Chapter Seven: The world’s oldest profession

As we make our way across the eerily quiet town, I can’t help staring at Troy’s beautiful face. Pretty boys are not my usual type, I’ve always been more into my rock bands, but I’d be willing to go pop for Troy.

To be honest, I can’t believe this is happening. Not the looking for Dylan part, although tonight is proving more eventful and he is taking a lot longer to locate than usual. No, the thing that I can’t believe is that I’m sitting in a taxi with TV talent show runner-up, Troy Reeves. If someone had told me this morning that Troy would be helping me hunt for Dylan tonight, I’d have laughed in their face. It’s strange, but I’m actually glad that Troy is with me – especially now that we’re into the early hours of the morning. The hotel may still be alive with partying musicians and staff but out here in the town things are quiet… too quiet.

As the driver drops us off on Ash Street, I notice the scantily clad women lined up along the edge of the street and a few cars slowly crawling along.

Troy hands over the money for the fare, plus a little extra. ‘Can you wait here please, mate?’ he asks the driver. ‘We’re just looking for a friend, we’ll need a ride back.’

‘I’ll bet you are,’ the driver replies with a wink, tucking the extra money into his front pocket and giving Troy an encouraging nod. We share another giggle.

‘Well,’ I say, glancing around the street, ‘he’s got to be here somewhere.’

‘We’ve just got to jump in head first and see what happens,’ Troy muses.

I laugh. ‘Troy, don’t say “head first” too loudly around here. It’s feet first.’

‘Head, feet, whatever. All I know is that we need to do this fast because I cannot be seen here.’

It hadn’t occurred to me that if Troy were seen hanging around with prostitutes, the scandal would land him in big trouble. He’s actually taking a huge risk by being here with me, and I can’t help but smile and feel touched by his support – especially considering we only met a few hours ago.

‘Oh, oh,’ he chants nervously, ‘one is coming over, one is coming over.’

A redheaded lady wearing black thigh-high boots, a short black skirt and a red tube top sidles up to Troy.

‘Shit, you’re Troy fucking Reeves,’ she squeals, looking him up and down. ‘I’d do you at a discount.’

Troy moves behind me, clamping his arms around my waist and using me as some kind of human shield.

‘I’m with my girlfriend,’ he insists, referring to me I’m assuming.

‘That’s cool,’ the hooker says, stroking my cheek. ‘I’ll do your girlfriend too.’

I can’t help but giggle awkwardly, letting out an unattractive snort as I do.

‘I’m flattered,’ I insist, moving away from them both, ‘but I’m actually here looking for my friend.’

The hooker looks angry. ‘Fucking time-wasters,’ she rants. ‘You’re not the first famous guy to come down here tonight, you know.’

Poor Troy is bearing the brunt of her anger, but hopefully the other famous time-waster was Dylan.

‘Have you seen this man?’ I ask her, pointing to Dylan on my T-shirt.

‘Yeah, he was here. Fucking arsehole was negotiating when some drunk slut falls out of that bar over there. She sees him, recognises him, offers to do him for free – can you believe that?’

‘That is shocking,’ I reply, pretending to care. ‘So they went off together?’

‘Yeah, fucking time-wasters.’

‘So you just let her wander off with your customer?’ Troy asks, suddenly captivated by the world’s oldest profession.

‘No, I punched the bitch in the face,’ she replies proudly. ‘Her nose gushed like a red waterfall.’

‘We’re very sorry for wasting your time,’ Troy says, pushing money into her hand before ushering me back into our taxi.

‘Back to the Williamson Hotel, mate,’ he instructs the driver.

‘Troy, honey, did you forget to pick up the sex you just paid for?’ I tease.

‘Laugh it up, Nicole, but you heard what she did to that girl who lost her Dylan’s business, I couldn’t have that happening to you, could I?’

I smile. He really is looking out for me.

‘Well, thank you.’ I’ve never had to thank a man for paying a prostitute to avoid me getting my face punched in, but there’s a first time for everything.

‘Thank me by never telling anyone what just happened,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, I should be thanking you. My schedule is brutal, I’m always being watched by my manager or someone else who works for me, I never get to have adventures any more. I know Dylan is in trouble if we don’t find him, but I’m having a great time with you.’

