Hot Sheets

by Ray Gordon

  "What's come over you, Dave?" Mike asked. "I can hardly believe that you haven't set fire to the steaks and burned the veg."

  "All under control!" the young man beamed proudly.

  "Three punters are here so..."

  "Right, there's a choice of wines in the fridge and there's minestrone soup or melon for starters, so I'm ready when the girls are."

  "Well done, Dave! I can't believe that you haven't fucked up, I really can't! OK, I'm going back to the bar to check up on things."

  Walking through the foyer, Mike wondered whether or not it was wise to return to the bar where, no doubt, Wendy Widegroin was pumping Nancy and Paul for information. Before too long, Paul would be unconscious on the floor - but Nancy might inadvertently let something slip, and it wouldn't be her knickers!

  "Mr Hunt!" Miss Chaste cried as she hobbled down the stairs. "Mr Hunt, my room doesn't work and I've locked my key in the lift, what shall I do?"

  "You've locked your key in the lift?"

  "Oh, have I? Thank goodness for that, I thought I'd locked it in my room! The problem is that the lift doesn't work, so I won't be able to get my key."

  "What? What are you talking about, Miss Chaste? Have you been in the sun?"

  "In the Sun? Oh, no, I read the Mail."

  "The Mail? Look, I haven't got the time to play psychotic games - tell me what it is you want."

  "My key's locked in and the lift doesn't work."

  "What you're saying is that you've locked your key in your room, is that right?"

  "Yes, that's what I said in the first place."

  "Right, take the skeleton key."

  "Is it dead?"

  "Dead? Jesus Christ!" Mike exclaimed, thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket. "Go and open your door with my key, get your key, and then bring my key back to me."

  "It all sounds rather confusing!"

  "It couldn't be simpler. Go and get your key."

  "How shall I do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "Get to my room and..."

  "With the key I've just given you."

  "But the lift doesn't work."

  "Use the bloody stairs!"

  "Oh, yes, yes of course."

  Rubbing his forehead as the old woman scurried across the foyer, Mike knew the time had come to take a gamble - get rid of the old fogies and pray that room sixty-nine would replace the lost income. There was no way he could put up with Miss Chaste and the bucking colonel for a day longer - they were driving him nuts! Grabbing the letter opener as Miss Chaste tottered down the stairs again, he contemplated murder.

  "I've done it, Mr Hunt!" she cried triumphantly.

  "Thank God for that! Give me the skeleton key and then go and take a rest in your room for a year or... an hour or two."

  "The skeleton key?"

  "Yes, the key I gave you just now."

  "Just now? Oh, that key!"

  "Yes, that key."

  "Now, where did I put it? Let me see, I unlocked my door and went inside, and then I put my bag and the key on the bed and... and then what did I do?"

  Shove a vibrator up your...

  "Oh, yes, I couldn't find the key."

  "Which key?"

  "My key. That's right, I locked my key in..."

  "Where's my key, Miss Chaste?"

  "Oh dear, have you lost yours, too?"

  "No, of course I haven't, you senile old... I gave it to you!"

  "When?"

  "Just now, before you went up stairs to your room."

  "To my room?"

  "Yes, to your room. Look, let's start again - where's your key?"

  "I've told you twice, it's in my room."

  "What? Look, you had two keys, my key and your key."

  "Did I?"

  "You know damn well... where are the keys now?"

  "Well, mine's in my room."

  "Bloody hell!"

  "Oh, Mr Hunt! I really do think you should stop swearing."

  "I'll really swear in a minute! Where the hell's my key?"

  "I don't know. Where did you leave it?"

  "Where did I leave it? Miss Chaste, can we please..."

  "Your key's on my bed."

  "Ah, at last! Right, it's quite simple, go and get my key."

  "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

  "I have a pretty good idea, Miss Chaste."

  "A ladder!"

  "Where?"

  "You'll need a ladder to climb up to my window and get your key."

  "God, there must be an easier way to..."

  "Oh, there is, Mr Hunt. Why don't you use my key to get into my room?"

  "Because your key's locked in your..."

  "But I have my key here - look, in my bag."

