HARD
ROCK
The limousine approaches the
casino and I grip Ray’s hand tighter. I haven’t been to Hard Rock since the
wedding and can’t help feeling nostalgia for the times I spent here with Mr.
Brown. Those days will go with me to my grave, for I shall never tell Ray. Some
secrets need to be kept buried and safe from the loving eyes of significant
others. Or from husbands.
After we park, Ray takes me
by the arm and escorts me into the casino, the loud rock music a welcome
reminder of the past. The bustle of tourists and noise warms my heart and I
pull closer to Ray, snuggling against his thick pea coat as we approach the
center bar. Not far behind, I see two men following us and know without asking
Ray they are cops. Always being followed.
Ray pulls a stool out for me
and I sit, waiting for the bartender to take our order.
“What can I get you?” a
young man of college age asks.
“A bottle of your finest
champagne. And send a couple of beers to those two cops over there,” Ray tells
him, pointing the men out to the bartender.
“Right away, sir,” he says
when Ray hands him a stack of money.
“You don’t have to tip that
much, you know.”
Before Ray can answer, the
bartender returns with champagne and two glasses. He nods and smiles as if to
tell me the results justify the expense. Barkeep fills the glasses and leaves.
Ray hands me a glass before lifting the other for a toast.
“You know what day it is?”
he asks, leaning close to me.
“How could I not?” I say.
“Happy anniversary. The best
six months of my life.”
I sip the champagne in
silence and think about his toast. It’s hard to believe we have only been
married six months. The crazy events of summer made way for us to begin our
lives together.
He pulls
me from my reverie by tapping my shoulder and pointing across the bar. I see a
beautiful woman crying and dabbing a kerchief at the side of her mouth, trying
to stop the bleeding coming from a split lip. I watch her order a double from
the bartender and down it, ordering another one immediately.
“There must
be a story,” I say, watching the woman. She looks middle-eastern, with dark
olive skin and near black eyes and hair. Her gaze catches mine and I can see
the anger in her eyes.
“Leave
it alone, don’t get involved,” Ray says, holding my arm and preventing me from
getting off the stool. I glare at his hand and that is enough for him to
release his grip.
“I will
only be a minute, I swear.”
The
woman sees me approach and orders another drink. As I turn the corner to her
side of the bar, I can see she wears a black silk dress that appears to be torn
in a few places. I take the stool next to her and ask the bartender for two
shots of tequila. He gives me the shots and I push one towards the woman.
“I’m
Ella.”
She nods
and throws the shot back without answering, continuing to press the cloth to
her lip.
“You
should put ice on that,” I say, signaling once more to the barkeep and asking
for a bag and ice. Handing it to her, I get a closer look at her face. Her dark
eyes are beautiful and I know it must have been a man that put the tears in
them.
“Thank
you,” she answers, fresh tears coming.
“What
happened? You get in a fight?”
With a
laugh, she pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lights one. She offers
one to me and I take it, wanting to hear her story.
“Hazards
of the job.”
I look
at her, waiting for her to continue. What job?
“I’m a
stripper. Here doing a private show for a bachelor party. Things got out of
control and one of the guys whacked me around a bit. I’ll be okay.”
I take a
drag and keep quiet. Does this happen a
lot? Knowing men, I’d bet it does.
“The guy
assumed he’d get more than a striptease. Didn’t even pay me.”
Of
course. Most men are violent scum that need to be removed from the playing
field of life.
“They
are staying in the hotel?”
She
answers yes with a nod, wiping tears from her eyes. I look across at Ray and
know his patience won’t last long. I blow him a kiss and turn back to the
woman.
“How
many guys are up there?”
She
tilts her head to look more closely at me, not understanding what I am getting
at. “Four, but one already passed out.”
“Let’s
go up there and get your money.”
“Are you
serious?”
“I don’t
joke when it comes to money,” I say, signaling for Ray to come join us. He pays
the bartender and grabs his coat before making the walk around the bar. “This
is my husband. He is one of the few good men.”
She
makes a small gesture of greeting and turns back to me. “Are you sure we’ll be
okay? It got pretty ugly up there.”
I pat
her hand with mine and get up from the stool, extending my arm to tell her to
lead the way. We follow her to the elevator and once inside, I can’t suppress
sadness when I look at the floor number I used to share with Mr. Brown.
However, she presses a different floor and I shake the memory from my mind.
With a *ding*, the doors opens and Ray and I follow her down the hall. Music
blares from within and I know we have the right door.
