At the front of the line, a man waved to me. The well-known actor’s lips spread in an affable grin. My distaste for the man returned with immediate effect. I had to suppress the sneer that threatened to surface.
“Hey,” Vivien said, recognition in her tone, “isn’t that the actor in that movie that’s coming out,The Red Room?”
“Bradley Hansen,” I confirmed. Then looking at Vivien, I said, “You remember this second-rate actor, but you don’t recall your own name?”
She shrugged, “I also remember the lyrics to Britney Spears’ “Oops I did it again,” that Raphael was the hottest ninja turtle, and to never eat yellow snow.”
“It doesn’t snow in Vegas.”
“I never said it did. I was merely pointing out how smart and worldly I am.”
Before I could ask what a ninja turtle was, Bradley redoubled his efforts to wave us over. “Hey Grim, any way you can tell these guys who I am?” He hooked a thumb at my doormen with a derisive snort.
Oh, I would help him, alright.
“Holy shit, that’s terrifying,” Vivien said under her breath.
“What?”
“Your smile. Like a shark who just spotted his lunch.”
“This will only take a moment,” I said, leading her over to the actor. His entourage consisted of two men and three women.
Satisfaction settled in the actor’s eyes as we approached. The women, poised around Bradley, shifted their attention to me. They each shot me seductive glances full of promise. Many more in line goggled at me as well.
I was accustomed to this. I could practically taste it on the masses in Vegas—a death wish. Part of me surged up to greet their desire and rip their souls from their bodies. People came here for indulgence and pleasure, giving up their cares and letting go a little. But there was a dark side to letting go. Many tourists flirted with the line, if not crossed it, during their stay in Sin City. Perhaps it was one of the reasons I felt so at-home here.
These girls were professional. They knew how to make Bradley look like fun, which was probably how they’d secured a spot at his side. I disliked women being treated like commodities, even if they were amenable to such arrangements.
Giving Vivien’s arm a warning squeeze, I released her to approach Bradley.
“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum here don’t think I am the right element for this club,” Bradley said. “Can you believe it?”
The bouncers, Jerome and Nick, remained stone-faced even in the wake of Bradley’s insult. They would act with the utmost courtesy until it was otherwise necessary. After Timothy’s initial screenings, I personally interviewed and selected every staff member for Sinopolis. They were generously compensated, treated with respect, and in return they were each accountable for their professionalism and duty. I was rarely disappointed.
Vivien stayed rooted where she was as if waiting for something to happen. I really didn’t have the time to stop, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Mr. Hansen, when was the last time you stayed with us?” I asked, my smile widening. Only one man shifted, his eyebrows knitting to meet each other with worry. Perhaps he saw what Vivien had.
Bradley dropped his hand once he realized I wasn’t going to shake it, but his smile didn’t wane. “Yeah, it’s been a year since I’ve been able to get back here.”
“Has it been a year already?” My surprise was as fake as his veneers. “Oh yes, I remember. You had several young ladies with you then as well, one of them I recall in particular. What was her name again?” I pretended to think, dropping my hand to hover at about five feet. “Madeleine. Cute little French girl as I recall.”
Some of the sparkle left Bradley’s eyes. “Oh yeah? I hang out with so many people, I don’t recall.” He brightened, composure regained. “But I’m sure you’re right, big man. So what about getting us in tonight? I’d be happy to lend you another lovely lady for your other arm since you’re one short and I’m one too many.”
He leaned to the side to leer at Vivien. My blood boiled, and my teeth clenched so hard I was surprised they didn’t crack. I desired to rip his head off and punt it into the crowd where they could bat it around like a volleyball. But he deserved even worse than that.
I threw my arm around Bradley, leading him away from his companions. Our backs were now to everyone but Vivien, who watched the scene with interest. “Yes, I recall. You called herMad who wants it bad,didn’t you?” My voice was deceptively light, but all good humor drained from Bradley’s face.
My words grew increasingly chilly as I went on. “The cleaning staff discovered her in a near-destroyed suite. She was left behind as if she were a piece of garbage.”
To Bradley’s acting credit, he seemed positively befuddled. The picture of innocent concern. “Listen, man—”
I didn’t let him finish. “She was strung up, covered in maple syrup and vodka. Strangled in what looked to be an overzealous sexual fervor.”
The scene stayed with me. To have such a reprehensible thing happen on my grounds was unacceptable. I craved violence and retribution on that poor girl’s behalf. And I would get my chance.
“That was two weeks after I was in town,” Bradley protested. “The girl was up in drugs and all kinds of shit. Who knows who did that to her. I hear you though, it’s tragic.”
