Deadly Blessings

by Julie Hyzy

“Katrina,” he said. “We will protect you.”

  “No. No one can protect. No one. You understand? Even if you get me away from them, what?—What about my friends? What about other girls? You can no protect us all. You no know what you doing here. You no know who you dealing with.” Some of her hooker, tough girl persona made its way to the forefront; her voice lowered and strengthened. “No,” she said, her gaze hard. “You get away from me. You no call again. You no ask for me again.”

  “But we can—”

  “No!” She shouted, crumpling the card and throwing it at him. Her voice warbled with hysteria. Grabbing her purse and fluffy white jacket, she moved to get around him, out the door. “You let me go. Now. Time is up.”

  “Awww, hell,” Bass said.

  His face impassive, William stepped aside.

  She wrenched the doorknob and literally threw herself out of the room, faltering a bit on wobbly high-heel feet. Bass swore, loudly, and I got out of the car, to watch her scuttle down the metal stairs. Even across the street, we could hear the stilettos clank as she ran all the way down.

  Neither of us knew how she’d arrived, so we watched from between the six-foot bushes, for about ten chilly minutes while she paced, hugging herself against the cold, until an extended-length gray passenger van approached. As Candy/Katrina opened the door to jump in, the interior lights went on. At least four other girls occupied the back seats, each sitting alone. Each leaning against a window, staring out.

  “Now what?” Bass asked.

  I ignored him to glance back inside the car. The monitor gave me four versions of William, sitting perfectly still on the edge of the bed, eyes averted, jacket gripped in his hand. Waiting for the signal, no doubt. The gray van had pulled far down the street, gotten a green light at the intersection, and was gone. I held my horn down, for two long blasts.

  On the monitor, I watched him sigh and shake his head, right before I slammed the car door shut to hurry across the street.

  Chapter Twenty

  Leaving Bass with a stern admonishment not to move from my car, despite his furious sputterings, I made my way across Cicero Avenue. Several late-night speeders and a semi-trailer truck rumbled past, making me wait, the cold more biting than earlier. And me fresh and warm from my toasty car. Why the hell did this street still have so much traffic late at night? A half-block of emptiness finally opened up, giving me an opportunity to scamper toward the motel before the next wave of headlights neared.

  The night clerk, a middle-aged woman with tight perm-curly brown hair and a bulldog’s dour expression, watched as I passed the office. Leaning on the high countertop with flabby arms, she held a page of a magazine, mid-turn, her attention on me.

  I ignored her, heading for the metal staircase. My first few steps clanged, announcing my presence, so I ran the rest of the way to room 212 on tiptoe.

  William answered before I had a chance to knock a second time.

  “God, I messed up,” he said when he saw me.

  “No you didn’t.”

  He stepped back, allowing me into the room. Exactly the scene I’d watched onscreen, but different. It disturbed me. Like I’d stepped into a movie, real, but not real. The still-made bed with the floral cover askew and the ripped hem, mocked our plans. Two-dimensional, they’d represented background for a set-up-story with a prescribed, predictable ending. One that I’d been able to watch from a safe distance, on a sterile screen, the players performing for me, for my viewing and story-developing pleasure.

  But here, the musty smells of old linens and stale cigarettes mixed with those of sweet perfume, reminding me that reality is often far different than that which we perceive.

  “I should never have let her go,” he said.

  “You didn’t have any choice.”

  He shot me a meaningful glance. “No?”

  Having removed three of the cameras from their locations, William worked on the fourth. I got the impression he needed something to do with his hands, to work out whatever tension the night had wreaked upon him.

  He knelt on the matted carpet to reach under the window, where he had difficulty extricating the final camera from within the tight alcove between the heating unit and the wall.

  A couple of bumps, like a person punching a wall, came from the room next door. I turned my head that direction for a split-second. A silly move. Like I’d suddenly been given x-ray vision or something. Rhythmic thumpings now accompanied by female exclamations, were barely muted by the thin wall between us. Amid whump-whumps and pleasured groans that neither of us could ignore, William looked up. Our eyes locked for an oh-so-brief moment.