Ray
pounds on the door and it doesn’t take more than a moment for it to open. I see
a youngish looking man with wild ginger hair staring back, obviously quite
drunk and swaying side to side in the entryway. He sees the woman behind me and
lets out a howl that brings the other two men to the door.
“She’s
back for more,” he yells, taking a swig from a 40 ounce bottle of cheap beer.
“We are
here for the money you owe,” I say, pushing my way into the room. Ray follows
close behind and the woman stays near the door, looking like she may bolt at
any moment.
“She
didn’t earn it, but you can gorgeous.”
Shaking
my head, I take off my jacket and motion for Ray to close the door. After he
does, I open my purse and remove the handgun Ray gave me for my birthday.
“I’m
going to give you two options. Before I do, shut the music off.”
None of
the three men make a move to obey, so I slam my hand on the end table next to
the chair.
“Now!” I
scream. One of the boys finally shuts off the stereo and the noise seems to
hang in the air before drifting away. A clock ticks near the bed and the men
watch me, waiting. “I’m glad I finally have your attention.”
“We’ll
pay the money…” the man that opened the door begins to say, but I cut him short
and put a finger to my lips for him to be quiet.
“Which
one of these creeps hit you?” I ask the woman. She indicates the first man with
a nod.
“I
didn’t mean it…” he starts, but again I cut him short.
I light
a cigarette and motion for him to sit in the chair next to me.
“You
have two options. Submit to my justice or we call the police. I happen to know
a few personally and they would be quite happy to do more than follow me around
all day. I’m sure they would like some action.”
“Please,
no police. I’ll do anything.”
I sure
enjoy it when a man begs.
“Do you
happen to have rope?” I ask. He stares at me in confusion and shakes his head
in the negative. With a shrug, I tell Ray to give me his belt and take the one
the man is wearing as well. I toss the gun to Ray and tell him to mind the
other two, though in truth I don’t expect much from either one. They seem scared
enough to piss themselves, huddling in the corner as far from me as possible.
I use
each belt to secure one of the man’s arms to the bed. Looking at the woman, I
can see she doesn’t have a clue about what I plan on doing and neither does the
man. As I pull his pants down, his erection springs up at me and I can’t help
smiling. It’s quite an impressive cock.
“That’s
pretty nice,” I say, rubbing my hand along the shaft until a pearl drop of cum
glistens the tip.
He
groans and watching me wrap my hand around it and slowly start squeezing and
pulling. His eyes snap shut and I reach for my purse, getting my knife from the
side pouch. He doesn’t see me do it, too intent on the pleasure I give with my
hands. As his breathing gets heavier, I use my free hand to cup his balls,
trying to make him cum. Within moments, his cock twitches in my palm and begins
to erupt, shooting an impressive load on my dress.
“That’s
a lot of cum,” I say, taking the knife in one hand and holding his balls
against the bed with the other.
“Maybe I
should pay you instead,” he says weakly, trying to catch his breath.
“Don’t
thank me yet,” I say, bringing the blade down on his balls, severing them from
his torso.
The
volume of the scream startles me and it takes me a moment to jam a sheet into
his mouth. He kicks at me franticly, but the deed is done and I throw the
remains in the trash can. I look to the others, but his two friends appear
frozen, not moving and even daring to look me in the eyes.
“Nooooo,”
he screams into the sheets.
One of
his friends finally springs to live and lunges for the knife in my hand. Before
he can reach me I hear the gunshot and I watch him fall in a writhing heap at
the foot of the bed. The third man holds his hands in the air as if to
surrender, but Ray strides towards him and fires a single shot, hitting the man
between the eyes. The man on the bed continues to scream and gush blood, a
constant ebb of his life flickering.
I look
at the woman and hold the knife in her direction, but she shakes her head once
more. She looks shaken, but less so than most under these circumstances. I
shrug and lift the knife high, bringing it down with force into the man’s
heart. Within moments his eyes shut forever.
“It’s
time for us to go,” I say. I get my phone out of the purse and tap a button to
make a phone call. “Room 1204. Make it fast.”
MEET
THE HOLDENS
The woman follows us to the
front entrance of the casino and stands with us as we wait for the limousine.
She keeps quiet and smokes one cigarette after the next. When the driver opens
the door for Ray, I let Ray get inside and wait for a few moments so I can
speak to her.
“I think maybe you should
come home with us for the night. I think that cut needs a few stitches and
George is handy with a needle.”
