Chapter Two

Chapter Two

It is late afternoon before Smotherly toddles past my room carrying a black satchel wedged under one arm. He walks on the balls of his feet, leaning forward as if fighting against a stiff wind.

At first appearance, Smotherly comes off as a science fair geek, a squatty, bookish type. Dressed in a blue sweater vest layered over a white, short-sleeve shirt and brown corduroy pants, his wardrobe advice must have come from the Handbook For Nerds. In fact, he has gone all-in on the look and completed the dorky ensemble with a pair of gray New Balance running shoes.

John Smotherly is not all he appears to be. Truth be told, he is a suspected procurer of precious gemstones, the illicit kind, and thus, the primary reason for this Las Vegas junket. When my boss first assigned this case to me, he warned me not to underestimate our dear Mr. Smotherly’s caginess. This old bird is a pro, a charlatan of the highest order.

I begin my pursuit after allowing Smotherly enough time to arrive at the bank of elevators at the end of the hallway. Outside my room, I pause and pretend to secure the door while sneaking a peek in his direction. His back is to me, watching for a lift to arrive.

I slouch my shoulders, take a deep breath and muster a disinterested expression, then I mosey his way. I try to appear casual and detached, but my success in the performing arts is limited. My acting is best applied in defense of my misdeeds.

Pulling up alongside the fellow, I hang my head, hoping to avoid eye contact and conversation. We stand together waiting in silence. He ignores me and I study him, or at least his scuffed shoes, since I am gazing downward wishing I had waited a bit longer before leaving the room.

This turns out to be a slow elevator and the pressure to gather as much information about Smotherly as possible while remaining inconspicuous creates a situation that an extra dose of underarm deodorant might have helped to alleviate. My touristy shirt is drenched with sweat, and this does not go unnoticed. Smotherly glances over at me, an underwhelmed expression on his face.

When the elevator finally arrives, we enter one after the other; he waits for me to board first. Smotherly presses the button for the ground floor and then pulls a yellowed handkerchief from his back pocket and sneezes into it. The door slides closed and our ride takes off.

We descend four floors to the lobby without the distraction of company, facing across from one another. I have Smotherly’s undivided attention, so he has plenty of time to give me the once-over. I get the impression he is judging me with a critical eye.

Things are not going as well as I’d hoped, too much intimate contact with the person I am supposed to be following. I am sure that every how-to book written about surveillance suggests that detectives ought not be identified by the person they are tracking. I have broken that rule and should extricate myself from this situation as soon as possible. My employer, Pixeleye Investigations, would not approve of this technique, and there is no way I will include this episode in my written report.

When the elevator arrives at the ground floor and the door clatters open, Smotherly exits to the right. I escape to the left.

At this point, tailing Smotherly would be counter-productive, so instead, I meander to the hotel bar to indulge in an early intoxicant, just enough to settle my nerves and regroup.

While cooling my heels in the lobby, waiting for Smotherly to return, I manage to regain my composure. I am awake and alert when the portly little man finally returns through the main entrance.

From behind a large pillar, I manage to keep a close eye on him as he beelines across the lobby, straight to the elevators. This time he doesn’t see me and I feel more like the sleuth I am generously paid to be.

He doesn’t have to hang around long waiting for a ride upstairs; he immediately jumps aboard an open elevator, and off he goes. I have no inclination to follow. It’s safe to assume he will go straight up to his room to resume hibernation, and fruitless labor is not my thing.

I am not able to explain where Smotherly slipped off to for the last several hours, but there’s no use wasting an evening in Vegas on something that can stew until tomorrow. It might be shrewd to continue my discreet detecting in the hotel casino, so in the spirit of due diligence, I head straight over there.

I make the best use of my time by joining in a game of blackjack. Settled in at the gaming table, things begin marginally better than last night when I made a generous contribution to the massive Las Vegas light bill. I have done my part to ensure that future astronauts will be able to enjoy the view of Vegas from outer space.

Due to excessive alcohol consumption, the longer I sit at the table, the less calculating my bets are, and my luck starts to take a turn for the worse. It’s time to walk away.

Up and about, I circle the lobby, lest I be accused of disregarding my primary duty, surveillance. After making a few passes around the place, I decide to go upstairs to poke around Smotherly’s room before retiring to my own.

A light is shining from beneath Smotherly’s threshold and this draws my attention. I creep up and cautiously place an ear against the door. All is quiet.

While posed in this position of obvious eavesdropping, someone taps my shoulder and I jump forward, cracking my head against the door.

I spin around, mouth agape and eyes bulging like a startled Chiuahua. My heart vaulted up my throat choking off any attempt at speech. This frazzled reaction is most unbecoming and more than a little embarrassing. I might have a knot on my head, too.

The person to catch me in this compromising position is none other than Red, last night’s paramour.

“Are you Okay, Doc? You’re not lost, are you?”

As my mind races for a plausible explanation, I step away from Smotherly’s room. There’s a chance I might have drawn his attention when I bounced my head off his door.

“I’m fine. I thought I heard someone in distress as I was passing by and I’m always prepared to render medical assistance. It’s what I do. Not to worry, though, it was a false alarm. Everything appears to be alright. Don’t you look striking?”

And she does.

Her fiery hair cascading down in loose curls, vivid tattoo on full display and tall, shapely frame wrapped tightly in a little black dress combine to complete an erotic masterpiece. Her torrid eyes and suggestive smile radiate a sexual invitation. Naughtiness is in the air and my ability to remain steadfast against any further lapse in judgment, like last night, is at serious risk. This is going to be troublesome.

She asks in a velvet drawl, “Are you going to your room?”

“I was, but, but…” I sputter along, considering my options.

This is the decisive moment. Will I give in to lust or cling to the committed, monogamous relationship I desire? I’ve been told, you can’t have your cake and eat it too, but tonight, I decide to devour this slice of cake in ravenous delight.