The Tao of Dangerous Living

When you put your foot upon the path you are not assured of arriving at your destination. But that you will never arrive is assured if you do not put your foot upon the path.

8:00 p.m.

“So how did you become a security guard, Shamir?” I asked my bodyguard as we walked away from my room. I have to say the suite was a nice touch. When I got back to change clothes last night, the bed was turned back and there was not just a mint on my pillow, there was a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Cinnamon was absolutely moaning as I paraded around the room showing her all they had done with the VIP package through the micro camera in my button.

“I just don’t know why they upgraded me to this suite,” I said at one point. There was a definite clearing of Cinnamon’s throat before she responded, “I may have mentioned that you were a big producer.” “When?” I asked. I’d made my own reservations. “I sort of found out about the trade show when I was scanning things to be sure I knew as much as I could about what was going on. You were on the plane and I knew you’d need a cover story, so I just called the Venetian and pretended to be your assistant.” “You are my assistant,” I said. “Yes, but technically not Riley Finn’s. I said I’d been on vacation and found out you’d made your own reservations and you’d be so mad at me when you found out what you got and would they please save my little ass and upgrade your room and not to let you know that I was responsible.” “You are a devil, Cinnamon.” “Anything for you sugar.”

Shamir glanced sheepishly at himself. He’s a hunk. “I was a lousy engineer,” he said. “One night I came in here to play cards and a guy at the table got pretty drunk and rowdy. I can usually tolerate that, but he assaulted a woman at the table. I picked him up and threw him out of the casino. I had security all over me, but the woman went to the management and demanded that I be let go or she would sue the casino for lack of protection of their patrons. The dealer and the pit boss both backed her up. So they offered me a job instead, on condition that I don’t play cards here anymore. I was never any good at cards anyway.”

“Well, it seems to have worked out well for you then,” I said.

“Oh, better than that,” he answered grinning. “I married the woman.”

“Good for you!” We were almost to the nightclub and I gripped Shamir’s arm for a moment. “Listen, Shamir. I might come off as in control, but I’m pretty new at this. I’d appreciate it if you stayed near the club in case I get overwhelmed and have to escape.”

“Don’t know what you are planning,” he said, “but your assistant already gave me detailed instructions. I’m not allowed inside the club during the party, but I’ll not leave the area. You have my card and your assistant has my number.” Shamir quickly sketched out a plan of the club and the available exits for me. The guy was good.

“You don’t have casino business that will call you away, do you?” I asked.

“I got off at two o’clock this afternoon,” he said. “I’ve been on your clock since then. You’re assistant made the arrangements.”

“Bless you, Cinnamon, bless you,” I said.

“My pleasure,” said the voice in my ear. “He wasn’t supposed to blab all that. I think he’s whipped.”

I left Shamir at the entrance, flashed my VIP pass and entered Fantasyland. The woman who greeted guests from behind a big tub of rose petals appeared to be wearing nothing but a couple of strategically placed petals. I ignored the food and drinks that were offered by every passing waiter. Instead I went to the bar and asked for a bottle of Perrier. I watched the bartender pop the top and took it from his hand. I carried it away with me with my thumb over the opening. I’ve learned my lesson about even harmless drinks in public places. I thought Rick, Deonn, and the five women were pretty sleazy, but here in the club it was them multiplied by a hundred. Maybe a thousand. The place was huge. Every place I turned people were lounging in little booths, chatting with each other, stripping. I swear, I saw a man and woman dancing on a table drop their clothes as they worked together. They both ended up in g-strings and she had pasties on. I was amazed that it didn’t draw a bigger crowd, but in the next row of booths, I’m sure no one was wearing anything.

I felt like I was floating through a maelstrom of human bodies. The bright lights of the trade show floor kept some inhibitions in place, but in the dimly lit club, those fell away as quickly as the drinks were poured. I found myself engaging the way of harmonious spirit as I stepped through the crowd, simply being where others were not. I had a goal in mind, but I was not pursuing it. I was calling it to me as I danced through the crowds, almost unnoticed. I snatched a straw from the next bar I passed and dropped it into my Perrier. I took a long refreshing sip of the sparkling water and then dropped the straw on a topless waitperson’s tray. I honestly didn’t notice whether the top was male or female. I wanted to work my way to wherever Deonn and Rick were holding court.

