by Jordan Krall
The parole officer tried to defend against the addict; his arms coming up to block but were cut to shreds by the beer metal. His pants fell to his ankles and Grant made a slash at Eddie’s crotch splitting open the penis at the root. Eddie screamed and fell backwards but Grant kept coming, slashing and stabbing his way into the man’s body.
All Grant could see was a Japanese spider crab flailing its arms while it screeched and struggled in between the toilet and the bathtub. Poor little thing looks helpless. He wanted to put it out of its misery so he slashed even harder in order to break its shell completely and dig into the soft meat and whatever organs crabs have. He wasn’t too familiar with crab anatomy.
Then he saw the gun on the other side of the toilet. What’s a crab doing with a gun? He stopped attacking for a second and picked it up. It was his gun; he vaguely recognized it as drug-sparks bombarded his brain cells. Wanting to end the suffering of the creature, he thought about using the gun but decided he didn’t want to take the chance of anyone hearing the shots. So he found what he thought was the crab’s throat and slit it open, lifting the head up so it bled into the bathtub.
Grant left it there twitching while he went back to the bed and sat down. He grabbed a beer and put his head back. On the ceiling there were snowy scenes of violence; someone was getting murdered in an alley. There was a donkey. Like in that comic book the guy had back there in the office. Shit, at least give the donkey a cape or something.
The warm beer put him at ease and reminded him of those nights he spent alone in his trailer with nothing to do but drink, smoke, and watch porno movies he ripped off from the guy down the street. He didn’t have a fridge so he drank warm beer like they do down in Mexico and England. At first he hated it but soon got used to the taste and was content to watch Chubby Cheerleaders 3 while sipping a Budweiser at room temperature.
Grant grabbed the remote control and turned the television on. Another episode of The Golden Girls was starting. What was it, a marathon? He realized that he was actually glad it was on again. He felt like jerking off and Blanche Devereaux was sounding good to him right about now.
Chapter Nine
Robert Hapertas drove down the streets of Thompson, savoring the position he was in. He didn’t mind doing a little bit of his own dirty work every so often. Most of the time he was behind the scenes, planning this shit, making sure it was done. It was refreshing to get out there again.
Most guys with his money would move to the city but Robert enjoyed the working class town of Thompson, enjoyed the gritty dreariness and slow-moving progress of it all. He especially loved the hookers. The bald ones. The dwarves. The amputees. The squid-freaks. Beautiful all in their own way.
When he reached the Solar Lodge Motel, Robert realized he hadn’t been there in close to ten years yet it didn’t look any different than he remembered. It still had the look and feel of a motel that should only exist on Route 66 circa 1965. Still, it had its charm and Robert felt good to be there.
But he couldn’t remember what room he was supposed to go to.
Shit.
Robert was usually very prepared, very meticulous when it came to work but sometimes simple things just slipped his mind. Ah fuck it, I’ll just ask the asshole at the front desk. Simple problem, simple solution.
He parked the car and walked over to the office. The motel was a sad looking place, Robert thought. Needs a paint job, too. He walked through the door and saw a guy sitting at a desk reading a book. Robert didn’t expect a guy so young to be working here. Maybe he was old-fashioned, stuck in one of the old movies he watched but he expected an older guy: late fifties, balding, chain-smoking, and grouchy as hell.
But this kid looked harmless and not the type of guy Robert would want running the office if he owned the motel especially considering the type of element that frequented the place. Robert would admit his business dealings were responsible for much of that element but he still couldn’t understand putting a skinny college boy on the night shift.
Robert said, “Hey buddy.”
The guy didn’t look up from his book. Robert could see from where he was standing that it as a comic book. Fucking kids.
“Hey buddy, I’m up here,” Robert said but still no response. He took a step closer and then the guy looked up.
“Oh hey, sorry. Didn’t see you there. Too busy reading. Man, this book is amazing, ever read it?” He held the cover up.