  "Miss Chaste, are you deliberately trying to... OK, go to your room and get my key and then, please, leave me in peace! Good God, your key, their key, my key, our key, his key, her fucking key..."

  "Oh, Mr Hunt!"

  "I'm coming to the boil, Miss Chaste! Five, four, three, two..."

  "I'm going, I'm going!"

  Fearing that he was close to a nervous breakdown, Mike looked up to the ceiling and clasped his hands together as the old woman climbed the stairs. Oh, God, I'll do anything, anything! Please, just get rid of these fucking... sorry, I mean, these problems, and I promise I'll never have anal intercourse again. Well, I'll cut down, say, four times a week. And, if you get rid of that old bat, I'll give up drinking. No, I'll halve my alcohol intake - almost halve it! The old bat's had a good innings, hasn't she, God? Take her, please! Yes, tonight - take her tonight and I'll also cut down on wanking - just a bit.

  The lights suddenly going out, Mike looked around the foyer in puzzlement. Checking the monitor, he realized that the power supply to the hotel was off. They can't have cut me off! The man from the electricity board had been happy enough to charge his tool with the girls rather than cut off the supply, so what had happened? Besides, he would have had to pull out the company fuse in the understairs cupboard, and he hadn't seen him come back. The vibrator won't work, he suddenly realized as Dave peered round the kitchen door to inform him that the power was off.

  "Yes, I know that!" Mike returned irritably. "What do you think I am, fucking demented?"

  "Sorry, I didn't realize that you knew."

  "Of course I... shit, how the hell do we get the punters up to the fourth floor with the lift not working?"

  "Use the stairs."

  "There are no fucking stairs!"

  "Fuck me, we're stairless and liftless!"

  "You'll be bloody cockless in a minute! OK, don't panic. Serve the meals and I'll see what I can do about the power. Candlelight - yes, dinner by candlelight. Tell the girls to light some candles, and not the ones stuffed up their cunts! The last thing I need is roast fanny! I'll ring the electricity board and blow the bastards up."

  Sighing as he looked up the number, Mike wondered if his luck would ever change. Floods, fires, explosions - and now no electricity! Determined not to be beaten by the establishment, he punched the telephone buttons and waited impatiently for a reply.

  "If you're calling about your account, say yes after the tone," the computer droned in his ear.

  "Of course I'm not calling about my fucking account!" Mike bellowed angrily at the machine.

  "Thank you for calling accounts, please hold the line."

  "I don't want fucking accounts!"

  "Hallo, accounts - Mandy speaking."

  "Right, Mandy, I want you to tell me why there's no electricity in my hotel!"

  "May I have your name and account number?"

  "Screw my account number! This is Stokepot Towers Hotel. I want to know..."

  "Stokepot Towers. Right, I'm just getting you up on the screen. OK, is that Mr Hunt?"

  "No, it's the fucking pope!"

  "The name I have is Hunt, not Pope."

  "Of course I'm Hunt! What's happened to my electricity supply?"

  "I'm afraid your supply has been
disconnected, Mr Hunt."

  "Well, you'd better reconnect it - now!"

  "Certainly, sir - we'll reconnect your supply as soon as we've received four thousand, five hundred and sixty-five pounds, and eighty-two pence."

  "You'll do it now or I'll come round and rip your wet knickers off and stuff them right up your..."

  "I'm sorry, sir, abuse will get you nowhere."

  "Unless you... shit, the bitch has hung up!"

  Screams of female orgasm emanating from the dining room, Mike shook his head despairingly. After their candlelit suppers, the clients would be eager to get to the fourth floor to enjoy the girls' naked bodies, but with the lift not working...

  "What's happened to the lights, mate?" Trudie asked, peering round the dining room door.

  "Don't ask!" Mike groaned as an impeccably dressed, youngish man entered the building. "Where's Cecilia?"

  "Er... beneath one of the tables giving a client a blow..."

  "Yes, yes, all right! Er... good evening," Mike smiled, turning to greet the new arrival. "Welcome to Stokepot Towers."

  "Good evening, I booked room sixty-nine. I... I didn't give my name..." the man grinned sheepishly, taking two hundred pounds from his wallet.

  "Of course, sir! If you care to go through into the dining room, the girls will attend to you," Mike smiled, grabbing the cash.

