The unseen room occupant: “Oh my God!” He took a slow step forward. Into view.
The flashlight came down.
Stars.
The crew stood over him. Business clothes, tie askew, coin-show name tag: HENRY.
“Why’s he back from the bar so soon? Our guy was supposed to keep him there for at least another hour.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Call it in.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You want to explain to the Jellyfish why we waited around doing nothing and not calling? Better to take our lumps now.”
“I’m not calling it in.”
“We can’t just stand here until he wakes up.”
“No, we can split…” And with that, one of the white jumpsuits ran out of the room, leaving an open door for all the world to see the gushing head wound of their prostrate victim.
“Get that fucking door before someone passes by-“
Someone passed by. A maid humming a merry tune. She stopped and looked with an initial smile at three rigid, surprised men staring back, one with a bloody flashlight by his side. The smile dissolved to terror as her eyes fell toward the unconscious man at their feet. She grabbed her head with both hands and became unhinged in Spanish, taking off down the hall.
“Shit!”
The one with the flashlight ran out the door.
The maid was already three rooms down, waddling rapidly for the elevators. She heard footsteps. “No! Por favor!-” She didn’t hear the flashlight.
The others rushed into the hall and helped drag the maid back to the room, where they dropped her across the coin dealer, forming an X. The door slammed shut.
“Now we definitely have to call this in.” The top maintenance man grabbed his walkie-talkie again. “Number one?”
“Copy. Dinner ready for takeout?”
“Negative. We need extra table settings. Two more guests
arrived.”
“Did you say ‘two’?” “Affirmative.” “We copy.”
The maintenance man quietly set his walkie-talkie on the bureau.
“What are we supposed to do?” “Wait.”
Six floors below, a white van remained backed into a parking slot behind the hotel. Two men in the front seat looked at each other. The one on the passenger side quietly set the walkie-talkie on the dash. “What do we do now?”
“Call it in.”
The passenger began to shake. “What are you waiting for?” “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Phil, what’s gotten into you? Make the goddamn call!” “Hell with it.” He jumped out the door and took off across the parking lot.
“Son of a bitch!” The driver ran around the van and closed the passenger door. Then he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.
SHENANIGANS
The bartender went through twenty napkins wiping Steve’s blood off the counter. He smiled at Story because she was hot. “Sorry, ma’am, some of our customers can’t hold their liquor …” He discarded the last napkin and looked up at the next suitor, standing patiently behind the empty stool. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”
A discount loan consolidator climbed on the seat and grinned. “What can I get you?” “Solitude.”
The man waved a fifty at the bartender, folded lengthwise between his index and middle fingers, indicating little-dick syndrome. “Tanqueray and tonic, and get the lady another of whatever she’s having.”
The bartender set two drinks and thirty-five bucks on the bar. Story stuck the bills in her pocket.
“Hey, what about my change?”
“Okay, work on not being a putz.”
The loan broker slunk back to the good-natured ribbing of a gang sitting around pushed-together tables in the middle of the bar.
Serge finished his second coffee refill and nudged Coleman. “Grab your drink. I detect fertile research ground for my next report.”
The pair approached the tables. Chewed stirrers, wet cardboard coasters, menu of frilly umbrella drinks in an upright Plexiglas holder. The gang’s lineup kept changing as guys rotated to the restrooms and computer center. One had a rolling suitcase next to his chair with an airline tag from Baltimore. Another wore a necktie around his forehead like a kamikaze.
“Greetings, fellow warriors of business travel!” said Serge. “Mind if me and my associate join your camaraderie of the open road?”
“More the merrier.”
Serge cleared a formation of highball glasses and vigorously wiped down a swatch of personal work space. He bent over a notebook. “Just a few pointed questions. Nothing to worry about.”
“You with the hotel or something?”
“Or something,” said Serge. “They want me to use their checklist, but I say fuck that plastic cage. I’m in a Hendrix phase now. I march to my own checklist. How would you rate Jimi on a scale of one to mind-fuckin’-blowing?”
They stared silently.
“That concludes my Hendrix phase.” Serge waved for the waitress. “Coffee.”
The kamikaze began laughing. “You must be appearing at the comedy club?”
“That’s right,” said Serge. “Same one as you. It’s called earth. Please cooperate. Did you back your cars into parking slots when you arrived?”
“Why?”
Serge told them.
Now the rest of the guys at the tables began laughing. Except two on the end, who got up and left quickly.
Serge turned a page of his notebook. “My revolutionary new website bursts with local technicolor and value-conscious travel wisdom not to be found elsewhere, like never hire a hooker who suddenly appears outside your hotel.”
“Why not?”
“It’s usually just a foot in the door for accomplices to burst in and stick you up, because who’s less likely to report a robbery than some out-of-town businessman with a wedding ring?”
The gang at the table laughed again and pointed. “Ned!”
A man who taught corporate foreign-language classes emptied a beer pitcher into his mug. “‘Luckily, we don’t have that problem at this hotel.”
“Yes you do,” said Serge.
“What are you talking about?”
“Propositioned in the parking lot seconds after getting here,” said Serge. “Barracuda hooker. For more on that, please visit my site. I have to leave something off the table.”
“In our own parking lot?” said an independent polygraph examiner for defense attorneys who passed everyone. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Not just the parking lot,” said Serge. “She’s right here in the bar.”
Heads spun. “Where?”
“Over there,” said Serge. “The brunette number talking to that guy in the polo shirt. Pegged her immediately as the local honey trap.”
“That’s not a hooker.”
“To the untrained eye,” said Serge. “The business suit throws most people off, but that’s now the uniform for extended-stay properties. Click the special hyper-link on my site.”
“No, I mean we know her. That’s our district manager …”
“… She’s coming over here. She looks pissed.”
“You didn’t happened to say anything to her in the parking lot that made her angry?”
“Absolutely not. Well, maybe I mumbled the V-word.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
The woman arrived at the table and stared daggers at Serge.
Serge smiled back. “By vagina, I meant how well you carry it.”
The woman grabbed one of the drinks from the table and dumped it on Serge’s head, then stormed away.
Serge wiped his face with a napkin. “Vagina has become such a tricky word.” He clicked open a wet pen. “Overall, how would you rate your stay?…”
Three TVs were on above the bar; four more hung from wall brackets mounted in the corners.
“… Police believe those responsible for the current string of Florida motel robberies are the same gang that worked the I-75 corridor from Cincinnati to Chattanooga last year … And now the Internet story that everyone’s talking about…”
One of the businessmen pointed up at the evening newscast. “Look, it’s on again.”