” the drunk suddenly yelled out, and my shoulders dropped in relaxation.
I looked over where he was pointing, and though the guy did vaguely resemble Gibson, it definitely wasn’t him. The drunken dude continued to squeal about Braveheart, but the show had lost its appeal. I gave up on the entertainment and hiked up the numerous back steps of the Hyatt, then followed the escalator to the lobby and bar area. There was a football game on, so I figured it was as good a place as any to be found when Jim showed up.
The bartender at the Hyatt was a good one, and I do like a good bartender even though I didn’t drink often. He was a dark-skinned, bald guy who didn’t weigh more than about a hundred and twelve pounds. He had a Caribbean accent of some sort, but I couldn’t quite discern from where. He poured me two fingers of some decent scotch and let me just sit there and watch the game at one of the tall, round tables. I paid just enough attention to figure out who was playing, who was probably going to win, and to take note of at least one egregious foul I could bitch about later with Jim if he cared to talk football.
It was a team Jonathan favored, and I wondered if he was watching the same game back in Chicago. I hadn’t seen him outside of work for a while, and I considered sending him a quick text suggesting we hang when I got back into town, but of course I couldn’t. My regular phone was turned off so I couldn’t be tracked back to the area.
Jim showed up just a few minutes late with one of the other security guys I had seen before, though only through my scope. He said his name was Damon, and he shook my hand like someone once told him a firm handshake would impress people. He made a lot of eye contact as well, also something he’d been taught and followed to a tee – not because he saw the value of it, but because someone he believed told him it was the right thing to do.
He probably thought he intimidated people, but I just found it comical. It wasn’t like I was going to be told to go home at this point – Ashton was too paranoid to be down a security guy while waiting for all the background checks to be done. A thorough dig might have come up with the death certificate for Marshall Miller in a piss-ant town in Louisiana, but probably not. The rest of his record was clean.
Within an hour of his overly enthusiastic handshake, Damon was fitting me with a little earpiece and introducing me to Phillip Tanner, Ashton’s public relations guy. He was the last stop before the man himself, and he spent a good forty-five seconds just looking me up and down.
“Umm…hmmm,” he hummed under his breath
. “I’m sure Mister Ashton will like this one.”
I glanced at Jim, who just looked away from me. Their behavior confirmed my suspicions about Brad Ashton’s preferences. I was also introduced to Alex something-or-another, whose main job seemed to be to stand right outside the door to the hotel room and glare at people.
“Marshall Miller,” Phillip announced as he opened up the door to the hotel suite and allowed me and the other security guys through.
Ashton was on the far side of the room with a phone up to his ear, looking bored as he leaned back in the office chair by the desk, staring at his fingernails. His eyes moved over to the group entering the room, and he appraised me similarly to the way Phillip had outside. The look he gave me was decidedly less subtle than the one from his PR guy. There might have been some actual drool, which made me wonder if there wasn’t some other plan that might be just as effective. The way he was looking at me made my stomach tighten up.
I wondered if Bridgett felt the same way when guys looked at her.
We all just stood there for a while, and I felt myself automatically enter the at attention mindset – mostly blank in the head but still listening closely. It was a pose I actually found very relaxing, though training camps used it to drive recruits crazy. I always felt it was a good opportunity to let go and reset, and it usually left me feeling recharged. I could stand still like that for hours, though the others around me began to fidget after only two or three minutes.
Once Brad Ashton finally hung up the phone, he stood and walked slowly over to the group. He barely looked at anyone else but looked me up and down more than once.
“This must be the new guy,” he said with a smile.
“Marshall Miller,” I said as I extended my palm for him to shake.
He took my hand with his manicured fingers and held it a little longer than he needed to for just a handshake.
“A pleasure,” he said quietly. “Welcome to the team.”
His attention went to his PR guy after that, and we discussed the boring details of the main event of the evening. Ashton would be escorted through the lobby downstairs via the service elevator, over to the ballroom where he’d participate in an interview and a panel discussion with a couple other actors and the director of his next flick. The details didn’t interest me. Now that everyone else’s attention was occupied, I could examine the inside of the hotel room.
It was a good-sized suite with a separate room leading to a king-sized bed and a nice view of the street below. In the main room there were two balconies and a wet bar. There was another door on the other side of the suite, which was closed with the bolt secured.
With the room’s layout captured in my head, I was now able to watch the dynamics of the group.
Phillip mooned over Ashton, barely taking his eyes off the man like he was some sort of golden god. Jim nodded a lot, but his expression told me his mind was somewhere else. He glanced at me a couple of times, and it occurred to me that he might have taken a risk bringing me on without any additional credentials.
When the proper time came, we escorted Ashton down the elevator to his interview, then to a table way in the back of the hotel’s restaurant for his dinner with some producer from Universal Studios. I was stationed between the lobby and the entrance to the restaurant to watch for anything that looked suspicious.
The next day was pretty much the same, only it was an autograph and photo opportunity thing, and I watched the ticket-takers make sure everyone had the right kind of tickets.
The whole standing-at-attention, mind-numbing activity came in handy again.