  Watching the prurient punter enter the dining room, Mike raised his eyes to the ceiling. No lift, no lights, no vibrator... "Shit, I'll have someone's balls for this!" he cursed. Hearing a noise coming from the understairs cupboard, he hurried across the foyer to investigate.

  "You bastard!" he stormed, kicking the Electricity Board man's arse as he cowered by the fuse box. "You fucking bastard!"

  "I had to cut you off, mate. It was that or lose my job!"

  "I'll cut you off unless you reconnect the bloody supply!"

  "But..."

  "I'll tear your bollocks off!"

  "All right, all right! But I don't know what I'm going to say to my boss."

  "You'll say that you cut me off. Reconnect the supply and get out of here!"

  The lights coming on, Mike sat at the desk and rested his head in his hands as the Electricity Board man fled the building. This was the last straw, he thought, speculating on what the hell would happen next. The phone ringing, he wondered whether he dare answer it - it was bound to be trouble!

  "Good evening, Stokepot Towers," he finally replied.

  "Ah, Mr Hunt, Inspector Dickwipe here."

  Fuck me! "Oh, hallo, Inspector. What can I do for you?"

  "I'd like you to come down to the station to make a statement."

  "A statement? What about? There isn't another woman ranting and raving about being savaged by wild cats in one of my bathrooms, is there?"

  "No, not this time. Miss Knickerlace is here with the girl you allegedly seduced."

  Jesus fucking Christ! "Er... I'm rather busy just now, Inspector."

  "I'll expect you in about ten minutes, Mr Hunt. Oh, and please don't think of leaving the country, I'd hate to be forced to have Interpol arrest and deport you."

  "All right, all right, I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "Good, I thought you'd see sense."

  Replacing the receiver, Mike sighed. This was it, the end, he was sure as WPC Widegroin emerged from the bar and climbed the stairs. She was obviously off on her tour of the hotel, looking for clues, for signs of ill repute. Eyeing the letter opener, the long silver blade gleaming in the light, a terrible and most evil idea crossed his mind.

  Chapter Eight

  Midday Saturday, and the food for the wedding reception was far from ready. The electricity supply was still on, which was something Mike had to be thankful for, but the forty-odd wedding guests would soon be arriving to discover a shambolic excuse of a buffet.

  "What a fucking bastard of a week this has been!" Mike cursed, kicking the kitchen door open to find Dave balancing a tray of charred vol-au-vents in one hand and a plate of prawns in the other. "Christ, I spend the bloody night and half the morning in the fucking police cells, and I have to come back to complete and utter chaos!"

  "All under control," Dave grinned, dropping the plate of prawns. "Shit!"

  "Jesus Christ, Dave! As if I haven't got enough on my plate without..."

  "I wish the prawns were on my plate!"

  "Your bollocks'll be on a plate in a minute!"

  "Talking of bollocks, what happened at the cop shop?"

  "Hell, absolute bloody hell! It's not the girl, Kirsty, it's that cuntless old bat, Knickerlace. Apparently, the witch noticed a good helping of spunk in Kirsty's knickers. She can't prove anything, of course, but it doesn't look too good for me."

  "What about DNA? They could check your spunk and..."

  "No, by the time the old hag had dragged Kirsty to the cop station, the girl had rinsed out her knickers and douched her fanny with a garden hose. Fortunately, there's no proof whatsoever. Besides, she's eighteen - eligible for a damned good shagging."

  "You're OK, then?"

  "Not quite. Knickerlace is accusing me of rape."

  "Blimey!"

  "Kirsty's told the cops that nothing happened, but Dickwipe already has it in for me and he won't let it rest."

  "That reminds me, Inspector Dickwipe has been here looking for Harold Gloom."

  "Oh, God! I'll have to tell poor old Harold to leave, I can't afford to be part of his murder games."

  "Mrs Gloom's been going mental, threatening to call in the FBI."

  "The FBI? Christ, she is mental! I'll have to chuck them all out, they're causing too many bloody problems."

  "Your ex-wife's none too happy, either."

  "Why, what's her problem?"

  "She wants you to fuck her."

  "What? Is that what she said?"

  "No, but it's pretty obvious. She's been pining for you."