Tao is amazing. Three floors of lustful corners and coves where, during the private AVN party, were filled with professional sex workers of every variety. Some of them performed on stage, some on film, and some just face to face. You could tell the big producers. They were surrounded by sycophants—both male and female. No one spoke except the bigshot. Everyone else laughed on cue, cuddled on cue, or stripped on cue. I could tell that the party that started at ten was going to be wild by midnight.

It took me a long time to wind my way to the top level, and only once was I caught in an eddy that swirled me around a guy I later learned was a Jeremy somebody who is the porn sensation. Cinnamon chirped in with a comment about who someone was occasionally, but she was respectfully silent and watchful. I’d hung the fake button on a chain around my neck and it was picking up most of what I saw with it’s infrared capture.

When I reached the third floor, I was surprised to find that it opened out onto a pool area. There were tall palms open to the chilly night air. The skies were crystal clear, and in spite of the 40-degree weather, the heat lamps spaced around the area kept things warm. A few people were generating their own heat. There were beds all around the pool. They called them cabanas, but under the little heated tent there was just one big bed on which everyone piled. I heard that familiar voice and drifted toward one of the cabanas.

I just walked by the first time. The bed was packed. Deonn was there, along with three other younger studs and Rick. Piled onto the bed with them were nearly a dozen naked or nearly naked ladies, all drinking champagne that another waiter kept pouring as if from a never-ending fountain. It took me the second time past to realize what I was seeing. It wasn’t so much an orgy as a revival. Rick was talking, occasionally joined by the mellifluous tones of Deonn’s voice taking over. The women were all older. One or two a lot older. Some overweight. Some just average housewife-looking middle aged women.

I’d done enough research on porn over the past two weeks to know what I was seeing. These were the former porn queens, the women who survived as starlets only to find that there was no money unless they kept working and that the pay went lower and lower for more and more grotesque acts. These were women who wore too much make-up both on and off camera. They were proud to have their own teeth and not to be on the streets. They had wardrobes full of clothes meant for much younger women, most of which were a size or two too small for them.

“So I tell my uncle, Hallmark didn’t have any cards for a 100 year old. The clerk says, ‘I can give you two 50 year olds.’ At which time my uncle, Got rest his soul, says ‘I’ll take two 50 year olds!’” Everybody laughed. Rick paused and Deonn took over the pitch.

“Look at yourselves, Ladies. You’re beautiful. These so-called producers who tell you you’re not worth as much now, or you gotta do a triple if you want a job—they’re out of touch. They’ve got their market, but they’re ignoring the most lucrative market in the world, in fact. It’s guys who are 50 to God knows what—a hundred years old—who can’t look at a twenty year old without thinking of their daughters or granddaughters. When they look at a mature woman they breathe a sigh of relief thinking how lucky they are to find a woman who knows who the Beattles were.”

“Any man more than 50 years old wilts when presented with a 20 year old,” Rick jumped back in. “They’re intimidated. You just look at the escort ads and notice how many sweet young things are saying in their profiles that they prefer a mature man who knows how to treat a lady. All they’re saying is they want a guy with enough money to make the humiliation worth it. Guys that age are easy for girls. With luck they won’t even have to do anything and still get paid. But these dudes are hard as a rock when a woman who knows what she’s doing gets hold of them. And it’s not just the Viagra talking. You ladies turn them on.”

“So we just want to help you capitalize on your market,” Deonn picked up the pitch. I wondered how often the two of them practiced this together. “There are a lot of guys out there for which you are the ideal. They want someone like their wives but who is actually interested in sex. It’s never too late to start.” I’d heard enough. It was time to start antagonizing some people.

“Of course, they are going to want to kill you,” I said. “They don’t want to waste a young beauty on a snuff film. They want someone who is fully used up. Then they can get an older woman, pretend it’s their wife, and cut her throat while they come in her ass.”

“This is a private cabana, girlie,” Deonn said. “Run along and play with your little toys.”

“What really happened to Miss Peaches?” I asked. Deonn and two of the guys were already standing and moving toward me. “Did you broadcast her being strangled to death?” Now Rick jumped up, too.

“Somebody call security. We’ve got a reporter in here.” The waiter pulled a walkie talkie out of his pocket and started talking into it urgently. I was almost at the pool now. No place to back up to. But I really felt I was about to make a break-through.

“Did you really think no one would connect you to her murder?” I pressed. Then I added quietly, “Cinnamon, I need Shamir.”