“Who is George?” she asks,
dark eyes flashing with suspicion.
“The butler.”
“A butler?”
“In truth, he means a lot
more than that to me, but there isn’t a title to give him that covers it all.”
With a shrug, she gets into
the limousine and sits between Ray and I. The driver takes Las Vegas Boulevard.
He knows how much I love the view.
“This city is pretty at
night,” I say.
“How long have you been
married?” she asks, ignoring my attempt at small talk.
“Six months today,” I say,
reaching over her lap and squeezing Ray’s hand.
I pull my hand away quickly,
not wanting to make her uncomfortable after the evening’s events. Opening my
purse, I take a pipe and baggie out and begin packing the bowl. I hand it to
her and offer her the first hit of green. Taking it from me, she takes a puff
before passing it to Ray. He holds up his hand, passing.
“He doesn’t smoke anymore.
Hasn’t since he gave up writing.”
“Ah,” the woman says.
The limousine stops at a
streetlight and I see the water show at the Bellagio begin. Oh, how I love the
Bellagio!
“So, what’s your name?” I
ask. I’m dying to know.
She chews her split lip for
a moment before answering. “You can call me Ana.”
That doesn’t sound like a stripper
stage name, so I remain silent and nod. The car moves with traffic and I turn
my head to look at the show as long as possible.
“I love the Bellagio. It’s
my favorite place in the city.”
“This city is a shit-hole
without culture,” Ana says, taking another hit from the pipe.
I can’t disagree with the
general sentiment. The entirety of culture boils down to the ringing of bells
as people hit jackpots on slot machines. I can’t remember the last time someone
started a conversation by telling me about the last book they read. I might die
of a heart attack.
“You will see culture at the
mansion.”
“Mansion,” she repeats after
me.
“Like I said, you will see.”
The driver turns onto our private
Avenue, lined with maple, oak and other assorted trees, leading to a roundabout
that contains a massive fountain with water jets emanating from the marbled
edges. A massive mansion sits at the end of the avenue, extending in all
directions with a myriad of buildings and a line of trees ringing the
property’s perimeter. The car stops and George rushes from the front entrance
to greet us.
“I am pleased to welcome you
to Holden Farms West.”
Ana smiles in spite of the
cryptic greeting and follows us inside.
“You can’t really own this
place.”
High heels clicking on
marble, I show Ana around the first floor, with George acting as tour guide
announcing each room.
“The house has ten bedrooms,
twelve and a half baths as well as many other amenities, including three stables,
dog kennels with a pack of beagles, a movie theater, a shooting range, a
private night club, three private pools, a car showroom that I have filled with
Ray’s private collection, three libraries, a billiard and game room, two gyms,
five guesthouses of varying sizes, an art gallery, a formal ballroom, and
lastly, but not least, a private nine hole golf course. All told, the mansion
is some twenty one thousand square feet on a lot of five acres, which is
enormous by Las Vegas standards,” George says to nobody in particular. Ana
looks at me, shaking her head.
“This place feels like a
museum. How many people live here?”
“People that count this place as an address-
twenty, counting servants.”
“So much wasted space,” Ana says, once again
shaking her head. “Nobody needs this much money.”
“I agree. I never set out to
be this rich. However, don’t judge until you have seen everything. Some things
are not as they appear.”
George opens the back
entrance and leads them down a long hallway to an adjoining building that looks
similar to a military barracks. He punches a security code into the keypad next
to the door and a bell signals the lock is open. Ana and Ella follow him
inside. A multitude of noises, in contrast with the quiet of the mansion causes
Ana to stop. The room teems with people, most sitting at computer terminals
wearing headsets and tapping away at social media sites.
“What is this?” Ana asks,
moving closer to the wall, which is lined with computer stations. Most of those
sitting at computers are women, though some are older men.
“We hire the homeless of Las
Vegas to promote issues important to women’s rights on social media.”
“Charity?”
“No,” Ella responds
immediately. “We pride ourselves in paying more than any other employer in
Nevada. We offer full health, dental, life insurances as well as housing. This
building serves both as headquarters for our social media efforts and a
dormitory for those that wish to live on premise.”
Ana stands behind one woman
and watches her send tweets, emails and other communications asking
constituents to vote for women on local ballots. A large sign dominates the
wall above the computer terminals.
In
the next century, women will RISE.
“Intense,” Ana says,
watching on woman putting together a mailing list for a national candidate.
