“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve lost it,” the stuntman said with a wink. “That’s not just my opinion, either. In case you haven’t noticed, Junior has a real thing for you.”
“I know!” Tiffany exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “I’ll tell you, Doc, I don’t know what to do about him. It seems like every time I turn around he’s there offering to run an errand for me or just staring at me like I just stepped off a half-shell or something. I mean, he’s a nice enough kid and all that, but he’s just that-a kid!”
Doc grinned. “He’s not that young. You should talk to him sometime. He’s really quite mature mentally. And it might help him see you more as a person than as a goddess.”
“I might give that a try. You know, when it comes right down to it, he’s really kind of …”
“Excuse me?”
The two broke off their conversation as a young woman in a short, tight skirt, possibly one of the show girls, stepped up to their table.
“I thought you should know … there’s a man hurt outside.”
“What?” Doc frowned, momentarily confused by the change in focus.
“In the alley beside the casino,” the woman said, “there’s a man lying on the ground.”
“What makes you think he’s hurt?”
“I don’t know … He’s not moving. He may just be drunk. I didn’t get that close. I just thought I should tell someone, and you’re the first people I’ve seen in a uniform.”
“Thanks,” Doc said. “We’ll look into it.”
“We will?” Tiffany said, cocking her head as the woman marched away.
“Sure. Why not?” the stuntman said, rising to his feet and digging out some money for their bill. “Weren’t we both just complaining about being stuck backstage? Besides, remember that as far as the guests are concerned, we’re as much security guards as anyone else in a black uniform. It would be out of character for us to try to find someone else to send instead of going ourselves.”