It read: THE ADVENTURES OF FAUNTLEROY LEROUX
Robert said, “Can’t say that I have. But listen, I have a question.”
The guy pointed to the window behind Robert. There was a sign that read
“NO, we don’t give directions. SORRY.”
“No, I don’t need directions. I’m looking for someone, a woman, probably checked in this afternoon.”
The guy said, “Can’t really give you that information.”
“Can you get me the manager?”
“I am the manager.”
Robert smirked. “You? You’re what, nineteen? Twenty?”
“Twenty-three and yeah, I’m the night manager. Name’s Clark and if you have any problems take it up with Smitty in the morning. Otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, okay man?”
Robert stepped around the counter towards the desk. “Clark, Clark, Clark. That’s not going to be good enough.”
Clark stood up and put his hands out. “Hey, what the hell is this?”
“You got the wrong idea, buddy. Here let me explain,” Robert said, digging his hand into his coat pocket. Clark’s eyes widened and then closed tightly. Robert’s hand came out of his coat holding a billfold.
Robert slipped out a twenty and said, “Is this going to help soothe your conscience?”
Clark opened his eyes and smiled. “That’s it? I get more than that just by keeping my mouth shut.”
Robert sighed. He’d much rather solve this sort of problem with cash than violence but this guy Clark was getting on his nerves. He slipped out two more twenties. “What I want to know isn’t worth any more than this so make your decision, kid.”
Clark shrugged. “Okay, fine. What is it you wanna know?”
“A woman checked in today. Probably this afternoon, maybe this morning.”
“She alone?”
“Should be,” Robert said and then waited. “Well?”
Clark said, “Yeah, a woman checked in alone this afternoon. Let me see.” He looked over the rack of keys. “Room 11 but I can’t give you a key or anything.”
“That’s fine, I don’t need a key. She’s expecting me.”
Clark gave a smart ass smile. “So how come you don’t know her room number?”
Robert felt like shoving Clark’s head into the desk a few times but restrained himself and left the office. He walked across the parking lot, kicking up sand, and wondered if the owner ever heard of asphalt.
When he got to the door of Room 11, he stood and listened to see if he could hear if anyone else was in the room. There was only silence. She better be there.
Robert knocked and said, “Marie, it’s Robert Hapertas. Billy Roanoke couldn’t make it.”
No answer.
The hell if he was going to go back and give that asshole Clark more money in exchange for a key. Fuck it. Robert channeled the old days where he’d bust into apartments and motel rooms for the thrill of it. He’d rummage through rooms for spare cash, women’s shoes, and electronics. Those were the days.
Robert took a step back and then sent his foot flying into the doorknob, breaking it. The thing probably hadn’t been changed for ten years. He kicked again, this time sending the whole doorknob apparatus to the ground. The door opened.
He walked in and shut the door behind him. Then he noticed Marie on the ground and saw she had no feet.
* * *
Henry and Dix debated whether or not they should go to a diner and get some food. They decided against it when Henry brought up the fact that the last time they went to a diner to
gether, Dix got food poisoning and was shitting out liquid squid shit for three days. Dix suggested they go back to the motel and see if Grant wanted anything and then maybe hit a fast-food restaurant. Henry reluctantly agreed.
They drove back to the motel and parked the car in front of their room. Once they were out of the car, Dix laughed.
“Hey Henry, that shit I was telling you about my brothers, don’t mention it to Grant, okay?”
Henry said, “You think I’d tell that asshole anything?”
“No guess not. Oh shit, I just remembered.”
“What?”
Dix said, “I was talking to John the other day and he said he was looking for someone to take care of his place for a while.”
“John who?”
“Kreese. You know the guy, we used to hang out at his bar all the time, drink squid shots and whiskey chasers while those stupid college kids drank that imported shit. We get drunk and pick a fight, smash their fratboy heads against the wall.”
“Yeah, I remember. But what kind of job he got in mind?”
“I think just sort of like a manager position. Take care of things behind the scenes.”
