Collision Course

Collision Course 4: L.A.

It was nearly noon before Brian awoke. He crawled out of bed and stretched his long length, arching his back and raising his arms high over his head before padding naked across the carpet to the bathroom. A quick shower later found him in the tiny kitchen, looking into the nearly empty refrigerator. Grape jelly, Miracle Whip, and a box of Chinese take-out so old that he wasn't sure when he had bought it were his only choices.

Brian slammed the door shut in disgust and promised himself that he would remember to stop at a grocery store later. His stomach rumbled in protest and urged Brian to get dressed, get out of the small rental house, and get something to eat -- the sooner the better.

Fifteen minutes later, clad in jeans and a loose-fitting blue T-shirt, Brian was sitting at the counter of the nearest greasy spoon waiting impatiently for his tuna salad sandwiches. When they arrived, he immediately cut the crust off one and gobbled it down in four large bites.

"You need a nice girl to cook for you," said the ever-present, ever-motherly, Marge.

Brian swallowed the last bite and then took a big gulp of milk before grinning back at her. "You volunteering?" he joked.

"If it weren't for Henry waiting for me at home, the worthless bastard, I would. Yep," she said nodding her head. "I'd be happy to take care of you."

Brian smiled as he bit into the second sandwich. He ate this one much more slowly as Marge moved away to take care of another customer.

"A nice girl," he muttered to himself. Shit, how many times had heard that in his lifetime? A thousand? Ten thousand? Seemed like more.

As if a nice girl would solve everything. Ha. She'd be just one more complication in a life that seemed destined to go nowhere.

Brian finished his lunch, threw a nice tip down, waved bye to Marge, and left the little restaurant. He'd check in with the office, make sure they hadn't booked him for an assignment tonight, before hitting the road on his private little quest.

===

"Sorry, Brian," Melly said. "I was going to call you and let you know, but I wanted to make sure you were up. I know how much of a partier Sylvia is. Figured she probably kept you out half the night."

"Can't you give this job to someone else, Melly?" Brian asked. He leaned over the plump little woman and used his most becoming smile. "I have plans for this evening."

She hesitated and Brian tried again. "Please?" he begged, making the woman blush.

"I'm sorry. Maybe I could ... but Tony himself wrote your name down in the book. That means I don't dare switch you around." She bit her lip in agitation.

"Okay, okay," he relented. The last thing he wanted was to get Melly in trouble. "Who's it with anyway?"

She glanced down at her day planner. "Umm, all it says is 'Linden Enterprises' from six p.m. to dawn."

"What the hell is 'Linden --'"

"There's more, Brian," she interrupted him. "The same company is written down under your name, every day for the next month."

"That can't be. I'm supposed to escort Sylvia to that big charity bash Monday night."

"That's been lined out," she looked up at Brian then directed her focus behind him. "Oh, Tony! We were just wondering --"

"Glad you're here, Brian. Come in my office. We need to talk."

===

"Linden Enterprises is a front for Tomas Drake?" Brian asked softly. "He's booked me every night?"

"Yep. Paid up front, even paid double to have your current jobs re-assigned." Tony Rapito leaned back in his leather chair. "I must say, I'm impressed. You certainly have made a very powerful friend."

"I'd hardly call Tomas Drake my friend," Brian said.

The swarthy Italian across the desk from him raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"I wouldn't call him *that* either." Brian frowned. What would he call him?

"Whatever, just remind him if he gets wandering hands that I run a *security* service, not a dating service. If you two decide to play a little footsie, make damn sure it's off the clock, okay? Last thing I want is to get busted for procurement. Understand?"

Brian nodded his head.

"And don't go getting attached to the elegant little fag. I'd hate to lose you. God knows you bring in more money than any three of my other guards combined. It's your looks." Brian felt the dark eyes roam over him appraisingly. "The rich and famous would rather be seen and photographed with you following them around than with the rat-faced thugs that normally go in for this line of work."

Tony stood up, signaling Brian that it was time for him to go. They shook hands and Brian left.

===

Brian showed up early at the estate. He wanted to have time to coordinate with Larry Noster, Mr. Drake's fulltime head of security.

"Hey, O'Connor. How's it hangin'?"

"Same as always, Larry," Brian said with a smile as he shook the offered hand. "And yours?"

"Ack, the old lady damn near tore it off by the roots."

