Blood and Rain

by B. L. Morgan

  I turned off the set.

  It was five o'clock in the afternoon, no, make that six o'clock. Now I'm in Eastern Time so I reset my watch an hour later.

  After waiting in the airport, then waiting while flying to get here, I didn't want to just wait all night in the hotel room before I could get to checking the situation.

  So I decided to go down to the lounge and have a drink.

  I walked around the first floor looking for the lounge and didn't find one. All I found was an area with a TV set where there was a coffee pot and a couch where an old guy was drinking coffee. Not my idea of a lounge.

  I went to the front desk and asked the guy where their lounge was.

  "Sorry," he answered. "We don't have a lounge, but there is one across the street at the Hilton."

  "Thanks," I told him.

  I walked outside and took a look up and down the street. There was a convenience store on the corner about a half block away and a pawn shop was about a half block up from that. There were no bars within eyesight.

  I didn't really want to go over to the Hilton's lounge, but I didn't really want to go back to the room either. I went to the Hilton and followed an arrow that was labeled lounge.

  * * *

  I saw her the moment I walked into the darkened room. She was a tall woman, somewhere around five-feet-nine inches. She had a swagger in her attitude and her posture that said she was no stranger to lounges. She knew who she was and she knew what she had to offer.

  She had a lot to offer.

  She had long blond hair, golden curly ringlets that cascaded down around her shoulders. I wondered if she was a true blond or just a peroxide imitation. Only time would tell. She was wearing a form fitting, sparkling, short silvery slick dress. The neckline hugged her throat like a choker. The dress shimmered as she stood at the bar. It showed off every curve of her figure. Her dress was just barely longer than a mini. Her legs were silky smooth with the right kind of hint of hard muscle. That dress- it hugged her body and her ass just the right way. It was so tight I could barely breathe.

  I figured the direct approach was the best one. So I walked right up to the woman where she was leaning on the bar.

  "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked.

  "As long as it's a double rum and coke," she answered.

  I ordered our drinks and took a good long close look at this woman.

  She saw me looking and said, "Do you like?"

  I noticed her voice was low and sultry, very sexy.

  "Yes," I answered.

  "Good," she said. "I wasn't always this pretty. I had to work real hard to get this way. For some of us, beauty is not a natural born gift."

  "Your work definitely paid off," I told her and gave her another up and down look that she visibly appreciated.

  "You can call me Robin," the woman told me and offered me her fingers to be kissed.

  I did kiss them and noticed she had some muscle on those long fingers. This girl really did work to get the look that she had.

  "You can call me Joe," I told Robin. I had no intention of telling anyone my real name in this city.

  Robin didn't want to talk about herself, so we talked about me, or at least the story I made up about myself. For this trip, I was going to be an insurance salesman for Allstate and I didn't talk shop when I wasn't working. Since I didn't know anything about insurance this seemed to be a good way to handle the conversation.

  With both of us being mysterious about our lives we had quite a few long silent pauses in our conversation. We spent these times looking each other over. The way Robin looked up and down my body made me feel like a juicy pork steak and my pork sausage was starting to heat up.

  There was a piano man who played slow tunes and didn't sing too much at all.

  We danced to the piano music and Robin hung on to me like a hungry octopus. She rubbed herself all over me and every curve and every inch of her was alive and squirming in my hands. She was like a big sexy anaconda snake who wanted to fold me in her coils and squeeze.

  When the music finished, Robin kissed me deep and long. The power of that kiss almost took my breath away. She reached down and grabbed me, "You do like me, don't you," she said.

  "Of course I do," I answered. "Come back to my room with me," I told her. "I'll show you how much."

  She laughed and lightly punched me on the chest, "You are a very bad boy," she said and slipped her room key into my pocket. "I'm busy tonight, "Robin said." But come by tomorrow night and we'll be very bad together."

  With that, she turned away from me and walked to the door of the lounge making a very elegant exit.

  * * *

  That night I dreamed about a woman in a shimmering dress. I dreamed of what was beneath that dress. A luscious perfect body. When I tried to make love to her, Robin started laughing at me.

  I woke up in confusion with my heart pounding and covered in a cold sweat and I didn't have a clue as to why.

  Well, you just never know about women. You just never know.

  CHAPTER 38

  PREPARATIONS

  The next morning I had a taxi take me to one of the poorer sections of town where there was a string of pawn shops on the street. I went in a few of the pawn shops and took a look at the prices on some of their handguns.

  I wanted the right price on a small handgun and I wanted the right person to buy it from. I'd know him when I saw him.

  At the fifth pawn shop I entered, I saw him.

  This is the guy the nickname Weasel was created for. He was small skinny and greasy. The thin black hair on his head was glued to his skull by sweat and oil. His skin was dark and oily. This guy gave off body odor like a cloud of noxious fumes. If this guy ever made it to a hot shower he'd probably melt and go right down the drain.