Henry said, “That might be good but you think he’d mind if I did my business out of there, too?”
“Nah, he’s cool long as you float some his way,” Dix said.
“I’ll give him a call.”
Dix opened the door with his key and was the first to see Grant lying in bed, covered in blood while he drank a beer.
“Jesus Christ,” Dix said.
Henry walked in behind him and looked at Grant. “What the fuck.”
On the bed, Grant slowly looked over at the two of them and nodded his head. “You guys have fun? God knows I did.” He sighed. “Ah, Little Bing Bong.”
Henry felt the world closing in on him. After getting paroled, he was sure he didn’t want to live a straight life. The hell with a sucker’s job. He was too good at selling guns not to mention setting up and executing robberies. Still, he didn’t want to get tagged his first week out. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and not agreed to get together with Grant. Dix was okay but Grant was an unpredictable asshole.
“Dix, I don’t know what the fuck your friend’s been doing but you better find out before I fucking lose control.” Henry started to shake; the adrenalin pumping through his body preparing him for his next move.
Stepping closer to Grant, Dix said, “Hey, what happened? Are you hurt? Fuck’s been going on? How many pills you take?”
Grant laughed. “Man, I’m fine but you better go check the bathroom. Oh, and next door. Next door there’s something going on that’s real fucked up.”
Henry said, “Dix, go next door and see what he’s talking about.”
Dix nodded and left the room. Henry walked over to the bathroom. Then he screamed.
At first he couldn’t make out what the hell he was looking at. It sort of looked human. On the other hand, it also resembled a giant crab with pinkish white skin. He stepped closer to it, his adrenalin levels peaking, and looked at the head that was drooped over the bathtub.
It was Eddie Ford, his parole officer.
Or at least it had his face.
The whole body was a mangled pile of bloody crab shell, skin, and viscera. Henry felt faint. He held the bathroom wall and slowly walked out of the room, not sure what to expect when he looked back at Grant. Was he hallucinating? Would Grant, too, look like a giant crab? Henry was ready for anything at this point.
When Henry looked over, Grant’s eyes were closed and next to his right hand was a handgun. Slowly and as quiet as he could manage considering he was still shaking, Henry made his way to the bed and grabbed the gun. Then he left the room in a daze and wondering if Dix was witnessing something equally grotesque.
* * *
When Dix went next door to Room 11, he almost knocked before he saw the doorknob was missing. Goddamnit, Grant. What the fuck did you do now? He slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside. There was a well-dressed guy standing with his back to Dix. He moved towards the bathroom while Dix just stood there and watched.
The man turned around and Dix recognized him.
Robert Hapertas. The Haberdasher. Motherfucker used to work for Terry Silver. Even for an ex-con, he was a real fucking scumbag coming off like he’s all proper and shit when he’s just a fucking shoe-sniffing pervert. Dix’s ex-girlfriend Deborah had told him about the guy, about all the weird shit he asked her to do. She had told Dix he made her were pantyhose for weeks on end as well as high heels and old sneakers. What the fuck was wrong with the guy, Dix had always wondered. The guy was rich but lived in a shitty house off of Main Street. Crazy guys like that are unpredictable.
The Haberdasher squinted to get a good look at Dix and then held up a gun. “So you did this, huh?” He pointed to the woman on the floor. The woman had no feet.
Dix said, “What the fuck are you talking about?” He prepared his body for a quick retreat. Then someone jumped out of the bathroom and jumped onto Robert. From what Dix could see it was a dirty, naked woman using her fingernails and teeth to tear at the Haberdasher’s custom made suit.
Robert shouted and put his gun to the woman but his fingers were pried open by the woman and the gun dropped to the ground.
“Help me!” Robert screamed but Dix was petrified with morbid amusement. He felt an arm on his shoulder and jumped with shock. Henry was standing behind him.
“What the fuck is going on? I just saw…” Henry couldn’t finish. Explaining it just wouldn’t make any sense.
