Who: Silver and Simon What: Simon gets into town, and Silver gives him an incognito ride. Where: The airport, then driving. When: Just after Simon touched down in Las Vegas, before the group plot. Warnings/Rating: Nothing too crazy. Some swears.
Simon took the flight from the East coast to Las Vegas on his own. He left Marcy the assistant behind to field press calls - she could do her job from there, considering that her top priority was to get people to leave him alone. He flew first class for that same reason, and for the thousandth time in the past couple of months he felt utterly out of place. The seats were more comfortable than his bed growing up, and they brought him whatever food or drink he asked for. Definitely a step above taking the Greyhound or riding in a stinking, filthy tour van - definitely.
Simon spent most of the flight sleeping. He’d been having a lot of freaky fucking dreams lately, weird shit about flying around and doing acrobatics and fighting bad guys with a punch that could send a grown man through a wall. They weren’t that bad, really, just bizarre, and it wasn’t a big stretch to make a connection between them and the other weirdness in his behavior recently. He did his best to remember them when he woke up, but he tended to lose most of the details. When the stewardess came over the PA he was jolted out of another dream. There had been a girl in this one, a redhead, but when he reached for her features in his memory, they were a blur.
His stomach dropped out when the plane came in for a landing, but Simon set his jaw and sat up in his fancy first class seat and told himself he was being a fucking moron. He’d never been on a plane in his life before a month ago, and he didn’t think he liked flying. When the plane at last slowed to a stop on the runway, he was grateful just to be back on the ground in one piece, even if it meant going back onto the surface world where everybody wanted a piece of his story.
Simon had never valued privacy more than now, so he’d avoided the usual route of a limo and a nice hotel. When he’d decided to come to Vegas about a week back, he told his assistant to find him somebody discreet to get him from the airport to his new apartment without letting the press tail him the whole way there. People were going to find out where he lived eventually, but he wanted to put that day off as long as possible. Marcy, a well-groomed blonde with perfect red lipstick and a resume as long as Simon’s arm, proved to be well worth the money he paid her. She produced a ride for him that wouldn’t show up on the books anywhere, and was capable of getting him where he wanted to go, and that was all he asked for.
He wasn’t ten steps off the plane before somebody recognized him, and then it was just a head-bowed hustle to get to through security and out the front door. Somebody had tipped off a photographer that he was going to be there, and the guy was treating each shot like it was worth its weight in loved ones and rainbows. Marcy claimed that all of this shit would eventually die down, just as soon as some idiot celebutante did something stupid enough to get arrested for. She had better be as good with the future as she was with fielding the Times.
Simon definitely didn’t look like someone worth as much money as he was, and that, of course, was part of the reason for the media’s fervor over his rediscovery. The pictures the photographer was snapping captured a deathly slim kid who looked closer to 20 than 24. He wore a wide black mohawk, currently fallen flat against his skull, and the same wartorn jeans he’d been wearing for a year and a half. His shoes were new, but they were neon blue vans. His t-shirt had probably been for a band at some point, but the decal was been cheap, and all that was left of it was the flaking red frame that had surrounded the logo. The tattoo along his collarbone peeked over the low collar of his shirt, and his luggage amounted to one big black duffle bag and an electric guitar in its case.
The car was right out front in the long line of cabs and rentals, and Simon slid in with his bag pulled up in front of his face and his guitar case slung at an awkward angle to obscure as much of his body as possible. He didn’t waste time letting the driver open the trunk for him, he just slid his stuff across his lap and slammed the door behind him. “Lindsey Lohan is going to steal another fucking necklace if I have to snap it on her myself,” he muttered, then winced. Again with the motormouth thing. That might be what was making him craziest - that he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut, lately.
Silver was waiting outside the car, wearing a bland cream shirt, jeans, and good clean shoes suited to someone who spent a lot of time on his feet. The car was a black sedan, so dusty that it was more gray than black, sitting on plain tires at a reasonable distance from the ground. Some might have preferred that he go inside and hold up a sign, and perhaps with some he might have been willing to do that, but not for this client. Silver was not in the business of publicity. He still had old enemies who might recognize his face, and though he didn’t know anyone who was actively seeking him out (that would be a waste of money, not to mention hazardous to your health), he preferred not to risk it.
Silver was amused by the boy’s loud clothes and his obvious desperation to get out of the way of the camera, two facts he found to be entirely contradictory. It made him feel old, which amused him further rather than the opposite. The car had windows and a license plate cover that didn’t allow for the photographer’s best flash, and by the time the photographer thought to look for the driver, he was behind the wheel and the car was already moving away.
