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Authors: Eric Pete

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BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Chapter 12
“Not at the moment,” Sophia answered. “Didn't think I'd hear from you, Chris.”
“Where's Collette?” I asked, partially regretting this call.
“She's in the next room. Want to talk to her?”
“No. I'll talk to her later.”
Her voice lowered. “Want her to know I'm talking to you on the phone?”
“I'd prefer that she not. Does she know about our run-in at Café Express?”
“No,” she replied. “And I'd prefer that she not.”
“Still looking for work?”
“Of course. Why? You got something for me?” she asked, perking up.
“Research. I need help with my research.”
“Me? I get to help you with your book? Okay. Need me to come over . . . wherever it is that you live? Or do you want to meet somewhere?”
“I'm not in Dallas. I'm in Vegas.”
“You know the music awards are out there, right?”
“I hadn't noticed.”
“Wish I was there.”
“That's why I'm calling.”
 
 
Wearing a sport coat and jeans, I waited for her to emerge down in baggage pickup. The same batch of limo drivers held their signs aloft. This close to the awards show, the names were more familiar—Lenny Kravitz, Kelly Rowland, Maxwell, Tim McGraw, Young Jeezy. One of them I'd done a job for in the past, although they'd never be able to identify me.
The particular lady I was looking for had that same strut as when she emerged from the magazines that day at Borders. She dressed as if she were one of the musical demi-gods descending upon Sin City. Hair pulled back into a single ponytail, brown leather jacket, designer couture T-shirt, and a pair of fitted jeans. For someone in need of ends, she certainly didn't look desperate. It was that whole “model thing” that I preferred in my pawns.
But unlike my other pawns, I was actually here waiting on her, instead of simply dispatching a cab with instructions. Wheeling her carry-on bag behind her, she came directly to me. I stuck out my hand, prepared to thank her for dropping everything, whatever that was, and hopping on a plane at the drop of a dime.
From behind her designer sunglasses, Sophia grin-ned. Instead of taking my hand, she kissed me again. This time I relished partaking of her lips and lustful tongue, savoring the flavorful lip gloss she wore. No point in work without some enjoyment. As our intensity subsided, I backed off slightly.
“What was that for this time?”
“Thanking you again. For getting me out of there,” she said, wiping our excess from the corner of my mouth. “I love Collette to death, but she can be a little boring.”
“I don't equate being cerebral and intelligent with being boring.”
“That's because you got the hots for her.”
I frowned at her brashness and presumptuousness. She hadn't known me long enough.
“Hey, I'm just joking. Don't get all bent over it.” Eyes of almond flashed at me, followed closely by that deadly smile.
I gave in, my smile returning in exchange as I took her bag. “Let's get you out of here,” I said.
We hailed a cab, Sophia working better than an expensive watch ever could. The two of us piled in for the brief drive back to the hotel.
“What did you tell Collette?” I asked, uncomfortable with so many unwritten rules of mine being broken by my actions.
“That I had to run back to Cali to take care of something. . . check on a job,” Sophia recited rather nonchalantly. She was more focused on the world outside the cab as we drove up Koval Lane, avoiding the congestion and confusion of The Strip. Made me wonder if I'd regret this sooner rather than later.
“That didn't sound convincing.”
As suddenly as her focus had drifted, it was right back in the cab with us and on point. “I'm always convincing,” she purred seductively as she squeezed my knee.
At the hotel, I presented Sophia with the key to her room.
“You're in four-oh-five.”
“I'm not staying with you?”
“No. Trying to keep this professional.”
“Trying? I thought you flew me out here to try to seduce me.”
“You think too highly of yourself.”
“Sometimes. That has been a weakness of mine.”
“Any other weaknesses you'd care to share?”
“Men. Sometimes.”
We looked at one another in the lobby. “The spa's really good. Feel free to get a massage or something on me.” I left her with her bags, sticking to my guns. I heard the roll of her luggage wheels across the carpet then onto the marble floors as she followed me to the elevator.