"She been leading you around by it again?"

"You know it, Brian," Noster said with a laugh. "Don't you look spiffy? Dressed to the nine's to take our little emperor out on the town?"

"The message said 'semi-formal'." Brian looked down at his dark suit. "You think it's too much? It is opening night after all."

"Eh, just teasing. Nappy'll love it."

Brian grinned at the irreverent security chief. Only Larry Noster would dare refer to the great Tomas Drake as a little Napoleon.

"Take your jacket off, Brian, and I'll help you get wired up."

Brian slipped out of the tailored suit jacket and twisted this way and that as Noster fitted him with the small transmitter/receiver unit. A thin wire ran up between his shoulder blades and connected it to the nearly invisible earpiece and microphone that hugged Brian's left ear.

"Tell me something, Larry," asked Brian as they did the mic check then shut the units off. "It bother you that he wants me to shadow him around?"

"Nope."

"But don't you feel ..."

"Displaced?" Noster asked. "Not at all. It's a relief to be able to hang back, co-ordinate from the sidelines. Let's me get a better look at the crowd. And let's face it, Brian," Noster grinned like a maniac. "If some whacko does try to take a pot shot at the little bastard, I'd rather it were you jumping in front of him than me." Noster reached over and swatted Brian affectionately on the head. "Besides ... you're so pretty. He likes to be seen with pretty people. You make him happy and a happy Nappy is much easier to work for than a grumpy Stumpy."

All Brian could do was shake his head and smile at the man's perpetual good humor.

"Hey, Jack," Noster shouted to a man in a distant corner of the large garage/security center. "Bring the war-horse around."

A moment later, the big, white limo pulled up. Noster climbed in the front and Brian slid into the rear seat. The car then made its way up the long drive to the main house. When it arrived, Brian got out and held the door open as he waited for his client to emerge.

Tomas Drake had been an actor since his childhood. His parents had emigrated from northern Italy back in the early sixties. It was Tomas, with his exceptional looks and talent, that had supported the family. He had landed a roll in a major motion picture almost immediately and had been on the 'A' list ever since.

Brian supposed it was this acting experience, combined with a natural charisma that made the man who was barely five foot, seven inches in height seem like such a commanding presence. And very commanding his presence was, too. As the man emerged from the large doorway, he paused a moment on the landing as if surveying his little kingdom. Brian felt the dark eyes studying him as Drake posed at the top of the steps. Then, regally, Tomas Drake descended the stone steps and approached Brian.

"Hello, Brian."

"Mr. Drake," Brian said softly as he moved aside to usher his client into the back seat.

"Tomas, if you please," Drake said in his surprisingly deep baritone as he slid gracefully into the white leather seat.

Brian nodded his head and gently closed the door, before hurrying around the back of the big car and getting in on the other side.

"You were surprised?" Drake asked softly.

"What? That you booked me for a full month? Yeah, I guess I was. I had some plans for tonight that I had to cancel."

"Tell me it wasn't with that Sylvia creature? Can't have that painted trollop wasting your time."

Brian didn't reply. He merely let his gaze glance briefly at the handsome face of the man seated next to him. A handsome face that was very subtly enhanced by cleverly applied makeup. A world famous face that was framed by dark hair, frosted at the temples and styled to perfection.

"Actually, no. I had intended to drive to San Miguel and spend the night there so I could hit the AutoFair at first light."

"Auto fair?"

"Sort of a flea market of car parts," Brian explained casually.

"Car parts?," Drake gasped out. "You'd rather root through piles of rubbish at some ... yard sale than escort me?" Tomas Drake said in amused outrage and Brian couldn't help but smile at the actor's over-the-top performance. He was still grinning when the well-known face beside him took on a serious look. "You don't like us very much, do you?" Drake asked from out of the blue.

"Sir?"

"Actors, actresses, the Hollywood crowd -- we amuse you. Maybe even ... disgust you a little, no?"

"Of course not," Brian lied easily. "Why would I sign on to protect you if I felt that way?"

"I don't know, but I'm hoping you will soon trust me enough to tell me." Greenish-brown eyes looked deeply into Brian's. "We are going to become close, very close over the course of the next month."

A shiver of something he couldn't quite put a name to went down Brian's spine. Uncomfortable, he deliberately turned his head away from the charming man. He looked out the window and frowned.


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