Damon and Jim were much closer to Brad Ashton physically than I ever was, and Ashton hadn’t said a word to me since that first meeting. Apparently, I wasn’t giving off the right kind of vibe. Normally that would be perfectly fine with me, but I needed Ashton to make a move, and he was only going to be in this city for a total of three days. I racked my mind for various ways of giving him the impression I might be interested and could only come up with things I might do to attract a woman, which didn’t seem quite right.
What attracted me?
Tits and ass, that’s what.
No help there.
I had about come to the conclusion that I was going to have to get a little more drastic. Every time Ashton went out anywhere, there were at least three of us with him, and usually four. When Brad Ashton retired to his room at night, it was never completely alone. Alex was always outside the door, and Phillip was often inside. I hadn’t caught any additional company outside of the core group, and I didn’t think there had been anyone else sneaking inside, but I wasn’t positive.
I had to be sure, so I watched carefully.
Alex was as diligent as they came, and he took no breaks during his shift. No one went in or out of the door to Ashton’s private room without Alex knowing about it. Ashton’s room was connected to a common room as well, which was where we would all meet before heading to the elevator for an event of some kind. Though the room didn’t have its own guard, there were almost always other people in it – usually other actors or people in the business, at least. It was where Jim slept on a roll-away bed when he wasn’t on duty. Still, there was potential with a third adjoining room which wasn’t being used by the group
There had to be another way to either get in or out. The two balconies in the common room were just a bit far off the ground to consider climbing up to them. There was no easy way to get up there from the street, and scaling up five stories using other balcony rails would have been beyond stupid.
I had to get Ashton to come out, but he never left the damn room without a plethora of escorts.
Jim and I walked a few paces behind Ashton as we moved from one area of the hotel to another, stopping every few feet for pictures and autographs. Alex was in front of him and Phillip just to one side. Every time a young woman approached him, Ashton smiled, flirted, and then usually looked a little nauseated once she was out of view again.
And he was supposed to be such a great actor.
We made our way slowly back to his room, where he moved straight to the wet bar in the common area and started rummaging around. Phillip tried to entice him with a large bottle of wine, but Ashton wasn’t interested. Instead, he found one of those small bottles of vodka in the mini bar fridge. Phillip handed him a glass, which Ashton took roughly from the PR guy before pouring the vodka and tonic water carelessly into it. Some of the liquid spilled on the counter, but no one bothered to wipe it up.
“Looks like you are good for the night,” Alex said to Jim.
Jim nodded, exchanged some notes with Damon, and then we all started to head out of the room. I glanced back at Brad once more and found his eyes on me.
“Why don’t you hang around for a little while, Marshall?”
Jim’s eyes met mine, and the little shine in them gave me a pretty good idea that Jim was well aware of Brad Ashton’s preferences. I wondered if he’d ever been asked to hang around as well.
Brad held up his cocktail.
“I hate drinking alone,” he said. He flashed me a toothy, actor-practiced smile. It was probably known to drop panties or something, but I wore boxers.
This was really, really hard to fake.
“Of course, sir,” I replied.
Jim and the others were waved out of the room, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I had gotten to be left alone with him. Of course, the main problem now was the number of people here in his organization who knew my face if not my name. I just needed to work on getting him away from his room now so I wasn’t a completely obvious suspect.
“Please, have a seat.”
I hesitated, and he pointed to the chair next to him.
“Please, I insist.”
“I’m…ah…I’m still on the clock, Mister Ashton,” I said.
“Hmm,” he hummed. “You should call me Brad.”
“Brad,” I replied softly.
He stood and walked towards me, still sipping from his gla
ss of vodka tonic. He came up very close, though not quite touching me. I went back to at attention, which seemed to make his grin wider.
“Am I making you nervous?” he asked as he took another step closer.
“Ah…um…a little,” I admitted. At least I didn’t have to fake that one.
Brad wasn’t one to be dissuaded that easily, though. He tilted his head to one side as he looked me up and down again. His hand moved out as if he was going to touch me, but his fingers didn’t quite make it. Instead, his hand hovered in the air right in front of me.
“You are a…a very well-built young man, Marshall,” Brad said softly.
I smiled slightly and looked down, feigning embarrassment. I tried to will myself to blush, but I wasn’t sure if I was pulling it off or not. This whole plan was actually ending up a lot harder than I thought it would be.
“You aren’t used to men saying that to you, are you?”
“Um…no, sir.” Again, at least I didn’t have to make it up.
“Sir,” he repeated, letting the sound draw out a bit. “You keep calling me that.”
“Sorry, sir…um…sorry.” I took an exaggerated breath and glanced back up at him. “I used to be in the military. Hard habit to break.”
“Yes, Phillip mentioned that,” he murmured as he took one more sip out of his glass before setting it down on the table.
Once his hands were free, he came right back up to me again.
“You are very attractive, too,” he told me. “I bet you have heard that from someone before.”
I swallowed and refused to make eye contact. When I felt his hand on my arm, I followed the motion with my eyes as his fingers traced my flesh down to the end of my sleeve where they met with the back of my bare hand.
“You are at least curious, right?” he said. “I’m not completely off base here, am I? I mean, if I am, say something.”
I let my tongue dart over my lips.
“I…I’m not sure.”
“Have you been with a man before?”
He was a straightforward little fucker at least. I had to give him credit for that.