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  He left the room. All eyes on him as he gathered his clothes and whispered to Jessica, “Yeah, I’d better leave. She’s shook up.”

  Jessica laid her hand on his back as he bent over to pull on his socks. “Really, this isn’t fair to you. Maybe we can set up something for tomorrow. It’ll be better. Do you like older women, because I’ve got this project—”

  “That’s…that’s okay, really. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll call you tonight and we can set it up.”

  He shook her hand, said “Okay, sure,” but didn’t plan on being around that night. He was going to take Divinity out for the time of her life, an apology without the words, without her even knowing that’s what it was.

  Dino shrugged and said, “Dude, I wished it hadn’t ended like this. A pleasure working with you.”

  Hopper plastered on a fake smile and kept himself from throwing up from the heat, the grease, the smell of ass and come and fruit, as he got the hell out of that apartment.

  At the hotel, Hopper walked into the room and found Divinity, still damp from a shower, sundress stuck to her back, at the computer. She had taken several pages of scrawled notes. He sat on the bed as she launched into her findings and theories.

  Hopper interrupted. “I found her.”

  “You did? How?”

  “Talked to an actor who knew her, pointed the way.” The lie came out easily. He’d practiced the entire walk back. “She doesn’t want to go back.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “She’s happy making porn.”

  D shrugged. “If you got it, flaunt it. What’s next? You’re not going to rat her out, I hope.”

  “Absolutely not. Promise.” He held up his palm like taking an oath. Cynthia had been D’s friend, and while she didn’t blame Hopper for the missing girl’s suicide attempt, she hoped he had learned a lesson from it. “I gave her the number here. She’ll call if she changes her mind.”

  D held up a thumb-and-index finger circle. “Aye, aye. Good job.”

  He let himself drop onto the mattress, blew out a long sigh, and said, “Now let’s go hit up the buffet and get some martinis in you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Like you said—when are we going to be in Vegas again?”

  Hopefully never.

  They filled up on egg rolls and pizza and prime rib, enjoying the cheap eats and the atmosphere of tourists, both the young in pimp suits trying to impress, and the old wearing sandals and socks and fanny packs. Sun visors. D thought those were great and bought one herself.

  They found a martini bar in the Bellagio, Divinity a big fan of flavored vodkas and novelty drinks. She had a Cherry Bomb followed by a Chocolate Sundae, and then a plain ol’ slug of Stoli to cleanse the palette. Hopper hated vodka, so he sipped on a Dirty Gin with four olives, barely able to stomach that either. His body was a temple, one constantly defiled by anonymous fornication, but still a temple. If anything surprised him on the trip, it had been the fruit layout at the porn shoot, these folks keeping themselves in tip-top shape for their craft. Athletes. They were more alike than Hopper cared to admit.

  Divinity dragged him up to the top of the Stratosphere where they dangled and spun high above the city on a new carnival ride, laughing and screaming and forgetting all about the past few days of beatings, lies, and betrayal. Later they played roulette at the Mirage, and then Hopper watched from the rail as Divinity chewed an unlit cigar and lost a couple of hundred at a low-stakes poker table. She was having the time of her life, and he enjoyed being there for every minute of it. It was working out sweeter than he had planned.

  Maybe he was wrong about Vegas. If it brought out this fresh and loyal attitude in the girl, why not ask her to marry him—tonight—and settle down in town? What else was keeping him in New Orleans besides his sister? He could pull a couple of markers inherited from his mentors to get a job in security at one of the casinos. Most of D’s credits would transfer to the university here, and she could try her hand at poker most nights. He’d stake her. Money wasn’t a problem.

  Your sister.

  How would he explain? What would she do to sabotage it? If it didn’t work on him, what would she do to Divinity…

  He smiled as D pulled in a pot singing, “Na na na-na na…” from an old Journey song. She held up her cards—a five and an eight. Stone cold bluff.

  Same as his Vegas fantasy. Nothing real to it.

