Stroke of Genius (Archie Lemons #3)

by Grant Fieldgrove

 

  The hotel was really just a motel, it wasn't fooling anyone. The walkways to the rooms were dark, the only light coming from the stairs and whatever illumination was pouring out between the gaps of the in-room curtains. I decided to try and peek into every room. I was at the fourth window when two rooms ahead a door open and out walked Larry. The iPad fell out of my hand and crashed to the floor; both my hands were gripping the gun handle, pointing it at the back of Larry's massive head.

  He heard the iPad break and turned quickly to face me.

  "Hold it right there, Kobe!" I yelled. Larry just stared at me with cold, emotionless eyes.

  "Fuck you," he said to me with a little nod in my direction. He reached down, grabbed the handle of his suitcase and gave it a hard tug to get it over the door jamb. "You here for her?"

  "That's right, you fat fuck! How about you put your disgusting fucking ham hock arms up and tickle that ceiling."

  He let go of the handle and took a solitary step in my direction.

  "What the fuck did I just tell you?! Hands up, Kubiak!"

  He took another step towards me. He was about five feet from the tip of my gun, his massive, imposing figure blocking out the entire walkway behind him, light from the parking illuminating his silhouette, making him appear to glow. What I really wanted to do was run away and cry in a dark corner. Another step and he says, "How about this? How about I break your fucking legs and force you to watch me make your girlfriend my slut?"

 

  For such a large man he sure is spry. All I managed to get out of my stupid mouth was, "How about I-," before he collided with me, lifting me off my feet and slamming me against the back wall that, I thought, was a good twenty feet behind me, leaving my poorly selected choice of footwear for such a freezing-cold night, an eighty dollar pair of Abercrombie flip-flops, sitting on the walkway, sans feet. I hit my head hard and was left slightly dazed. His forearm was pressed firmly against my throat as I gasped for air. His left hand was bracing my right hand, still holding the gun, against the wall above my head. My feet were dangling and I desperately tried to find land. I began thrashing my legs around trying to break free. His grip on me slipped and my toes felt the disgusting, soiled carpet below. He removed his arms from my throat and moved his giant hand to my chest to continue holding me still. He then head butted me in the face, breaking my nose.

  He picked me up again, turned me around and threw me down the walkway. I hit my head again and lost my hold on the gun, sending it skidding down the hall towards the suitcase that held Elise captive. I didn't even have time to regain my wits before the fat man was on top of me, tossing me in the air like pizza dough, sending my back into the underside of the walkway above us then swiftly returning to the ground.

  "Time to check out," he said as he picked me up again. I was frightened for Elise and frightened for myself and for the kids, but in that one flash of a second I couldn't help but be pissed off at that he came up with a kick ass catch phrase! Where the hell does he get off stealing my-(oh fuck.) He lifted me and nonchalantly tossed me over the railing. I was able to grab on to one of the rails and momentarily delay my earthly departure. I tried kicked my legs to get a swing going. My plan was to pull a John McClane and crash into the floor below, only I guess, without the glass and only about an eighth of the awesomeness. Bare feet, though! Larry watched my struggle and kicked my hand grasping the metal rod causing me to lose my grip and fall. Luckily for me, I had enough forward momentum on my latest sway that I fell on the railing the floor below, totally fucking ribcaging it, knocking the wind from my lungs and causing me to fall backwards into the hallway. Larry leaned over and watched me. I was slow getting to my feet. My lungs were desperate for air as I stumbled towards the stairwell. I took the steps two at a time and when I reached the third floor Larry was waiting for me. I caught my breath and delivered a rather impressive punch to his jaw. He was momentarily stunned and I took the opportunity to run past him in hopes of grabbing the suitcase and making our escape. He reached for me and grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt, slowing me down. I straightened my arms out behind me and the hoodie slipped right off. I continued my journey towards Elise, Stay-Puft chasing after me. I couldn't see my gun. He must have had it. Damn. I reached the case and grabbed the handle on the fly, pulling it behind me and heading towards the stairway on the far end of the hotel. Motel.

