Would I ever know?
“No,” I finally said. “Nothing happened while I was there.”
*****
Much like the other times I had visited a counselor before I had been discharged, I was left feeling empty inside, more unsure than I had been before I walked into the office, and in need of a lot of distractions to keep my mind from dwelling on whatever was said. Keeping myself occupied usually came in one of three forms: throwing myself into exercise, spending all my free time with a hooker in my bed, or focusing on my work.
Sometimes doing all three was the only way to keep my mind off of whatever was bothering me. When I wasn’t even sure what was quite literally keeping me up nights, even that didn’t help. For the moment, my best distraction was work, which meant digging into my target’s life.
Brad Ashton was not an easy guy to get close to, that was for sure.
The whole Hollywood scene sucked, whether you were in LA, New York, or downtown Chicago. Red carpet events weren’t overly common in the area, but I guess when you’re into a mob boss for a shitload of gambling money, you do what you need to do.
The premier of Ashton’s new movie was all over the place, and this was just the Chicago leg of the tour. I knew I wasn’t going to get close enough to him tonight – not with all the insanity going on at the AMC River East 21. There had to be at least ten thousand people there, and every one of them was trying to get up close and personal with the dude. The vast majority were women, mostly in their mid-forties, and mostly crazy.
They had to be.
I mean, some of them were actually carrying cardboard cutouts of the guy and trying to get him to sign his own face.
That shit’s weird.
There were at least two dozen people acting as a human shield at any given moment. They were all decked out in basic B-movie secret service attire – black suits, receivers in their ears, sunglasses regardless of the weather. They were pretty comical to watch.
As far as my cover went, they were going to be my best chance to get to him.
I heard Ashton was staying at the Embassy right next door, so I made myself comfortable in the bar there and sipped club soda while a scotch sat untouched next to me. It was a long while before the noise of screaming females alerted me to the star’s arrival. He was escorted by the caricature guards to the bank of exclusive elevators and disappeared.
Just a little longer.
A few more patrons were hanging out and watching various sports on the large screens around the bar, but no one paid any attention to me except for the bartender. The next time he came around, I ditched the soda and started sipping the scotch.
Two guys in black suits, sans ties, and unbuttoned white shirts came out of the same elevator where Ashton had disappeared and headed towards the bar. Not surprisingly, they opted for a bar-side seat instead of a table.
I watched from the end of the bar.
They were both in their mid twenties, which was convenient. As they talked, I picked up that one was named Jim, but no name was mentioned for the other. They drank cheap beer in bottles and watched football until closing time but didn’t talk about work. Jim was apparently a Raiders fan.
They sat reasonably close like they knew each other, but not close enough that they might accidentally touch one another in passing. They both had short hair but not military cut like mine, just neatly short. There were little marks around their right ears where the receivers had pinched them.
They were career guys, not just hired for this event. They would go with Ashton when he left Chicago, which was exactly what I needed. I kept my head down, turned my body away as they passed me, and finished my scotch before heading home.
The next day was a television appearance for the popular actor and then back to the same hotel for some beauty sleep before he flew out to LA. The same two guys came down to the bar again the next night. I sat in the same spot as well, but this time I was wearing a Raider’s jersey.
Fortune was on my side, and after the first drink, Jim’s buddy called it a night, but Jim didn’t seem ready to turn in just yet. It didn’t take long for him to approach me and start talking football.
Too easy.
“Raider’s fan, huh?”
“Like anybody with a lick of sense,” I replied. “Best team in the fucking world!”
I held up my glass of beer and clinked it against his bottle. The beer was still light, same as his, but just different enough not to appear suspicious. This guy knew security, and I couldn’t be that obvious. Even wearing his team’s jersey on a day when they weren’t playing was a little risky.
“Damn straight!” Jim replied. “I’m Jim Conner – mind if I join you?”
“Marshall Miller,” I said as I shook his hand. “You staying here at the hotel?”
“Yeah, I’ll be heading out in the morning. I work security, and my boss is staying here.”