Sext God

Kirkman arrives at the MGM via an ostentatious tour bus, which is not at all what I asked him to do. Dan Smith, a buddy of mine from the service, meets me in front of the tour bus as it pulls up. He's dressed like Secret Service in a dark blue suit, his head shaved bald, the clear curling cord trailing from his ear into his collar.

Dan enjoys making an obvious show of being security. He says it keeps away a certain group of people. Personally, I like to blend in a little more. It creates a kind of complacency among the people I'm trying to target. But suffice it to say, Dan and I make a pretty good team, approaching security from different angles.

He rolls his eyes as the tour bus comes to a stop, the brakes hissing loudly.

“This was not your idea,” he mutters.

“Hell no, this wasn't my idea,” I confirm. “But I did suggest he not take the helicopter, so I won that one.”

“There's some reason he couldn't just get a town car?” Dan asks, sucking his teeth derisively.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I sigh. “I don't think Kirkman has any sense of discretion at all. Or this kid just thinks he’s gonna live forever, one of the two.”

The door opens and two women, giggling, start down the steps, their high-heeled sandals angled to the side for better traction.

“Dahlia?” I ask, pivoting toward her. She raises her eyebrows at me. I hold my hand out toward the ladies exiting the tour bus. “Can you escort these women to the penthouse with Dan? I would like to have a word with Kirkman before we check in.”

Dan gives me a relieved nod. Having a woman escort the ladies with him provides an extra layer of security as well as another witness. Some years back, there was a man on security detail who took advantage of some of the young women who were traveling with a well-known entertainer. The security guard got out of line, but there were no witnesses. It went poorly for those women. In the aftermath, there were several other incidents that seemed somewhat less credible, perhaps opportunists or perhaps crimes. In any case, it's best for everyone’s safety if Dahlia goes along.

“Hey, where are they going?” Kirkman complains, trudging off the bus.

He jumps the last step and stands in the middle of the valet turnabout, his arms thrown out to either side as though he is expecting a round of applause.

“I just wanted to go over the protocol with you,” I inform him, firing up my iPad to the slide of bullet points that I have constructed for just this purpose. “First, there only four approved women on the manifest. I need you to strictly adhere to that.”

He throws an arm around me, hugging me, jostling me. I fight the urge to punch him in the face.

“Why so serious, August? Still got that stick up your ass?”

“Second,” I continue, trying to ignore him. “I need you to use the private elevator. I have an access key here for you to carry, but I will always have a backup access key. Dan will have a backup access key. So will Dahlia. Do not attempt to use the public elevators under any circumstances.”

“Dahlia? Who's that? Is that her?” he starts to follow her, half dragging me along.

“Third, we have a private VIP room set up for after the concert. There will be more guests in that room, and they will be screened by security on a case-by-case basis.”

“Oh, that's good. So I'm not totally on lockdown?” he says, winking. “Seriously, who's Dahlia? She looks familiar. Did I fuck her?”

My stomach clenches. This man does not know how close he is to being dropped over that railing.

“She's… additional security. You need it.”

“Seriously, she looks familiar… Hm. Whatever. Anyway, glad to see you've stepped up to the plate, August. It's going to be a good show!”

The valet do a decent job of rerouting traffic around us as we enter the large marble entrance. The MGM security arrives with key cards and another on-site professional to meet. They do a nice job of coordinating, I have to admit. I'm not sure I would have been able to arrange this all on such short notice without it.

“Kirkman!” comes a high, shrill voice.

“Melanie!” he yells back. Several people in the atrium swivel toward us, intrigued. I nonchalantly insert myself between them and Kirkman, hoping to shield him from as much attention as possible.

Melanie quirks an eyebrow at me, aware of what I'm doing. Once again, my goals and her goals are at cross purposes. If she could have had seventy women here throwing their panties at him when he arrived, she would have.

“August, good to see you,” she smirks, rolling her eyes.

“Here's your key card,” I say, handing it to her. To my right, I see Dahlia and Stan with the two young women, waiting for an elevator. Dahlia's arms are crossed and she sweeps the room with her eyes, calmly assessing the situation, just like I would.

I walk up to her, nodding in a businesslike way. “Dahlia, this is Melanie. And of course you remember Kirkman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Melanie says, her expression confused.