“Why am I here, Chris?” she asked before I'd taken a few good steps inside the lift. I held the door for her then pushed the button to her floor.
“Because I need you to help me,” I replied.
“Oh, yeah. This research you mentioned. Why are we at the Westin anyway? You couldn't get a room for me at the MGM Grand or Bellagio?” she asked, reminding me of Collette's remarks about her cousin's high-end tastes. In reality, I could've afforded a suite in any of the hotels this town had to offer. But I operated safe. Off the radar. I shone only by design—and when I chose to.
“What can I say? I'm an author on a budget.” I sighed, watching the illuminated numbers on the plate above the door as we ascended.
“Bullshit. You're not an author.”
“Have you ever met one?”
“No, but I've met plenty of schemers. What do you want from me, Chris?”
“You want it plain, Sophia?”
“I'd prefer.”
“I need you to do what I say, without a bunch of questions, and I will pay you. Can you handle that?”
“I'm here,” she taunted.
“That you are,” I said as the doors opened on the fourth floor. “Meet me in the lobby once you get settled in. Then we'll get to work.”
Chapter 13
“How did you know my size?” she said softly as we walked past the very valet attendant who'd assisted me. If he recognized me, he gave no indication. His thoughts were on all five-foot-eight of Sophia's body that lay barely concealed by the silk in which his eyes were burning a hole.
“You're a model. I guessed.”
“You're lying. You must've been checking me out.”
The way she wore her hair up was nice.
“Get over yourself,” I grunted, not daring to admit she was right. The camera I'd placed in her room didn't hurt in “guessing” what would befit a sensual shape like hers.
She gave me a stiff jab with her elbow. I pretended to be annoyed.
“Do you like it?” I asked of the chic silver Donna Ricco bubble dress she wore as if made solely for her. The bow at the back of the strapless number gave the impression of a splendid gift waiting to be opened by the right person, if he were lucky. I guessed right with the size 8 sandals.
“I love it,” Sophia squealed, tightening her grip on my hand. Mere days ago, she was broke and desperate. For what I required, I hoped the desperation remained.
Along with throngs of arriving guests, gamblers, and simple partygoers such as us, Stratus welcomed all to its grand foyer. On time, an acrobat swooped just over our heads in a choreographed dance meant to impress and draw our attention to the domed atrium above. In the center of the ceiling was the see-through floor belonging to Stratus's signature night club, Soar.
Oooh
s and
aah
s came from the uninitiated. From the eccentric and equally eclectic super producer SmithSonian, who was there to check in, came his typical, “No flying while intoxicated, honey!” to the acrobat as she returned on scarves on high to her overheard perch.
Penny Antnee and his entourage strode into the hotel on cue, worming through the crowd as if a colony of ants. As they sought out the elevators, a small girl, weaned on daily doses of MTV, snapped a blurry picture with her cell phone. She pouted over the poor results.
“Lemme see,” I said to her. She looked up, perhaps wondering who this fresh-to-def brother might be, before handing her phone over. From my vantage point, I aimed the Kyoc-era and snapped a good one of Penny, catching that famous tat-covered limb too. Penny's Haitian buddy with the ill temper was with them. He looked me dead in the eye as he fumbled with his phone, but absent any recognition from that night back in Houston. Moving on from me, his eyes fixated on Sophia's legs, but ended at the dress that began just above her knees. The gift wasn't for him, whether he was naughty or nice. He resumed his cellular dilemma, continuing his brisk pace to catch up with his boys. Call it a hunch, but that one I had to be careful of. As they disappeared from view, I returned the camera phone to the little girl and patted her on her head. Her father thanked me for being so kind.
“What are we here to do? What's the mission?” Sophia asked, unfazed by the sight of Penny Antnee and other celebrities milling around us. I hadn't expected her focus to be so keen.