  It was strangely stirring.

  And I think held my breath.

  The woman’s voice shouted a couple of choice expletives. Then, sudden silence.

  Just me and William and whatever thoughts might be traipsing through our minds at the moment.

  “Cold in here,” I said, glancing away, and then back.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I shut the radiator off when I got in. The smell and the heat were too much. Plus,” he nodded to the bookcase-sized contraption next to him, “listen.”

  He reached around, flipped up a hinged black cover and hit the “on” switch. The wheezing blast of heat surprised me to the point that I took a step back. Like a downtown musician gone bonkers on a set of upside-down kitchen pots, this baby rattled and shrieked to its own beat. So loud, the din was almost painful. Dust and fuzz and who-knows-what-else blew upward out of the top vents. Finishing with the last camera, William stood up, gave a wry smile, and shouted, “We wouldn’t have been able to catch a single word over this thing.”

  “Shut that off,” I said, straining to be heard, but by the time I got the sentence out, he’d already hit the switch.

  The quiet was immediate, and welcome.

  Another bang from the wall next door. Just one this time.

  I looked that direction again. No way.

  “Keep it quiet in there, wouldja?” a male voice shouted.

  William rolled his eyes.

  “You watch the whole thing?” he asked, placing the camera equipment pieces back into their carrying case.

  “You were amazing,” I said, sincerely. “I couldn’t believe how much you got her to open up.” I winced at my choice of words, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, his tone sarcastic. “Real good job. And for what?”

  I heard clanging in the background again. Someone on the steps outside. Busy night.

  “Listen,” I said, “It’s a place for us to start. My friend Maria on the police department might be able to …”

  I stopped when I saw the look on his face.

  “We’ll have to deal with Bass first,” he said. “I doubt he’s too pleased.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  I’d left the door slightly ajar. Bass banged in at that moment, his face red. Possibly from the cold, possibly from the exertion of walking up the stairs, but most likely because he’d whipped himself into a frenzy. He wore the overcoat he’d shed earlier. Unbuttoned, he held the open flaps in place and twisted his neck, struggling against the half-in, half-out collar.

  “What the hell happened here?”

  Unruffled, William turned to me with a shrug. “What did I tell you?” Then, to Bass, he asked, “What took you so long? I’d have bet you’d be over here before Candy hit the bottom step.”

  “Okay, smartass. Why the hell didja let her go?”

  “What did you expect me to do? Tie her up?

  “You should have pressed that issue about the money. About how much she gets, and how the call-out thing works. You handled her with kid gloves, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You didn’t have to look into her eyes.”

  Bass waved dismissively in front of William’s face.

  I heard William mutter under his breath.

  “What?” Bass asked, “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” William s
aid. He walked around to the far side of the bed, where his coat lay.

  Bass gesticulated, talking loudly. “We’ll hardly be able to use any of this,” he said. His voice reached fever pitch. “Didja even think about that before you let her walk out of here?”

  “What about you? Did you see her? Did you hear anything she had to say?” William’s eyes widened and I watched his body tense up. He hadn’t put his coat on yet, and every muscle I could see had grown taut as he faced Bass.

  “Uh-huh. And guess what? I checked with Jeff. Perfect sound. Perfect visual. Couldn’t ask for a better recording. And for what? Nothing. Shit. Can’t use any of it because you couldn’t get her to cooperate.”

  Someone banged on the wall again. “Shut up!”

  “Bass,” I said, keeping my voice low, “let’s talk about this later. You’re upset, I understand that. But maybe we’ll find some way to use the tape after all.”

  “Sure,” he said, propping the door open while he spoke. “Some use.” He turned to William, “Maybe you want a copy to keep at home; get your jollies with it.”

  “Bass,” I said, “You’re talking like an idiot.”

  He took a step back into the room. The door swung shut, but didn’t close completely. “What do I have here? Nothing. Nothing.” He started to pace. “You two get to have fun making goo-goo eyes and playing secret agent, and what do I get? Expenses up the ass and no story to justify them.”