  That night they fucked all over the room—watching themselves in the bathroom mirror, watching the city below as he took her from behind, making a mess of the 69 until they both collapsed laughing, Divinity flat on her back, still laughing, as she spread her legs far and pointed her toes, Hopper working a rhythm the whole time. He loved to see her tightly muscled legs flexed like that, her smile wide and toothy, until he came inside her. She caught his face between her fingertips and kissed him for what seemed like hours until he rolled off her. D curled up beside him, her lips pecking little kisses all over his chest. He liked the way her sweaty skin felt against his own.

  “I can’t imagine ever getting tired of you,” she said. “It’s starting to hit me. Being with you is always like diving into cold water, that kind of thrill.”

  He was glad to hear it.

  Which is why he was surprised the next morning to find her gone.

  For the first hour he wasn’t concerned—a dip in the pool, he thought. Coffee, a newspaper. Souvenir shopping.

  The second hour, Hopper ran through scenarios. She had gotten freaked by the intimacy and gone home. But he still saw her bag in the corner and her laptop on the desk. Could’ve been freaked enough to take off without it all. Still, she’d need clothes, and he lifted himself to see her sundress and visor still crumpled on the floor where she’d dropped them the night before.

  Another man. She’d gone down to the casino after Hopper fell asleep and sharked her way into a drunk economics whiz’s bed, some card counting junior from Cal Tech or something. He imagined her now, brushing the come from her teeth with minty toothpaste, ready for another ride if he wanted it.

  What a whore.

  You’re being cruel. Maybe she’s gone for coffee, remember?

  Two hours?

  He got up and paced, called the front desk to see if a gorgeous petite Asian coed had grabbed a cab anytime from three AM until ten seconds ago.

  The doormen knew who he was talking about, and no, they hadn’t seen her all morning.

  Next, a call to the airline to ask if she’d checked-in for an earlier flight than their scheduled two forty-five, or if she was on a standby list.

  No and no.

  Jumped into last night’s khakis and Cuban shirt and headed out to the casino floor, checking every bar, every machine, every table, every boutique shop, even the gondola stand for the canal that ran along the front of the Venetian.

  Thin air. Divinity was gone. Three hours he was aware of. On the run? On the Strip? Hopper couldn’t search every casino. This wasn’t like her to not at least leave a note. He returned to the room thinking maybe he missed it.

  Searched through the papers on the desk, all scribblings and websites, question marks and arrows, double wide lines for emphasis. All porn star addresses and leads in the search for Yasmin. Nothing about a shopping trip or sightseeing. No “Dear John” letter. Hopper powered up the laptop, searched through Word and then checked his email, thinking maybe the girl was dumping him the high-tech way.

  Nope. Three and a half hours.

  He slumped in the chair and swiveled weakly, his heart in his throat, nerves on edge. A blink off to the left on the desk got his attention. Red light flashing on the phone, a message waiting.

  Hopper lifted the handset, pressed the button and braced for whatever excuse she had for leaving.

  Instead, he heard another woman, young and confused. Yasmin, telling him, “I’ve thought about all this. I don’t know. Let’s meet and talk.”

  She told him when and where. He’d go, but right then, h
e could really give a shit about Yasmin’s pathetic problems.

  Four hours later, he was in the lobby of an hourly motel in the worst part of town. Hookers, the ugly ones like he’d seen in the worst parts of New Orleans, strolled along the sidewalks outside and the lobby inside. Somehow, they knew not to solicit Hopper, but they could stare. They tracked his every movement longingly.

  He’d spent the previous four hours in the hotel room, waiting for Divinity to get back. He called her dorm before remembering that if she’d gone home she was probably still in the air or on a bus. He’d thought about calling her parents. Maybe she had been in touch. No, it was too soon to take a drastic step like that, and D would despise him for being so desperate. Needy wasn’t romantic.

  Another walk through the casino floor, wondering what to say to her when he found her nestled up to some pretty boy at a blackjack table. Another lap around the pool looking at every girl in a bikini, probably making most of them very nervous. D’s bikini was still draped over the shower rod in the hotel room, but he had to double-check.

  Then it was time to meet Yasmin at the hotel.