The interior of the car was very clean, and it smelled very faintly of the detergent Silver used to keep it that way. Silver himself wore wire-frame brown glasses and an easy smile. He watched the road and pulled the car around the airport terminal, flicking a glance in his rearview as the photographers tried to find a cab and sent their hired transportation whizzing away toward the strip as Silver pulled the car in a deceptive wide horseshoe back around LAS. “I don’t know that would help.”
Simon slid down in his seat, watching out the window for any further sign of the photographer. The long turn made him sit up a little straighter, and even got a small smile out of him when he saw the photographer’s cab going in totally the wrong direction. “You’re good at that,” he murmured, as if surprised to get what he’d paid for, glancing up to the mirror. He’d caught a glimpse of his driver as he vaulted into the car, but now all he could see were his glasses and hairline in the rearview. “Yeah, well, you know.” He slid his guitar case behind the driver’s seat, and the duffle bag on the seat beside him. “Everybody’s gotta have dreams, I guess.”
Simon checked out the back window before straightening fully. It was fucked up, letting these guys hustle him from place to place. He wasn’t scared of them, he just didn’t want to deal with having them in his face, and punching them hadn’t worked so great. Just encouraged them, really. “You know where we’re going?” he asked. He assumed Marcy had told him the address of the apartment building, but this seriously wasn’t the sort of cab he was used to riding in.
“Yes, I do. It was sent to me along with your itinerary.” Silver was used to people in his cabs assuming he was unable to speak English, hard of hearing, stupid, or all three. A casual question was nothing, and he was fortunate enough to have the disposition that didn’t allow for long term bitterness. The amber-brown glass of his gaze was unperturbed, and his voice was even and pleasant. Silver was no wounded soul with nothing worse to do than drive a cab; no, he had a soul of his own, and he was aware of the boy’s predicament. He was an interesting character. “Why Vegas?” He didn’t ask permission to ask. He didn’t give an offer of his own experience to precede the question.
The question seemed like an accusation only because Simon was so jumpy about all the weirdness that had been happening in his life. He looked over at Silver to be sure he didn't know something he shouldn't, but it seemed like nothing more than informed curiosity. Right, maybe he'd seen him on the news or something. He still wasn't used to that.
Simon wasn't a big fan of lies, but slicing the edges off the truth was no big deal. "I got a letter in the mail telling me to get my ass down here," he said. This guy was being paid to keep him off the map, so he had to assume he wouldn't be stupid enough to run to the press with that little tidbit.
Oh, another one. Great. Maybe there would be a convention soon, and someone would jump out and tell them all what a big joke this was. Silver readjusted his hands on the steering wheel; broad, unremarkable hands with thick knuckles, probably the only visibly rough thing about him. “Letter, you said? I thought these days everyone was email.” He smiled slightly, barely visible in the passing shadow of the rearview that he tipped his head to catch quite intentionally. Silver maneuvered the car around and out of the airport, sliding neatly onto a short stretch of freeway.
"Me too," Simon said. "But hey, I don't tell them their business, I guess." The 'they' was undefined and vague even for him. Who the fuck sent him that package, anyway? He caught the smile in the rearview and he smiled back, a little. This guy was chill, and kind of cool. It was a nice change. "How'd you get into the business of driving stupid millionaires where they need to go?" Interesting jobs usually started with good stories, he'd found, and he was genuinely curious. "I didn't even know that job existed until yesterday."
“You’re the only one today,” Silver replied, grinning widely again into the mirror. “I drive a lot of different people that want to get somewhere quietly. Anonymity is valuable, as you’ve probably discovered.” The last had a hint of sympathy; the car pulled up at a light and the tourist in the back seat of the neighboring car stared right at Simon--but he didn’t seem to see him, he just kept squinting, trying to look through the dark glass and failing.
Simon stared back at the tourist in the next car. His expression went hard, briefly, while he thought he was being watched, but then he realized the windows were tinted. Right. He relaxed a little, rubbing his thumb over the back of faintly bruised knuckles. “No kidding,” he said. He just caught the grin in the mirror, and it relaxed him a little. He didn’t want to be the subject of anybody’s pity, which was part of why this whole thing made him uncomfortable. “But how’d you get started with it? Did you just decide one day to call up a buddy and ask him if he wanted to go somewhere in a car with tinted windows?”