  By the time that speedy fucking trouser destroyer caught up to me I finally realized the suitcase was too light to be holding Elise. I had fucked up. This was the wrong case. I turned and looked up and saw Larry's softball size fist hurdling towards me, destroying my already broken nose and sending my flat on my ass. Why was no one coming out of their rooms to help?! Seriously, was everyone staying in this shithole down in the casino?

  "I guess I'll just break your fucking your fucking legs right here," he said, looking down on me. "I don't like to do this at my hotel, for obvious reasons, but I guess it will be okay this time. Neither of you will be around to talk. Nevada has a lot of desert." He grabbed my right foot, elevated my leg and began twisting. The pressure was almost too much to bear. This was it.

  "Hey!" a voice called out from somewhere behind Larry. He dropped my foot and as he turned to look I caught a quick glimpse of Elise standing a few yards away. I quickly rolled towards the railing and tried to get up. "I fucking hate rapists!" A thundering explosion echoed through the hallway, nearly deafening. Larry stood there perfectly still, his back towards me, still blocking Elise completely from my sight. Time seemed to move in slow-motion, again. I couldn't figure out what had happened. I was still in a daze.

  The crotch and ass of Larry's khaki pants were rapidly becoming drenched in a crimson so dark it almost looked black. Blood began trickling to the floor. He fell to his knees, and then keeled over to his right, resting his body on the motel's stucco wall. He began to groan. The entire front of his pants was shredded wide open, a small trail of smoke wafted outwards and up from singe the bullet had caused. With one gunshot Elise had completely destroyed the rapist's most dangerous weapon.

  She dropped the gun and walked over to help me him, dried blood staining her beautiful face. Larry was still up against the wall. He's breaths sounded painful and difficult. His eyes began rolling back then eventually his eye lids shut. Elise stepped over to him, pressing hard one of her size eight black Converse All Stars directly into his wound causing the man’s eyelids to pop open in horror. That fat, fucking roadblock of a man screamed like a hungry baby.

  "You're not dying on me, bitch," Elise said, still working the rubber tip of her shoe into Larry's new man-gina. "Death is too good for rapists." She removed her foot and regarded the bloody mess that was once a clean shoe. "Oh, and thanks for the DNA, asshole." She turned back to me and asked, "You okay?"

  "Oh my god. I think I'm going to barf. I've done enough barfing this trip. Did you- Were you- Were you in that suitcase?"

  "I was. Son of a bitch slammed my face into a wall, when I came to I was in there."

  "How did you get out?!"

  "It's a cheap suitcase, Archie, not a safe."

  "Well, I guess we know now that you could have fit in that other one we tried." It was a lame attempt at a joke. The silence that followed proved just how lame it really was. "Cops are coming."

  "Your nose is broken... Again."

  "Your face looks like you were making out with Pinhead." I reached out to remove a clump of hair stuck to the blood on her cheek. I didn't have the chance to finish the task, though; Elise grabbed the sides of my head and pulled my lips to hers. Not like before. Never like this. I didn't feel afraid anymore. I didn't feel alone.

  Epilogue

  Well we did it. How we keep getting away with shit like this, I will never know. What I do know is that they pulled that fat bastard’s DNA and matched it with the sample from Leslie's body. Not surprisingly it was a match. Detective Howard and the police also contacted Larry's employer and retrie
ved a full list of every single city Larry had stopped in since his initial hire. They were pretty certain there would be a few more matches in other cities. Long story short, Larry's not seeing the light of day ever again. The hotel and insurance folk were as happy as they could be, which was still not very happy, but whatever. Fuck 'em. We cleared all their staff, thus resulting in less liability for them. We also caught a rapist. And a murderer (unfortunately for them.) Larry's prints were all over Vince and Ball's room. So, now instead of one lawsuit by Leslie, looks like they might be facing another one from Balthazar's family. We shall see, though.