Dix said, “We’re getting the fuck out of here now.” He pulled Henry away and went towards the car. Henry resisted and took a look inside the room, watching the struggle between the dirty, naked woman and the Haberdasher. At that moment, the woman was pushed into the bathroom and the man picked up the gun.
“Christ,” Henry said and then got in the car beside Dix.
Dix drove away before Henry even got both his feet in the car. They sped off and Henry said, “You know who that was, right?”
“Yeah. It was the fucking Haberdasher,” he said, “and he’s right behind us.”
Chapter Ten
Robert was more pissed at the damage being done to his suit than at the physical damage he was receiving at the hands of the crazy woman who jumped out of the bathroom. Once his gun dropped to the floor, he knew he’d either have to make a grab for it himself or get out of there before the woman grabbed it.
She now had a hold of his neck and was digging her nails in it. Over her shoulder, Robert could see something in the bathroom, some sort of weird contraption. Next to it was a pair of feet. Marie’s feet. He still didn’t know what the fuck happened and surrendered to the fact that he may never find that out.
The woman was so close to him now that kneeing her wouldn’t do any real damage. She had him in a clinch, her filthy, droopy tits against the front of his suit and her mouth open wide in a spittle-filled frenzy.
Finally Robert felt her muscles relax for a second and he pushed her back, sending her into the bathroom where she landed on her ass. He grabbed the gun and ran out of the room but not before almost tripping over Marie who was still unconscious on the floor. The naked woman ran out of the bathroom and ran after him.
Robert said, “Fucking bitch.” He turned quickly and fired twice at the woman. The first bullet missed and the second hit her in the gut. She screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
Getting into his car, Robert thought about going back in to get Marie but decided that the bitch must have gotten herself in trouble with the wrong people and it wasn’t his responsibility to help her out with that. Their business together was over as far as he was concerned and if she survived, he’d send her some flowers but that’s all.
What he needed to do, Robert decided, was go after that guy Dix. He recognized the guy from the pictures his girl Deborah had in her purse. He sees me in there with Marie on the ground, gonna get the
wrong idea about things, tell the wrong people. Robert thought he saw another guy, a taller one who also looked familiar. He’d find out soon enough.
Robert also wondered whether Dix and the other guy had something to do with Marie’s predicament. What if that crazy woman in the bathroom was Dix’s new sweetheart? The fucker just stood there and watched Robert get mauled. That alone required retribution.
He was grateful at that moment that he had a fast car. Robert couldn’t imagine trying to chase someone in one of those new pieces of shit that pass for automobiles nowadays. Down the road, Robert could see their headlights or at least he thought it was them. They left the parking lot in a shitty foreign car. He’d drive up close and make sure it was them.
Then: Bang, Bang.
* * *
Clark was still reading his comic book when he heard the gunshots.
“What now?” he said. Since getting the job three years ago, he was used to all the shit that went on here. The fights. The drug deals. The occasional longhead coming around and banging on doors at three in the morning. Still, Clark was never told by his Uncle Smitty, what to do in the event of a gunfight. Calling the cops could bring some unnecessary heat down on the motel. Both Clark and his uncle had a stake in some of the illegal dealings that went on and they both had no desire to get locked up.
This put Clark in a little bind.
He looked out the office window but couldn’t see a damn thing because it was caked in dirt and dirty handprints. Clark had to get closer to the door in order to see what was going on but by doing so he knew he’d be putting himself in harm’s way. He put his face to the glass door and looked out.
Lying in the parking lot was a naked woman, trembling and screaming. She was holding her stomach and Clark can see that it was a gut-shot, painful as hell. He couldn’t see a shooter but saw a car leaving the parking lot so he was safe. But what now? Call the cops? No, there had to be another solution.
A thought occurred to Clark. The thought wasn’t an original one. It was something that he had read in the comic book. The motel wasn’t a tourist destination and so the other guests wouldn’t be doing shit about the gunshots. They knew enough to keep to themselves. So Clark decided to take the comic as inspiration.