  For a whore hotel, it was cleaner than Hopper anticipated, with a real housekeeping staff that did a good job. None of the smells he expected—instead, everything was potpourri and aerosol freshener. The lights were bright, the carpet not all that stained. If you wanted to bang your trannie prostitute for a half-hour and still maintain some shred of dignity, this was definitely the place.

  Yasmin had said she’d meet him in the lobby, but Hopper didn’t see her. Jesus, she’d better not have backed out. He had a more important missing girl to find, so this had better not be some cat-and-mouse bullshit.

  The elevator dinged, doors slid open, and Yasmin walked out. She was startled to see him there, it seemed. Then she grinned sadly.

  Yasmin said, “You’re prompt.”

  “So are you.”

  “Sorry to be so wishy washy. Things have been, you know, so good out here. I need someone to help me sort it out.”

  I’m not a fucking therapist, kid. “I understand, and I’m sorry too. About yesterday.”

  “Please don’t remind me.” Her expression was one Hopper hadn’t seen from a woman in a long time—disgust. It knocked him down a few notches.

  He said, “Remember, though, I’ve got a vested interest in swinging this a particular way.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

  “Yeah, and I meant it. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to convince you to come back so I can get the rest of my money.” Not sure why he was being so blunt with her. He’d had enough of the feelings and difficulties. Same with Divinity. For fuck’s sake, give up this Not sure what I want yet bullshit, take a risk and fucking commit for once. Why the hell not? If it doesn’t work, then they can end it down the road. Still better than hemming, hawing, and regretting the non-decision later.

  Yasmin touched his arm, ran her hand down until her fingers slid away. “No, I don’t get that vibe from you. I think you actually care more than you let on. Listen, I’ve got this room here for an hour. If we could, you know, go talk about things?”

  If Hopper had been thinking straight, he would’ve said Let’s go talk over coffee instead. He would’ve been wary of Yasmin maybe setting him up, having one of her porno cameramen hidden somewhere close filming every moment. Leading him to the room, wired for sound and video, where she’d seduce him—easy enough, since he couldn’t resist any woman, it seemed—and then blackmail him, something she had learned from Ivana, of course. Then he’d be doubly-fucked, unable to report to his client, unable to escape the power of one pregnant teenage girl and her porn industry buddies.

  If he’d been thinking straight. And, yeah, those thoughts flashed through his mind. Especially after having seen her cringe at the very memory of sex with him. In the end, he didn’t think Yasmin was that sophisticated yet. Certainly on her way, but not quite there. Besides, he wanted to get it over with and get back to the hotel.

  Hopper smiled. “Lead the way.”

  Up the elevator, Hopper felt itchy all of the sudden. Closed in. He was still racking his brain with theories on Divinity’s disappearance. Goddamn, he’d been so selfish, thinking she’d left him cold, when maybe she’d been abducted, or even killed and left out in the desert. Chills up and down his body, trying to shut out the image of her pale corpse.

  Finally, as the elevator doors opened, he croaked out, “Look, how about we go grab a coffee and make this quick? I’ve got something important that’s come up.”

  Yasmin frowned. “But I already paid for the room.”

  The frown was pouty. She won.

  He followed her to room B9 and waited as she pushed the keycard in, turned the knob. She stood out of the way and said, “In here.”

  “After you.”

  “No, please.” Nervous.

  Hopper was computing what would freak her out as he stepped past the threshold. Too late. A man standing in the bathroom got in his face and punched him hard.

  Right on the nose. Blacked him out a second and he staggered. Yasmin was already inside behind him with the door closed, and she yelped thinking Hopper was going to land on her. He hit the door and shook out of it as Yasmin scurried into the main room and this man landed another few punches—face, stomach, face again—that sent Hopper to his knees. It was a big fucker, the face barely familiar…oh, the lighting guy from the porn shoot. He had limp slacker hair and a patchy beard.

  Hopper spit blood on the carpet, looked up to see another pair of people besides the lighting guy and Yasmin. One was crying, saying, “Please! Stop hurting him!”