  I called Vince to tell him the good news. Bad news. Either way. He was pleased and thanked us profusely. We told him we were happy to help and it was all because of him that a rapist and murderer was off the streets for good. You could tell he tried to be happy but was still heartbroken. He had lost his best friend. I told him we would be returning every cent he paid us the investigation. He said we didn't have to but I insisted. Truth was, I was going to bill everything to the stupid Myra Hotel, and actually, this case would bring us a shit ton more money, anyway.

  Also on the drive home, I sent Gena a text message. Abrasive as she was, she was actually a really sweet lady and helped us out a lot. In some weird, twisted, possibly crab-infested way I would miss her friendship. She told me to 'hit her up' if I was ever in town again. I told her I saved her number. I had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time I heard from that crazy beezy. (Whatever a beezy is.)

  We got home one day later than we promised the kids, but, ya know, at least we made it home. The biggest laugh upon our arrival was Elliot's present to his mom. It was a crayon drawing, which every parent would love to receive. This one was only slightly different than your average grade-schooler’s art project though. This one featured a crudely drawn man with X'd out eyes, his mouth agape, tongue hanging out with a belt tied around his neck, slumped over in a closet. Apparently we had left a few crime scene photos lying around. We would have to be more careful. Sure, it was sick and morbid and rather disturbing, but it was a much needed laugh and it was proudly displayed front and center on Elise's fridge.

  We made good on our promise, too. With my business card, I purchased everyone a deluxe annual passport to the happiest place on earth. It was a bill I would be sending to the Myra hotel. We would be leaving the day after Christmas. All of us.

  The following morning after our arrival, we packed up the kids and took them on a short little ride to the cemetery. I had visited a few times by myself, but never with company. We parked up the hill, just a few yards away from the people I wanted to visit. The kids wanted to stay behind in the car so Elise and I let them. No big deal. It was ridiculously cold outside, anyway.

  I said hi to both my parents. Told them I missed them and loved them, then walked a few more feet and said hi to my lovely wife and unborn daughter. I got down on my knees and swept the dirt off the gravestone with my hand. Something I normally would never do. This was different though. I saw tears in Elise's eyes. Sisters robbed of a lifetime together.

  A light drizzle of freezing rain began to fall.

  "Ya know what?" I asked, still unable to deal with my feelings, "I still need to go to that grocery store and find out who stole all my money."

  "Yeah."

  "Maybe I'll go later today."

  "Go get 'em, Tiger." Elise said with a smile. Her breath warming up the air around her. The upward movement of her cheeks forced one of the tears from her eyes. Her phone started vibrating.

  "Better get that."

  She took it out of her pocket and checked the ID. "It's Jim."

  "Jim. Right on. Better answer it, then."

  "Jim, hi," she said as she turned around and walked away. I returned my attention towards Marianne and Isabelle.

  "I miss you guys so much. Every day has been a struggle since you left me. I’m trying, I really, really am, but… I don’t know. I think I know what you’ve been trying to tell me while I sleep. It’s time to let you go, to move on. And, I don’t know. There is someone. Someone I’ve become close to and if I do something about it I need to know that you’re okay with it, because I’m scared to death, and, I just, I don’t want you to think I’ve stopped loving you." I looked back towards Elise who was still preoccupied with her phone call.

  (Go tell her!)

  (I can’t)

  (Quit being such a baby!)

  (I have too much to lose if she rejects me!)

  (But you have so much to gain if she doesn’t!)

  (I can’t. It’s not right.)

  (God, you sicken me! I hate you!)

  I tried to ignore my thoughts and think for a moment in silence. I heard Elise talking to Jim in the distance. I can’t be positive, but I think she just told him she had a nice time with him but there is someone else.

  (Me?)

  (You!)

  She ended her phone call and started to walk back over to me. The rain had already stopped but the air felt colder. It felt like the day I buried my wife. I was underdressed now and shivering.