Silver thought about his answer. It seemed for a few moments that he wouldn’t answer at all, focused on maneuvering the car through traffic, with his expression still water as he thought beneath the surface. (This was why he would not be a good cab driver; that, and he didn’t like hauling around massive amounts of luggage.) Finally, he said, “I moved here because the people watching is good. This was a good way to see a lot of people and make good money while being relatively anonymous myself.” It was a deeply true, but complex answer.
The answer was more complex than Simon had expected, and he gave it a moment’s thought. “Sounds like a pretty good job, actually.” When he’d still needed one, it would definitely have appealed to him. It sure as hell beat checking out belligerent teenagers in music stores. He stretched his legs out, trying to beat some of the stiffness from them after the plane ride, then tucked them underneath himself and looked out the window. Now that he knew no one could see him, he felt freer to people watch himself. “I’d kill to be anonymous,” he murmured at the glass. It was almost wistful, and likely said aloud only because he still wasn’t very good at telling when the crazy thing in his head had flipped the over sharing switch to on.
Tony informed Silver that he’d felt that way once too and the kid would grow out of it. Silver was not so sure, but Tony had a lot of experience in this area that Silver didn’t have or want. All of Silver’s training taught him how to stay out of the spotlight, not the reverse. “There’s always that opportunity, but now anonymous takes you effort. Like the glass.” Silver made a little gesture at the window with his broad hand. “Extra effort for anonymity. You can do it, but you have to think how, and if it’s for the right reasons.” The car slid around a corner and as it moved, it seemed almost as if the buildings were disintegrating as they drove past. “You’re sure about living out here?” Silver asked, doubtfully. “I wouldn’t even park my van out here.”
Simon knocked once on the glass with the back of his knuckles. “I don’t want it to take effort,” he said, and sat back with a sigh. He rolled his shoulders, still working the kinks out of his body, unaware of the restlessness inside him that was keeping him from getting fully comfortable. “Being anonymous is always for the right reasons, man. I want to be anonymous so people aren’t shoving shit in my face all the time and fucking making a big deal about how weird I am or whatever. Somebody wrote a thing the other day about what I wore to go get groceries. It’s fucking creepy.” He leaned forward. “You know, if I was still nobody, and these people did this shit, they’d be stalkers,” he said. He leaned back again, satisfied he’d made his point.
“Yep,” Simon said, determination thrumming through the word. “I don’t like big buildings, man, they give me the creeps. I don’t want to live in some weird fishbowl on the strip where people can stare at the weird punk monkey. I want to live someplace with real people where nobody is going to give a shit.” He regarded Silver in the mirror again. “What kind of van have you got? Is it like a band van? Or like a hair metal van with a painting of a naked chick on the side?” The options were presented with every amount of serious consideration, but if Silver checked his expression, he was smiling.
Silver did check his expression and smiled too. “It’s a very uninteresting, boring van. I just use it to get around when I’m not working because sometimes this one needs to stay clean.” He didn’t mention sleeping in it, most people frowned on that habit, nor did he mention his plants or the engine. He was aware it made him sound like the roving hippie his mother had always hoped he’d be even when she gave up on it herself. “As long as you’re comfortable,” Silver added, finally. The car pulled to a stop at the curb, and Silver put an arm behind the passenger seat headrest and turned to look at Simon. “I’m guessing you don’t need help with your stuff if you’re being incognito.”
Simon had never considered that Silver would be expected to carry his things, because it seemed a little ridiculous. Right, rich people were supposed to be too good to do stuff like lug bags. “Nah, I’m cool,” he said. He pulled his guitar close to his chest and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, sliding a little closer to the door but not opening it just yet. “Hey - if I need a ride someplace again, would you be around?” He’d decided he liked Silver, and he could see himself needing a way to get from place to place under the radar again, if things kept going the way they had been.
“I’m all yours. Call in advance if you can manage it.” A white card appeared in Silver’s hand, and he offered it out at Simon between the driver and passenger seat. S.McK. Transport, the card said. There was a number with a Vegas area code just underneath that. “My phone,” Silver explained. “I got it anonymously in the mail, not unlike yours, huh? We’ll probably see each other again, anyway.” Silver gave Simon a reassuring smile and shifted the car into park so he could get out.
The mention of anonymous packages in the mail piqued Simon’s interest, but hey, he had the guy’s number. Maybe the next time he called him he could pick his brain about it, see if the two were related. Couldn’t hurt, right? “Thanks,” he said, and pocketed the card, pushing the door open. “Say hi to the van for me,” he advised, shutting the door behind him.