  I was looking at the guns inside a locked glass counter when the weasel man came over. His body odor almost made my eyes water.

  "Y'all wanta see somethin in there buddy," he said with a thick Georgia accent.

  There was a chrome plated Forty-Five in the display case. It was a little bit worn but the gun looked like it would fire all right.

  "I'll take a look at that one," I said and pointed at the Forty-Five.

  The weasel brought the gun out and set it on the counter.

  I picked the pistol up, made sure it wasn't loaded, then dry fired it a couple of times. The gun wasn't new, but it was in good working order.

  I looked at the price tag: $150.00. The price was right.

  "I'll take this one," I said.

  The weasel brought out a form and laid it on the counter. "There's a waiting period," he said. "Ya got to fill out this here form."

  I looked down at the form then back up to the weasel's face. "I don't have time to wait. I'm leaving town in two days."

  "Well, I could be persuaded to back date that form," the weasel said. Then he smiled a wicked looking smile. "For a price."

  "How much?" I asked.

  "Let's call it a fifty dollar processing fee," the weasel said and grinned.

  I pulled out a wad of bills from my pocket and counted out two hundred dollars.

  I handed the weasel the money and put the pistol in my pocket.

  The weasel snatched it up the form from the countertop. "I'll take care of this," he said. "Those forms are for everyone else. The government don't need to know who I sell to."

  "That's right," I said and started toward the door.

  "Hey," the weasel said as I reached the door. "You all ain't gonna go kill someone tonight are ya?"

  I looked back at him and said, "You never can tell."

  His laugh followed me out into the street.

  * * *

  I bought some bullets for the gun and a pair of work gloves at another store and spent the day walking around the neighborhood. It was warm here and green even in the wintertime. In East St. Louis everything seems to die around the middle of November. A drab grayness takes over the landscape that seems to seep inside your brain.
After a while the winters in East St. Louis seem like living in a cemetery. The living vibrant blooming things of summer are just a memory out of the distant past.

  Here the plants were still alive, the grass was still green. I could get used to living here, I thought. In this place everything didn't die once a year.

  I felt the key that was still in my pocket.

  That was a woman who was definitely alive and in bloom. She was vibrant. I might go and see her tonight.

  Then I felt the chrome plated Forty-Five in my other pocket. Death was following me; or rather I was bringing him with me. Death was all around me, even in this green place. Death was a major part of my life.

  No sense in me daydreaming of living somewhere other than where I did. What would I do, flip burgers in McDonalds? No, I was good at what I did. The only skill necessary was the ability to turn off the switch and not feel anything.

  I did that real well.

  * * *

  At three o'clock in the afternoon I took a dip in the hotel's pool. The water was ice cold and people looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.

  I knew the water was going to be cold before I ever jumped in. I guess I just wanted something to put me back into the mindset of what I had to do. This icy water helped me shut down my senses and made me feel cold all the way to my heart. I needed to feel cold inside.

  The rest of the afternoon I spent making a homemade silencer for the Forty-Five. I did this by taking a plastic coke bottle and punching holes all over it with an ink pen. I cut a hole in the bottom large enough for the bullet to travel through unimpeded. Then I wrapped a dishtowel around the bottle and duct taped it in place.

  The silencer was bulky but I'd keep a jacket wrapped around it until I was ready to use it.

  * * *

  Until about eight o'clock I watched what TV there was to watch in my room. Then I took a walk down the street to a pay phone.

  I thought about walking to the Hilton and visiting Robin. But, no, I thought. I better get my business done as soon as possible. If I let myself think about something other than the job I was hired to do, then I could make mistakes.

  If you make a mistake in this business, you can end up dead.

  I dialed the Hilton Hotel desk and changed my voice as much as I could to a Boston accent.

  The desk clerk answered, "Atlanta Hilton."

  "I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine, Robert Perry, in one of your room’s tomorrow morning. He gave me the number but I seem to have lost it." My Boston accent wouldn't fool a drama couch but I was just wanting to be unrecognizable.

  "Hold on one moment," the desk clerk said. "I'll get it for you."

  There was a moment of silence and the thought ran through my head, what if he wasn't checked into this hotel? What then? I could have made this phone call from St. Louis and saved myself the plane ride.

  He came back to the phone then, "Robert Perry would be in room 512," he said.

  "Thank you very much," I said and hung up.

  CHAPTER 39

  IN THE ROOM

  At ten o'clock I walked across the street to the Atlanta Hilton. I was carrying the chrome forty-five with the silencer on it. I had my jacket draped over it. I was hoping that I looked like someone who was just too hot and was carrying his jacket.

  I kept fingering the key to Robin's room as I walked to the Atlanta Hilton.

  Maybe I'd go visit Robin if I got the job done quick, I said to myself.