  "There's someone else?" I asked.

  "You heard that?"

  "Yeah."

  "Yeah, well you know. I had to say something. He wasn't really my type. Didn't want to lead him on. Just thought I'd let him down gently. You know? "

  I smiled. Standing there, under the dark clouds, Elise’s black hair took on a bluish hue. Her mascara had run a little bit, maybe from the rain, maybe from crying. It didn’t matter. She still looked beautiful. "Sure," I said. "I know."

  (Tell her! Tell her how you feel!)

  (I can’t. I just can’t. Not right here. Not right now.)

  "Oh my god!" Elise exclaimed. I snapped from my inner conflict with inquiry. "It’s snowing, Archie. It’s snowing. “I looked around and saw little specks of white slowly wafting down from the heavens up above, just as they had… "Arch, it hasn’t snowed since-“

  (There is your sign! Do it! Touch her arms and look into her eyes and tell her!)

  Inadvertently, I had begun to cry. I reached out to grab Elise, rubbing her arms in a lame attempt to warm her up; really, I was just buying time to work up the nerve. I looked straight into her eyes. They were bright and wide and beautiful and haunting. This was my time. My do-or-die moment. I glanced briefly back at Marianne’s grave then returned to my new love standing before me. It could only go one of two ways. A 50/50 shot.

  Standing there in the middle of the cemetery.

  The two of us.

  Alone.

  Me, with this ridiculous Jake-From-Chinatown tape across my nose and her with the entire left side of her face scraped and beginning to scab.

  Holding her gaze.

  Petrified.

  (Now.)

  She smiled, my hands still rubbing her arms, perhaps a little more fiercely than required. Time seemed to slow down. I took a deep breath.

  "Elise…"

  AFTERWORD

  Aw, Stroke of Genius. The book that has so much hatred flowing through it that it couldn't have been written by anyone but me at my most cynical. With this one I had the entire story before I even had a plot. Let me explain.

  I was coming off of, what probably could be described as, the worst weekend vacation ever, in a little town called Las Vegas. You ever have one of those trips where nothing goes right? Where, after each new pile of shit you step in, it would almost seem comical if you just weren't so fucking pissed off? Well, that was this trip. What was supposed to be a big weekend with a large group of people ended up reeking of runny shit and ending my friendship with several people.

  In the book, I wasn't allowed to say the real name of the hotel, but here, in the wonderful afterward, I say fuck it. It was the Aria. The worst hotel I have ever stayed at. I've stayed in Motel 6s that were better than this hobo-shit operation they call a hotel. First of all, we go to check in and we end up waiting for an hour. AN HOUR! The first night we were staying there was j
ust in a regular room and the second night was in the big penthouse for a party. Well, on the second day, we are told that the people currently staying in the penthouse are refusing to leave. They want to stay another night. True story. This is what we are told, and when we ask them to go kick them the fuck out, they say they can't. WHAT?!

  Then we demand to be upgraded. Well, guess what, there are no rooms available. Or so they say. I call bullshit on that. Apparently, throughout all their properties in Vegas, there isn't a single Penthouse-or-better room available. Mmhmm. Sure, Aria. Sure.

  So, after FOUR HOURS! FOUR!!! HOURS!!! they magically find a room for us. Keep in mind, we've already checked out of our other room, so we are currently homeless, just waiting around in the lobby. Anyway, we finally get a room, with a wonderful view of a roof, and inside, seriously, it is exactly as I described it in the book. Fucking NOTHING works! The stereo doesn't work, the fridge doesn't work, the bathtub, the shower, nothing. Water floods out from the tub and on to the floor, the steam shower won't start, the sofa has a big cigarette burn on it...just awful! The whole goddamn thing is just awful. So, then and there, I decide this shithole will be making an appearance in my next book. I don't know how, but oh yes, it will be here, in all its craptastic glory.