“We are committed to
electing women to local, state and national offices. Considering women
currently hold only 20% of the seats of power nationally, we have a long, hard
climb ahead of us.”
“How well does this pay?”
Ana asks.
“We haven’t had anyone
quit.”
“Impressive.”
“Thank you. And enough
serious talk for now. I want a drink,” Ella says, grabbing Ana by the hand and
leading her back to the mansion. George follows at a short distance and waits
by the door of the billiard room while Ella pours two glasses of whiskey.
“Cheers,”
Ana says, holding out her glass.
I smile
and sip my drink, wondering about this new acquaintance. Ray will enjoy having
her around the mansion, I can tell you that much.
“Come
with me. I have someone to show you.”
Leading
the way outside, I unlock the gate and follows the gravel path toward the guest
house.
“Be
careful in your heels, this gravel isn’t very safe. I promise to replace it
soon.”
Stopping
at the door, I search my purse for the key.
“I still
can’t believe what happened at Hard Rock,” Ana says as I struggle to find the
correct key for the lock.
I pause
for a moment and catches Ana’s gaze. “Nobody will miss men like that. I believe
women everywhere are responsible for making sure those type of men stay around to breed.”
“I
suppose you are right,” Ana says, but her voice sounds thin and unsure.
“Men
have been raping and killing us for centuries. If women ever want to be equal,
we can’t accept those conditions any longer. Rape shall be punishable by
death,” I say as the lock finally yields and I lead the way inside. Ana follows
me up the stairs and we stop at the door to the main guest bedroom.
“What’s
in here?” Ana asks.
“A
present,” I say, opening the door. Ana puts a hand to her mouth when she sees
John tied to the bed. He starts to thrash and fight against the restraints when
he sees us. I approach the bed and remove the sheet from his mouth. He lets out
a string of profane abuse aimed at me, but I ignore him and go to the bathroom
to fetch him a cup of water.
“Who is
he?”
Ignoring
her, I put the cut to his chafed lips. “Drink and be quiet.”
He does
as I tell him and drinks greedily at the water until I pull it away. “Thank
you.”
“What
type of present is this?” Ana asks, eyes squinting in confusion.
I pull
back the covers to expose him and Ana gasps. Women always understand these
things. “This is quite a cock.”
“I’ll
say,” Ana says, leaning closer to have a better view.
My phone
buzzes with a new text message and I look at the screen. Ray wants to talk to
me. Can’t keep the husband waiting, now can I? What kind of wife would I be?
“Stay
here as long as you wish. You can find whiskey and anything else you want
behind the bar in the next room. For now, I have important business.”
Without
waiting for a response, I run from the room and retrace my steps to the main
entrance. I see a car parked at an odd angle and I wonder who the visitor might
be this late in the evening. As I open the door, I hear Ray speaking with
someone in the library and immediately I recognize the voice. Entering the
room, I see Marcus sitting in a lounger holding a beer in one hand and a small
disk in the other.
When he
sees me, a smile appears on his face, though I can’t understand why he might be
happy to meet again after our last encounter. “Hello, Marcus. It’s been a
while.”
“Indeed.
I hate to barge in uninvited, but I have something to show you,” he says,
holding up the disk for me to see.
“A
movie?” I ask.
“Not at
all. It’s security camera footage from the Hard Rock. Dated tonight.”
I sigh
and walk towards the bar to make myself a drink. I think I will need a double.
FBI
“What can I do for you, Marcus?” Ray
asks him after I join them with my drink.
“Dispense
with the pleasantries, I see. Very well,” he said, placing the disk on the
table in front of Ray. “You can have that.”
“That’s
nice of you,” Ray says, stowing it in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
“Wait,
what will this cost us?” I ask.
Leaning
back in the ottoman, Marcus pulls a cigar from his leather jacket and clips the
end off without taking his eyes off me. With slow intermittent puffs, he lights
the cigar and pushes it to the side of his mouth.
“Consider
that a gift. It didn’t take much of a favor to take custody of the evidence
from hotel security. No, I’m not here for that.”
My
stomach drops and I imagine the worst. He will arrest me or tell me it will
happen at any moment. I feel lightheaded and take a long sip of whiskey.
He pulls
a photograph from his pocket and slides it toward me on the table. I see a
young man with a shaven head staring back at me in a nut house jump suit. Do I
know this man?
“We’ve
followed him for years. Like certain other serial killers tracked by the FBI,
this one continues to elude capture.”