Deonn moved first. I expected that. He couldn’t hang back and let others take care of his work. That was Rick’s role. He closed and I dropped out of his grip, right to the pool deck. A flick of my foot against his left knee and he crumpled into the pool. I swung to my left and caught the next buy square in the ass as he went straight over the top of me into the pool. The third guy came at me more carefully and I could see he was trained in martial arts. It made a couple of test punches toward me and I blocked one and avoided the other. By this time, people had rushed out of all the cabanas to see what the splashing was about. They got an eyeful of me dropping to one knee and hooking his legs out from under him. He fell toward me, but a straight jab and he was diverted into the pool. People all around the pool started holding fake fights and one after another the pool gained swimmers. I turned to see Rick nearly on me.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’ve chosen to fuck with the wrong man, little girl. I’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

“Maybe I could choke you until you cum,” I said. “Maybe I wouldn’t stop then.” Rick took a step forward, but stopped and I could see security coming through the main pool door from the club. I spun away from him just in time to see two of his older ladies rush up to him and drag him into the pool with them. I was guessing none of them were coherent enough to understand what I’d been saying in the first place. I headed around the end of the pool and Cinnamon started chirping instructions in my ear.

“There’s an employee entrance behind the towel stand,” she said. “Shamir’s on his way to meet you there.”

I pulled the way of harmonious being around me and became one with the night and the stars. I could see Rick looking frantically around as he tried to describe me to the security guards. I backed out of the employee entrance and practically into the arms of my body guard Shamir.

Come this way, Miss Finn. He led me to a service elevator and we were plunging downward in seconds. “You are being searched for. It isn’t safe to go to your room at the moment. Come. My car is this way.” Shamir led me through the employee parking area to a black Ford Escape—appropriate name, I thought. I got in the passenger side and ducked down as he drove the vehicle out of the ramp. In a few minutes we were on Paradise Road headed south. “Neeti will know what to do,” Shamir said. “Neeti always knows.”

This guy was obviously loyal as hell, but I wasn’t wondering why he didn’t make a good engineer. Competent. Honest. Brave. Not the brainiest in the world. Inside fifteen minutes we were pulling up beside a perfect little suburban house in Henderson.

When we walked through the door, I held back behind Shamir as he told his wife everything he could think of. She looked me over pretty thoroughly. Then she pointed at me. “Go sit in the kitchen. Stay there. There’s a bathroom door beside the refrigerator if you need one. Give me your room key and don’t move until I get back.” There was something about her tone that let me know that this was no longer in my control. As I went into the kitchen the direction she pointed, I saw her push her husband toward the other direction. “Go sit with Rashi. I will handle this.” I expected her to come into the kitchen and pound me with a barrage of questions, but she walked straight through and opened the garage connecting door. She turned once and—as if she were giving a command to a dog—said “Stay.” Then she was gone.

I carried on a running dialog with Cinnamon the whole time Neeti was gone. If Shamir ever came out of Rashi’s room, he certainly didn’t come near to me. Two hours later, the garage door opened and Neeti came in carrying my suitcase and computer bag. She motioned me to follow her and led me to a guest room.

“You can stay here tonight. Make arrangements to leave town as early as you can get out tomorrow. I’d use a different disguise if I were you. I don’t know who you are, but it’s obvious you were here to raise hell with the industry and that elevates you a little in my book. I already know you aren’t who you say you are, but no one else needs to know that. I just need you out of here before Shamir’s bosses call him tomorrow.” She paused and turned to smile at me. It was the first sign of warmth I’d seen in her. “I hear they are still fishing porn stars out of the pool. Nice job.”

I didn’t see Shamir again. I dressed as Deb Riley and a cab picked me up about 10. I sat at the airport for two hours after I got through security trying to figure out what happened. My phone chirped and Tom asked me if I could meet him for a late dinner. Why not? I was no more than off the phone when it rang again and Cinnamon was on the line.

“Different last name,” she said.

“What?”

“Neeti doesn’t have the same last name as Shamir. So it took me a while to track down who she is.”

“And?”

“She’s head of security analysis for a casino consulting firm. Big time. Shamir is a hammer. She is a carpenter. No, better make that an architect. Bet she’s got a file open on every identity you carried.” Shit. Well, I got back and took a cab to my apartment. I played with Maizie in the park. It’s as warm here as it was in Vegas last night, or should I say as cold?

Now I’m all dressed and pretty and ready to meet my sweety for a late dinner.