  "I suppose I could give her one up her bum, just for old time's sake. I'll suggest it when I next see her. Has anything else happened? Not that I really want to know!"

  "Yes, the King of Skythuania is after your blood. The princess rang to say that he's on his way here with a bunch of machine gun-wielding henchmen."

  "Bloody hell! I might be shot, assassinated - killed, even!"

  "That's the price you pay for screwing a princess's royal fanny. It'll turn out to be a costly fuck!"

  "Yes, it'll cost me my life! Actually, that might not be a bad thing! But I can't worry about that now. So, what about the wedding reception?"

  "As I said, it's all under control. By the way, that Widegroin bird has been snooping round the third floor. Paul said that she'd been asking questions about the building and..."

  "Bloody hell, that's all I need! I'll rip her nipples off!"

  "There's worse, I'm afraid."

  "Worse? Go on, you might as well tip the entire load of crap over me!"

  "She's been outside, counting the windows, and she reckons that there's a fourth floor. I'd say that she's sussed you, Mike."

  "Where's the snooping little bitch now?"

  "I don't know. Oh, Paul's fitted a special switch to the lift. We've all got our own keys, here's yours."

  "Great!" Mike beamed, taking the key.

  "He's also carpeted the area where the staircase was on the third floor."

  "That's good, now no one will ever know there were stairs there. OK, do your best with the food and I'll go and find that Widegroin Pig Cunt. I wonder whether she's got a tight one?"

  "More than likely."

  "With any luck, I'll find out. Remind me to kick you in the balls later."

  "Will do."

  Dashing upstairs to the devious blonde's room, Mike took the skeleton key from his pocket and let himself in. She wasn't there, but he noticed her police-issue notebook lying on the bed. Flicking through the pages, he grinned as he read her scrawl.

  Counting the rows of windows outside the hotel, it's obvious that there's a fourth floor. Cleverly, the
staircase has been removed and the lift only ascends to the third floor, but that didn't fool me! As yet, I've been unable to reach the mysterious top floor. But being a highly competent, up-and-coming young WPC with plenty of initiative, I'm going to climb the fire escape and gain access.

  Slinging the notepad on the bed, Mike rocketed from the room and took the lift to the top floor. What he'd do if he discovered Wendy Widegroin snooping around room sixty-nine, he had no idea. No normal hotel rooms contained spanking frames, dildos, whips, handcuffs, vibrators... there was no way he could innocently explain away the sex equipment!

  Entering the original room sixty-nine, he focused on the padded frame, picturing Widegroin's naked body bent over the bar, her wrists cuffed to her ankles, her rounded buttocks projected, positioned for a damned good whipping. Must get hold of a spanking paddle.

  "Well, the bitch isn't here," he murmured, turning on his heels to leave the room. Hearing muffled movements in the hall, he tiptoed across the carpet and hid behind the door. Holding his breath as the door slowly opened, he was determined to put an end to Widegroin's snooping - even if it meant thrashing her naked buttocks until she begged for mercy!

  "Ah, Miss Widegroin!" he grinned as she crept into the room and ran her hand over the wooden frame. "What are you doing up here?"

  "Oh! I... I seem to have got lost!" she gasped, surprised, turning to face him. "I was looking over the hotel and..."

  "And you climbed the fire escape to this floor?" Mike smirked, closing and locking the door.

  "No, no I..."

  Slipping the key into his pocket, he leaned against the door. "That's a nice dress you're wearing, would you mind taking it off?"

  "Taking it off?" the sensuous sleuth echoed, her inquisitive blue eyes widening with fear.

  "I'm sure you'd look far better naked - WPC Widegroin!"

  "Oh! Er... you know about..."

  "Yes, I know all about you, Inspector Prickwipe - and Operation Harlot! I'm usually a very placid man, Wendy - quiet, calm... I'm happy-go-lucky most of the time but, when people deliberately rile me, I become upset."

  "I was only staying here for a few days to have a break, to get away from it all. I got lost - I wasn't snooping around, if that's what you think."

  "No, that's not what I think - that's what I know. I read your notebook, the comments about the top floor. I also listened in to your phone call to Inspector Prickwipe. The problem I have now is, what do I do with you?"