I’ll ignore that.
Instead of responding, I
lift my drink to Ray. I have a feeling I will need more.
“We almost caught him in New
York, but he shot an agent. Long story short, he got away,” he says, puffing
smoke in my general direction.
Waving at the air until I
can see him, I can feel myself getting angry. “What does this have to do with
me? Stop with the mystery and tell me.”
Instead of answering, he
points with his free hand at the cigar and Ray jumps to bring him an ashtray.
After placing the cigar on it, he turns back to me.
“Your pictures were like
wallpaper in his apartment. I’ve never seen such obsession and coming from me,
I’m quite sure you know that means something.”
Is
he a fan, friend or foe? I’m still not sure I understand.
“Ok, Marcus. Just tell me
already. Why should I be afraid of this man?”
He grabs a briefcase from
the floor and places in on the table. It takes him a moment to put in the lock
combination, which only serves to irritate me. Removing a manila color file folder,
he pushes it across the table to me as he did the picture. I open it to find a
quantity of pictures all of the same scene: mutilated young, pretty blonde
models. Some of the bodies were cut a multitude of times, faces damaged beyond
any possibility of recognition.
“Models. I am a writer.”
“I don’t think your opinion
on the subject matters much to a killer like Billy.”
I shrug my shoulders, but I
can’t disagree with him. “I thought his name was John?”
Removing another file from
the briefcase, he begins to read.
Billy
Morse. Born in Utica, New York on December 3rd 1983. Parents
deceased, no surviving relatives. Attended two years of state college before
moving to New York City. First murder of a model from Italy in NYC for a
fashion show in fall of 2007.
“Shall I continue?” he asks.
I shake my head, but he
slides it to me anyway. Skimming the details, I read of subsequent murders and
models disappearing being connected to him.
“Twelve dead. I don’t know
whether to be scared for myself or sad for your lack of skills in the area of
apprehending these dangerous killers.”
He bursts into laughter and
I can’t help laugh along with him. “Said without a hint of irony, eh?”
“None at all,” I say. “What
makes you think he will come to Vegas?”
“An agent followed his trail
and it led right to your door.”
There
is no such thing as coincidence.
“Does this agent have a
thick woodsman’s beard? You know, like those athletes that don’t cut their
beards in the playoffs because of superstition?”
Marcus shook his head from
side to side, slowly. The import took a few seconds to claw its way through the
clutter in my mind and the first thought I have: Ana!
Rushing from the room, I run
to the guest house once more. I have no idea what I will find. I don’t know
which one I might find dead. Ray keeps pace with me, gun in hand and aimed over
my shoulder. Pushing against the door, I burst into bedroom. No one in the
room. Continuing into the bedroom and dressing area, I find no sign of Ana or
Billy.
“Ella, come back,” Ray says.
He stands by the end table next to the bed, an envelope in his hands. “It’s
addressed to you.”
Using my finger, I open the
envelope and remove a single piece of hotel stationary.
“Thank
you for the hospitality,” I read out to Ray and Marcus. “That’s it?”
Ray pulls the note from my
hands and studies each side, as if doubting my reading skills. Shaking his
head, he gives the paper to Marcus. “Well, Marcus? What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answers,
staring at the sheet for some time. He folds it and stuffs it in his jacket.
“Did he kill Ana?” I ask.
“Ana?” Marcus asks, but
doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It doesn’t matter. Could Ana use your ID to get
into a club? If not, he didn’t kill her.”
I can’t help laughing,
because knowledge fills me: Ana lives. I hope to see her again. To be
responsible makes me shudder. I can’t let anything happen to her.
“What will he do now?” I
ask. As soon as I speak I know Marcus can’t tell me anything of use, even if he
did know.
“He will be coming for you
again. Having built you up to be the signature trophy kill of his career, I
estimate the chances he walks away…to be very remote.”
“Are you certain he wants to
kill me?” I ask. I am not certain of that fact. At all. Perhaps our dalliance
soured his opinion of me, but I do not believe he came to Vegas to kill me.
“Billy interests me, but I
am not the agent on his case, so I can only offer you my opinion, which may or
may not be accurate.”
“You can dispense with the
lawyer speech with me of all people, can we agree?” I ask, shaking my head. I
add, “If you don’t have anything more for me, I’m going to bed.”
“Just the matter…” he starts
to say, but I cut him short.
“Ray, pay that man his
money,” I say and walk from the room.
