“I hope not,” Crocker said.
The polished and buffed woman, projecting attitude and entitlement, stopped in front of them and pointed at the empty lounge chair beside Crocker. In a low voice she asked, “This taken?”
“Yes it is, ma’am.” The breasts seemed fake, the lips cosmetically plumped, the skin around her eyes and cheekbones pulled too taut.
“Well, it’s mine now.” She set her bag on it, turned her back to him, and lowered her skinny ass down.
He was going to say that the chair was reserved for someone else but was too polite. If Holly were present she’d have scolded him, saying that off the battlefield he let people push him around. And he’d have responded, “No, baby, I respect people. Besides, some things aren’t worth fighting over.”
As the imaginary argument with Holly continued in his head, Cyndi stepped onto the patio wearing a white baseball hat and a light-blue wrap-type dress, spotted him, and approached.
Her shadow falling over him, she asked, “Tom Crocker?”
He looked up into her sunlit face. An impression formed in his head-friendly, unpretentious, pretty. He stood quickly, smiled, and offered his hand.
“Cyndi? Uh…thanks for coming. It’s really nice to meet you.” He suddenly felt like a teenager on a first date.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Of course. Yes, of course.” He stood up, turned, and offered her his chair.
Without the least bit of modesty or hesitation, she set down her tote, untied the sash around her dress, removed it, folded it, removed her hat, and shook out her shoulder-length blond hair. Her torso, legs, and arms were strong and toned.
Crocker couldn’t help but stare and admire her near-perfect proportions and the radiance of her skin. Now he looked away awkwardly. Behind the magazine, Mancini shot him a pirate’s grin.
“Come with me,” Cyndi said, offering her hand. “Let’s cool off.” So easy and natural, like they’d known each other for years.
He followed into the waist-high water in the circular pool built around a colonnade with a golden statue of Julius Caesar at the center. She reminded him of someone, one of the many girls he had dated in high school.
He was trying to remember the girl’s name as he offered, “It’s really nice to meet you.” Then realized he’d said that already.
“Thanks.”
“So…uh…how do you know Storm?”
“He and my brother went to high school together.”
“Oh, nice.”
She bounced up and down in the water and pushed back her hair.
“You’re in great shape,” she said.
“So are you.”
“Thanks. You coming to the show tonight?” she asked sweetly, shielding her blue eyes with her hand.
“No, tomorrow. I’d like to meet you after, for a drink, if you want.”
“That would be nice.”
She was younger than he had imagined from the photo she had sent of her with her daughter, and slightly taller.
Off to the right, glancing off the water, and over “Summertime” by the Zombies playing over the PA system, he heard a man raise his voice. Even in an intimate moment like this, a part of Crocker remained alert to his surroundings. He noticed a large muscular guy standing before two men sitting on the other side of the pool.
“This your first visit to Vegas?” Cyndi asked, lowering her head into the water, then coming up so that it washed down the front of her pink bikini top.
“No, sixth or seventh. I’ve lost count. I mean, I like it, but it’s really not my kind of place.”
“That’s what everybody says, and they keep coming back.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
The muscular guy seemed to be complaining that the two other men had been taking pictures of his girlfriend. One of the men-who looked Asian-held a camera with a telephoto lens. That appeared to be the problem. The muscular guy in the bathing suit was demanding to see the camera so he could delete the photos. The second man-tall and stocky with short brown hair-gestured to him to go away.
“Something the matter?” Cyndi asked, leaning into him.
“No, no. Not at all.”
“Storm told me a lot about you.”
He blushed like a ten-year-old boy. “Really? What?”
“I’ll tell you later.” She turned, wrapped her legs around his waist, and leaned back in the water. “This helps stretch my back.”
Playful and pretty, just like Storm had said. His gaze traveled up her smooth thighs, past her pelvis, into her waiting eyes. In his head they were already in his room upstairs, making love.
He glanced over her right shoulder past the columns for an instant and saw the two men standing and facing the muscular man and a security guard in a maroon blazer. The one with the camera wore an old-fashioned blue bathing suit and leather sandals. The taller man had on plaid pants, a white polo, and loafers. They both looked out of place.
Foreigners? Crocker wondered. Pervs. Snapping photos of topless women sunning themselves?
Lying back in the water, Cyndi pulled nearer until their crotches were close. He was thinking that it would be so easy to enter her in the pool. All he had to do was lower her legs below the waterline, pull the hem of her bikini bottom aside, and lower his trunks.
He slammed the brakes on that train of thought. He barely knew her. There were hundreds of people in the vicinity. Things were happening too fast.
Before he could say anything, he heard men grunting and looked up to see the muscular guy trying to wrestle the camera away from the Asian man. The guy with the camera kneed him in the crotch, then wheeled and kicked him in the chest, causing the muscular guy to stumble backward and hit the tile deck back first. When the security guard tried to intervene, the tall foreigner shoved him so hard he lost his balance and fell into the pool. The men turned and ran toward the casino just as an old woman stepped onto the patio.
Crocker waded forcefully to the side of the pool and shouted, “Lady, look out!”
She seemed momentarily confused by the sound of his voice and blinded by the sun, so she didn’t step aside when the first man bolted toward her. He was looking over his shoulder as he ran and crashed into her full force, throwing her off her feet and into the planter behind her.
Others nearby were slow to notice, but not Crocker. He turned to Cyndi, muttered “Just a minute,” hopped out of the pool, and gave chase.
Barefoot and wearing only a bathing suit, Crocker ran across the marble floor, trying not to slip or crash into anyone, past the line waiting to get into the Bacchanal Buffet, and veered left onto a long carpeted hallway decorated with large photos of Ancient Rome. The two fleeing men a hundred feet ahead turned right at a sign that read AUGUSTUS TOWER.
Why he was doing this, and why he had left Cyndi waiting in the pool, hadn’t crossed his mind. He had reacted instinctively. Now he pushed hard the 150 feet to catch up. A uniformed guard saw Crocker running toward him and raised his arms to block Crocker’s access to the elevators.
“Sir, easy. Slow down! What seems to be the problem?”
Crocker stopped, chest heaving. Fellow hotel guests of various nationalities stared at the scars covering his torso and arms.
He blurted out, “Those two men who just passed…they assaulted one of your security guards and a guest. They need to be stopped!”
“Oh…Okay, sir,” the guard said. “Yes, I saw them just now. I’ll notify security.”
“No, I’m sorry. That’s not good enough…I need you to let me pass.”
Just then he heard his name being called behind him and turned to see Mancini catching up, the veins standing out on his tattooed neck. He was holding a cell phone, which he pushed toward Crocker. “Boss, it’s Jeri! She wants to speak to you!”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now.”