  Then I immediately thought that would really be smart. I could be in another room with my pants off when the body was found. Anyway, how was I going to explain showing up at her door with a gun equipped with a homemade silencer. "Hey, darlin, this is what helps me be sociable." That would go over real smooth.

  I walked through the lobby and past the desk clerk making certain I made eye contact with no one. In the elevator alone, I pressed for the fifth floor and was relieved that no one got on at any other floor before I reached the fifth.

  As I got off the elevator at the fifth floor, two large men got on the elevator. Both of them were grim faced with dead eyes and were wearing identical black dress suits and black shoes. These guys were obvious government agents.

  I didn't care. There were headed in the other direction.

  The hallway of the fifth floor was deserted.

  Seven doors down was door 512.

  I could hear televisions, talking, and laughing through the doors as I walked to 512.

  I stopped in front of 512 and rapped lightly on it with the knuckles of my left hand.

  I listened for any kind of a noise from the other side of the door.

  There was only silence.

  The story I was planning on telling if I had any problems getting the door open was that I had a cablegram for Robert Perry and it had to be signed for. Then I'd push my way inside and do the job. If anyone else was inside, well they'd have to go.

  But no one was answering the door.

  I knocked again, a little louder this time. No answer.

  The elevator door opened. A fat man with his fat wife and two skinny kids got out of the elevator. Guess I knew where the food went to in that family.

  They walked toward me.

  I turned my back on them and pulled Robin's key out of my pocket. I was acting like I was trying to fit it into the lock when the door label attached to the key caught my eye.

  The door number on it was 512.

  My mind went a blank and I fitted the key into the lock.

  What if she's inside, my mind screamed in silence. Could I pull the trigger on her? Could I?

  How could she have given me this key?

  The family stopped at the door directly across the hall from me. The man fidgeted in his pocket for his key. The kids were punching each other on the arms. Then they looked directly at me.

  I turned the key and stepped through the door.

  * * *

  The lighting was dim. The only illumination in the room was a reading lamp at a desk. I looked around the darkened room and there was enough light for me to see that someone had already done my job for me.

  The king size bed was a tangle of bloody sheets. There was someone in the bed who looked more like a carved up bloody side of beef than a man. I could tell it was a man though by the shape of the head and the blood covered torso. The man's face had deep slices across the cheeks. It looked almost like the guy had fish gills. As I looked at the guy on the bed, I felt a strange familiarity.

  I took the photo of Robert Perry out of my pocket. I leaned close to the blood soaked corpse on the bed.

  Even through the coating of clotted blood on the man's face, I saw that this was Perry. This close to the brutalized body in front of me, that strange feeling of familiarity was much stronger.

  I felt like I'd seen this man before, but I just couldn't figure out where or when.

  I backed away from the carnage on the bed.

  Nash was going to pay me for this kill, whether I'd done it or not. I could make up a story. He'd love to hear about how much this guy had suffered.

  A square of white under the light on the desk caught my eye. A piece of ordinary writing paper. Something was written on it.

  I listened for a moment for any sound. The unexpected finding of my intended victim, already dead and butchered, put me on edge. All I heard was the dripping of a faucet from the bathroom. The steady slow drip sounded loud in the silent room. The drip made a splashing sound, like water into water.

  I glanced toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but a light shone from underneath it.

  Someone might be in there.

  Walking toward the bathroom I noticed my nose was burning. The air was thick and smoke was hanging in the air. The smell in the room was strangely familiar. I wasn't quite sure where I had smelled this burning smoke before, but I had.

  Glancing around the room I saw that there was a pile of green leaves in a large ashtray. Smoke was curling up from the pile of leaves and making the musty
stinging odor.

  I took my jacket off my arm and laid it across the back of a chair and put my pair of working gloves on. I hadn't touched anything yet, but I wasn't going to take any chances with forgetting and laying my hand on something and leaving my prints behind.

  There wasn't any reason to keep concealing the Forty-Five in a room with a chopped up dead man on the bed. It was a sure bet that if I met someone in the bathroom they were not going to be friendly.

  I was having an intense sense of Deja Vu as I approached the bathroom. With the subdued lighting and the heavy stinging smoke in the air mingled with the smell of the blood from the guy on the bed, I almost felt like I was back in Tor Ambrose's house.

  It wasn't possible that Tor had set this up.

  He was dead. Julia had seen to that by putting that bullet in his forehead.

  I turned the knob on the bathroom door and pushed the door open. The white tiles on the walls combination shower bath were streaked with red.

  The tub was filled with water to overflowing. The water was bright red. A man's body was submerged in the water. It looked like he had the same kind of slices on his face as the man on the bed. The smell of blood and death was heavy in the bathroom. Blood was all over the floor and the sink. So I guessed that he had been killed then placed in the tub.

  I went back out into the other room. My thought was that I had better get the hell out of here. As I crossed the room to collect my jacket the square of white under the desk lamp caught my eye again.