  Divinity’s voice. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t see her, but knew the voice like it was his own.

  He tried to stand. The lighting guy grabbed his shirt and dragged him on his knees, dropped him in front of the TV stand. Finally able to get the full picture of what was going on.

  Divinity was on one of the double beds, her arms spread, hands restrained in leather wristbands. Her cheek was purple and puffy. Roughed up. Once Hopper found out if this lighting guy or Ivana did it, the culprit would die painfully. Tit for tat. But then that was Ivana’s idea in the first place. After all, she was wearing a contraption on her hand that kept her pinky straight, a pin running through.

  Yasmin was crying an explanation, and he caught on at “—made me do it. I’m sorry, but they threatened to call my parents and the police and everything.”

  “It’s okay,” Hopper said. A weak breathy lie.

  He sat up and leaned his back against the wall. Waiting for the gloating.

  Ivana. “Broke my goddamn finger. You think I’m going to let you get away with it?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “I booked a flight the same day, found you rather easily. Then I saw you brought your Korean whore along. How was I supposed to grab you with her ready to call the law? So I waited.”

  Like some James Bond villain. Hopper said, “You learned she liked hanging by the pool, getting us big fancy coffees in the morning. Thus the plan was born. Divide, conquer, and shove it in my face. Look, bitch, the fun’s over. You win. Can we get out of here now?”

  He started to stand, but the lighting guy was on him fast, threw him onto the empty bed and tried to tie his arms down. Big mistake. Hopper punched him in the face and was up on his knees, ready to drop him for good, when he caught on fire.

  That’s what it felt like, the Tazer in Ivana’s hand like a torch going after Frankenstein’s monster. Holy shit—it stuttered and shook his muscles and burned more than he’d ever fucking burned before and she kept at it with wild-eyed smiling.

  When she stopped, Hopper was exhausted, whimpering, teeth chattering, and limp. He heard Ivana say, “Try it now, Liam.”

  The lighting guy made quick work of laying Hopper prone on the bed and securing his wrists. Divinity was crying, mouthing how sorry she was. Squeaking, “I went to buy us caramel lattes. I’m so sorry.”

 
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

  “I shouldn’t have come. Look what happened.”

  Ivana chimed in, “Awwww, how sweet the lovers are, willing to take the blame for being a couple of fucking morons.”

  Yasmin said, “Look, leave them alone. It wasn’t like he hurt you that much. He’s doing his job.”

  Ivana turned, the metal arc on her finger like a pirate’s hook, pointing at Yasmin. “Did I ask you? Don’t you owe me for getting you this gig anyway?”

  “I wanted it, though. These two want to be left alone, same as me.”

  Ivana walked out of sight, Hopper unable to see far over his shoulder. He heard a vicious slap, Yasmin’s yelp, and then the Wicked Bitch telling her, “Either keep your mouth shut or wait in the bathtub. You’re not getting away until we’ve got it all on film.”

  Hopper tried to break his bonds, tried to slip his wrists out, but they were on for the long haul. He wasn’t getting free until someone else unstrapped him. Helpless. He hissed at Divinity, “Do you see a knife? Something we can cut these with?”

  Ivana’s face appeared an inch from his own. “No no no. No escape for you. I liked it when we played rough the first time. Not so much the second. The third, though, this is the charm. We’re going to have a ball.”

  “Leave Divinity out of this.”

  “Yeah, like that ever works. No, she’s the collateral damage. Her bad luck for fucking around with you. Besides, she’s a hot number. My god, the pussy on her.” Ivana fanned herself. “Don’t know why she wastes it on you. Liam’s been itching for a piece ever since he grabbed her at the coffee shop.”

  Hopper saw D’s face go pale, her lips dry and trembling. Liam was on the other side of her bed, already taking his T-shirt off. Hopper bucked again, trying to free himself. Instead he sprained his wrist.

  “Calm down, big boy. He’s good at what he does. Wants to graduate from crew to cast, so I’m glad to give him a hand.” Ivana showed him the tiny video camera strapped to her hand. “We’ll add music later, take out the screaming.”