  William shot a quick glance over to me, apparently for an explanation of the “goo-goo eyes” comment. I shrugged, like I had no idea.

  Bass, not finished yet, kept pacing. Shouting now. “I trusted you. I trusted both of you—”

  The door banged open again, with a swirl of cold air. “Is there a problem here?”

  An enormous Hispanic man, six and a half feet tall, minimum three hundred pounds, with slicked back hair and one very long, very bushy eyebrow, took a couple of steps into the room. His black leather jacket had sleeve patches near his shoulders that said “Security.” The embroidered name on his chest said, “Nick.” His round face moved slowly one way, then the other, his eyes taking in the three of us angry people.

  I could only imagine what was going on his mind. What he might have thought this situation could be.

  “We got complaints.” He gave us each the once-over. “Noise. And the owner here says that you’re abusing room privileges.” He propped the door open with his extended right arm. From beneath it, behind him, I saw the woman from the front desk peeking at us.

  “Her,” the woman said, pointing. “She isn’t the same girl who came earlier. That first one left right before she came in here.” The woman’s voice, like a rusty pipe, from a lifetime of cigarettes no doubt, took me aback. “There was no trouble till she got here.”

  The Hispanic man scratched his chin. “That true …” he looked at Bass with pity, then at me with contempt, “Ma’am?”

  I’d about had it. “We’re getting ready to leave. Right now, as a matter of fact. Will that be okay?”

  Security-Nick glanced down at the woman, “What do you say Ms. Carney?”

  Right at the level of his armpit, she piped up, “All right. Just as long as nothing’s broken.” She swiveled her head, taking a quick survey of the room, as though making sure we hadn’t played hot potato with any breakables. The still-made bed appeared to fluster her; she blinked several times before muttering, “I gotta get back to the desk anyway.”

  At least the interruption had silenced Bass’s tirade. William hoisted the briefcase and we started to trudge out the door. The Security man restrained William with a hand on his arm. “Whatcha got in there?”

  “Personal stuff,” William said.

  “Drugs?”

  “No,” we all said in unison.

  Oh, I bet that made us look innocent.

  “Why don’t you let me take a look for myself?”

  “You have no jurisdiction,” I said, standing closer to him. I had no idea if he had jurisdiction or not, but I thought it sounded authoritative enough to bluff.

  His wide face split into a grin. A mouthful of crowded, yellow teeth. “You know, we can make this easy, or we can make this hard.”

  Visions of the place swarming with police, because Nick here thought he had detained some big-time drug dealers, made me shudder. Just what we’d need, the Midwest Focus staff, a ménage a trois, headlining the morning news. Updates at four, six and ten.

  “Fine,” I said.

  William bounced the case on the bed, and snapped open the latches. Nick began to inch forward, keeping an eye on me and on Bass as he kept a hand poised over his right hip. It didn’t look like he had a gun, so he either had pepper spray, or it was total affectation on his part. Whatever. I’m sure Bass and I looked like we could take him and he was real worried.

  When he spied the cameras, each fitted into their respective gray Styrofoam casings, I watched his big black unibrow shoot up. “Ohhh …” he said, turning toward our little group, and shaking his head. “Man … That’s sure some kinky shit, but Ms. Carney downstairs runs a nice little place here, you know? She don’t want none of this seedy stuff going on. You take your cameras someplace else from now on, got it?”

  Too tired to fight, too tired to argue, I said, “Sure.”

  He walked with us down to the parking lot, a bit more amiable now that we weren’t drug dealers and looking at me with something akin to disbelief. Generally I didn’t mind my wholesome image. But I hated to think that I came across as incapable of inspiring passion as the look on this fellow’s face seemed to convey. So much for my Mata Hari aspirations.

  William handed him the key. “Turn this in to old Ms. Carney for me, would you, Chief? Spare her having to deal with us any more.”

  As Nick trotted off, William turned to us. “I’m outta here.”