Now that I think about it, since Troy joined me in my quest to find the elusive Dylan King, I am actually rather enjoying myself too. Whether we’re searching supposedly haunted hotel floors or negotiating with hookers, we are actually having a laugh.

As we pull up outside the hotel yet again, I experience major déjà vu – you know, that feeling like you’ve already done what you’re doing? But, in my case, I really am stuck in Groundhog Day.

As we walk through the doors I make eye contact with Roger, who squirms awkwardly like he’s hiding something from us.

‘We didn’t see him,’ I call over. ‘Have you seen him?’

Roger shrugs his shoulders.

‘Roger,’ Troy prompts him, but under the watchful eye of the older lady behind the desk, Roger isn’t saying anything.

‘Yo, Ro,’ a young male hotel employee with a mop calls out. ‘Where’s that blood you need me to clean up?’

‘In the lift,’ Roger calls back.

Troy and I exchange a knowing look. What a coincidence that Dylan’s ladyfriend got punched in the face and, would you believe it, someone has just been bleeding in this very hotel.

As the woman goes back into the office and is replaced with a younger female hotel employee, Roger opens up.

‘He checked into a room,’ Roger says quickly. ‘You just missed him again.’

We wander over to the reception desk, maybe the younger female employee can tell us what room he checked into. You never know, she might be a Troy fan.

‘Hello,’ I say to the girl behind the desk, who must have relieved the Ghostbuster for the night. ‘A friend of mine checked into a room not so long ago, his name is Dylan King.’

‘Erm, we did have an unscheduled check-in,’ she starts, staring at her computer screen as she speaks, ‘but I’m sorry, it wasn’t under that name. Could your friend be using a different name?’ she asks, smiling widely at Troy.

Oh, I see, she’s hinting. Dylan – who already has a room might I add – has checked in with a fake name, like he always does when he doesn’t want to be found or when he’s being pretentious.

‘Right.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Do you have a George Bush?’

‘No,’ she replies.

‘A William Shakespeare?’

‘No.’

‘Colonel Mustard?’

She laughs, but tells me that no, there isn’t anyone here under that name.

‘Miley Cyrus?’

Troy starts laughing too. ‘Are you serious?’ he asks me.

‘Yeah, he likes important people – or important-sounding people at least. He’s always wanted a military title… Or to be a part of the Cyrus family. Listen,’ I turn back to the girl, ‘we both know he’s checked in under a stupid name, and I could stand here and guess forever, but the problem is I need to get to him before he goes missing again. So can you just tell me what name he’s using, or give me a very big hint, please?’

I’m begging her, but I’m desperate.

Before she has chance to say anything, the grumpy-faced older woman returns to the desk and looks us up and down. Her presence makes the young employee immediately clam up.

‘I’m sorry,’ the young girl tells us, ‘it’s against hotel policy. If you know the name of the person I can help you, but if not then I can’t do anything.’

I open my mouth to reply to her, but Troy places a hand over my mouth to stop me saying something that might get me removed from the premises.

‘We’ll get back to you,’ he calls back to the girl as he ushers me towards the lift.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask when he finally allows me to speak again.

‘We’re going to my room. Look in the mirror, you look exhausted. No wonder you can’t work out what name he’s used. It’s nearly morning, get some sleep and then we’ll get back on his trail. We’re in this together now,’ Troy assures me, brushing my hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear.

I smile at him and gaze deep into his big brown eyes. He doesn’t know Dylan, and he didn’t know me until this morning, and yet he’s stayed up for most of the night helping me follow the trail of women Dylan has left in his wake.

‘Why did you speak to me earlier in the hotel bar?’ I ask him.

‘Honestly?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘When you interviewed me I couldn’t get over how beautiful you were. I couldn’t say anything, not with all the press around, but I was hoping we’d bump into each other again. I just wanted to have a drink and a chat with you – I wasn’t expecting an adventure.’

‘I’ve learnt to always expect an adventure when I’m with Dylan,’ I tell him. ‘But thank you for calling me beautiful.’

The lift pings and the doors open. As we walk along the corridor towards his room we can’t help but hold eye contact and I’m not really sure who makes the first move, but suddenly we are kissing, Troy pinning me against the door of someone else’s room. We knock over the stand holding the tourist information and it hits the floor with a loud clatter, bringing our overly passionate kissing to a halt.

‘This way,’ he says, grabbing my hand and hurrying me along the corridor. ‘Let’s take this inside.’