“No mission,” I answered, gripping her soft hand. “I just want you to have some fun.”
The lie out of the way, I led her to the elevators.
 
 
We made it inside just before the occupancy cutoff at Soar, Stratus's hallmark rooftop nightclub, famed for its panoramic view of the Las Vegas skyline, and the transparent floor located in the center of the club. Penny and his boys had joined Natalia and her party in VIP.
The DJ spun some Kaskade, Paul Oakenfold, Rihanna and Wisin y Yandel to get the joint moving. But it was the singles by the sexy UK duo Booty Luv that sent Natalia into an impressive lip-sync rendition in front of her friends. When the DJ realized Natalia was in the house, he quickly did an intro and put on her music to cheers from their group. During all the excitement, I led Sophia closer.
Just outside VIP, I talked up a pair of newlyweds from Nebraska, in the process learning that Omaha had more black people than I gave it credit for. To them, Sophia and I were a couple who drove in from California to taste the good life. Every few sentences, I would gawk at the excess. Over the music, Sophia couldn't tell what I was saying to them, but she knew I was full of shit. She stayed at my side, enjoying the drinks I was paying for and showing her appreciation by backing that thang into me on occasion when the beat or mood hit her.
It wasn't too long before she tired of my new friends and ran off with me. On the dance floor's edge, she pulled me closer and kissed me again. This one lasted longer than the others, but the timetable ticking in my head allowed me to retain some composure. Penny's boys had reached the DJ, coaxing him to play some of Penny's non-radio-friendly hits.
“I know we're not here for fun,” she yelled in my ear over the music. “What's the deal? Tell me what you need me to do. I mean it.”
I said nothing at first. “I need you in there,” I admitted as my eyes led her to VIP.
“I knew that's why you were standing around there. No way in hell that boring-ass couple is as exciting as me,” she remarked, dabbing a finger in her drink and sucking the sweet liquor from it. “Who? Natalia, or that rapper Pretty Anthony?”
“You know who they are?”
“Duh,” she said, giving me the stupid-face. I hated when people did that.
“And his name is
Antnee
. Penny Antnee.”
“Whatever. I'm not big on rap.”
“Well, you're going to need to know his name.”
“He's my mark? What do you need? His wallet? Credit cards? Get him back to his room and knock him out?” She seemed to revel in her knowledge of things most scandalous.
“Damn. You don't play,” I said, marveling at her bluntness.
“I'm no virgin.”
“I don't know what I need yet. Just get in there with them and see what you come up with.”
“Those boys of his look rough. I'm not getting caught in a gang bang, no matter what you're paying me.”
“I'm not interested in him. It's Natalia that I need stuff on.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. But if you get both of them back to the suite, that's okay.”
“I knew you were a freak, Chris. But that's okay,” she said, placing a kiss on my cheek. “'Cause I am too.”
She abandoned me. Began her methodic move toward the restricted area, where champagne had begun flowing by the buckets, compliments of the platinum-selling nominee for Artist of the Year worth far more than a penny.
On the outside railing, I took note of an overly intoxicated starlet vomiting as she prayed to distant Luxor at the other end of The Strip. Katelyn McMahon, eager for press of any kind. While she hurled, her socialite pseudo-friend was busy shoving her tongue down the throat of Katelyn's boyfriend while he felt her up. I discreetly took out my camera phone, trying to decide what embellishments I would add to the photo's story. Once back at the room, I was going to throw a bone to the online press for a nice fee, all at Katelyn's expense.
Over by VIP, Sophia had approached the two large club employees, defenders against anything or anyone lacking status. One look at her and she was allowed to enter the Promised Land with no hassles.
Champagne mists hovered in the air behind her, bottles erupting in sprays under pressure. Across the invisible line, she smiled at me, escaping the pull of my gravity so she could move into the orbit of musical giants.
I slyly nodded and smiled back, impressed, for I knew Sophia would exceed my expectations.
BOOK: Crushed Ice
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