  “What about the de-briefing?”

  “Not tonight, Bass.” He made a dismissive gesture similar to the one Bass had given him upstairs.

  “Listen, Armstrong, you screwed up big time in there. This is no time to be getting high and mighty with me.”

  “I told you, Bass. Not tonight.” He spoke very slowly … I caught the glitter in William’s eyes, a reflection of the overhead neon and anger. Definite anger.

  “You’d better grow up, junior, if you want to succeed in this business.” Bass said, waving a finger up near William’s face. “And don’t forget, I gave you a second chance, too.”

  William took a step back, but I sensed spring-coiled tension in the movement. He spoke quietly. “There’s a difference between succeeding and exploiting. There are some lines I won’t cross.”

  Bass snorted. “Well, when you’ve been in second place for as long as we have, maybe you’ll grow a set of balls.”

  The insult seemed to stun William, and for a moment I thought he might punch Bass. I think he might have thought about it too. He looked at me, blushed, then handed me the suitcase and headed to his car without a backward glance. I followed him. “Will,” I said. “Do you want to go somewhere?” I asked, knowing my words sounded weak even as they tripped over my tongue. “To talk about all this?”

  He’d eased into the space created by holding the driver’s side open just a bit, and now had both hands on the top of the door. His right hand gripped the ignition key. “Right now, I just want to go home.”

  “Isn’t there anything I can—” I placed my hand over one of his.

  He pulled away with a sharp movement. “Alex …”

  I felt like an idiot. So I said nothing.

  “If I stay a minute longer, I’m going to punch that little jerk’s lights out.” He shot me a smile; not a happy one. “And then where would I be? Two lawsuits in the same year, one sexual harassment, one physical assault. That wouldn’t look so good on an unemployment form, would it?”

  I nodded, bit my lip. As he reached out to grab the door handle, pulling it shut, I took my hand off the car’s window frame. Seconds later, I watched his red
tail lights turn—the opposite direction the gray van went.

  Bass sidled up next to me, his breath making short cloud puffs ahead of him. “Where’s he going?”

  “Home.”

  “Damn,” he said. “I wanted to go over this now.” He stamped the ground.

  “He already told you not tonight.”

  “Yeah …” he let the word hang there, and I realized Bass knew even less what to do next than I did.

  The night’s stillness and the cold of the evening brought everything into sharp focus. Bass, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his charcoal gray overcoat, shifted his weight from side to side, whether from impatience or cold, I didn’t know. I got the distinct impression he waited for me to give him direction. Maybe he finally felt a little remorse over his ridiculous behavior up in the room.

  “Beside the hair care segment, I don’t know that I’ll have a story for this week’s show,” I said, mostly to break the silence.

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Bass danced a bit more.

  A beat-up Chevy pulled into the lot, cruising into an open spot near the bright, all-window office. Only the guy got out. Young. White. Good-looking, with a solid build. An athlete. Late teens. When he opened the car door, the interior lights illuminated his female passenger, a slightly plump brunette, with straight, stringy hair, who blinked and grimaced until the door shut again. Twice tonight, I’d caught glimpses of people who would no doubt prefer to remain invisible. And right now, I wouldn’t mind fading into the background, myself.

  “Actually, I don’t know if this story will be ready, ever.”

  Bass looked up at me, not in anger, not in impatience, but in utter denial. “Then you better start figuring out what will be ready. I’ve got a twenty minute spot open for next Friday. Twenty minutes—one feature. And that sucker’s got your name on it.”

  The young guy emerged from the motel office, wearing a triumphant grin and shaking a room key high in the air toward the car where his companion waited. He gave us a look of quizzical disinterest and motioned her out, like a dog trainer holding a treat aloft for his eager charge. She didn’t disappoint, squirming out of the car to join him. Giggling, she attempted to take his arm. He leaned away, shaking her off. When she frowned and stopped walking, he said something to her. She gave a glance back at the car, as though having second thoughts, then gave a little shake and followed him again.