by K. T. Tomb
Storm opened a small bottle of Black Bush from the minibar and poured the double measure in a glass. He smelled it for a second and then slammed the liquor down his throat.
He had hoped the whole thing would be a great distraction from his usual problems in New York, but it had turned out to be a complete dud and now, here he was back in the Big Apple.
Maybe I should have gone to Vegas.
He sighed and looked in the mini-bar for another whiskey, but there was none. He opened a can of Budweiser instead. The lager made him make a face in disgust. Storm swore. He needed something with more taste, and something a lot stronger than this. He grabbed his wallet, his metal case of cigars and went down to the bar.
At the bar, he ordered a double shot of rum and as soon as he received his glass of Stroh 80, he went out to the covered and warmed terrace. He sat down and opened the metal case, taking a cigarillo from it and lighting it. He sighed contentedly, breathing out the smoke and then he swallowed half the rum. The taste was vile, but unlike any other drink he knew of, it gave him the instant alcoholic kick in the head that he felt he needed.
There was no one outside, so in lieu of that entertainment Storm plugged his earphones into his smartphone and put on some music. 2Cello’s version of Thunderstruck seemed appropriate. It made him smile, despite his frustration. He downed the rest of the rum and stood up, walking to the railing that separated the terrace from the small hotel garden. He could not help nodding along to the rhythm and drumming his fingers on the cold metal.
The cellos took the place of the guitars well, but it added some drama to the AC/DC tune. Storm turned around and unconsciously began to play the song in midair. He knew the rock classic’s chords and notes by heart and had even made his own arrangement of it some years back. And then, at the crescendo of the song, it stopped. It was brilliant.
Storm smiled and began lowering his hands, realizing that a big-time lawyer, from a well-respected family, should not be seen playing air guitar in public with a cigar in his mouth. But just as he found himself calming down, a volley of gunfire shook him to the core of his very being. The windows shattered and the sudden gust of wind from the street caused his empty glass to jump off the table; the Waterford crystal smashed on the pavement. He had a strange ringing in his ears, even as more gunfire could be heard nearby. Storm shook his head trying to get rid of it, but the ringing persisted and was aggravated by the loud bursts that continued to assault them from the street. He ran into the bar, where the bartender looked as shaken as he did. Half his glasses and bottles had been damaged and the man was doused in alcohol. The glass and crystal lay smashed and broken all around him. But the bartender did not even bother to do anything about that. Instead, he grabbed the television remote control and changed the channel to the local news station.
Storm fixed his eyes on the screen, just waiting for something to be said about the shots that had rang out nearby. It took about five minutes before a reporter came onto the screen. A young, very pretty girl who looked rather flushed pointed at a building behind her which was surrounded by police and first responder vehicles. Storm slapped his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing in his ears that way. He needed to hear what she was saying. Beyond his own expectations, it worked.
“...just moments ago, an armored truck drove into the front of the Federal Reserve Bank. It drove all the way through the security posts and right through the huge doors that mark the building’s Liberty Street entrance. Two men were reportedly seen exiting the vehicle by employees of the Federal Reserve before the men opened fire on security personnel and proceeded to gain access to the interior of the facility. At the time, there were people working inside the building, as there always are people there to keep an eye on our national financial security. Even as first responders reacted to uproar and the silent alarms, the two are said to have made away with several million dollars worth of gold and silver bars; commodities which once out of regulated possession are virtually untraceable. Though it has been confirmed that the two have made good their escape, we don’t know exactly what has happened to them and if the authorities are in pursuit. But as we speak fire crews and ambulances are arriving. We hope to be able to report on the casualties at the scene very quickly. Meanwhile, we just have to hope that the loss of human life is minimal.”
The bartender changed the channel to CNN, and they too were already reporting on the event. Jack Henney seemed to have interrupted his show to go live to a reporter on Liberty Street and find out what he was learning.
Storm sat down and looked over the bar. The bottle of Stroh rum had fallen over but was still in one piece. He grabbed it and unscrewed the lid, placing the bottle on his lips and taking a deep swig. He saw the bartender motioning he was to hand the bottle back, and he did so.
“I can use some of that too,” the bartender declared and he put the bottle to his own lips. He made a face, but he seemed happy with it and began cleaning up the mess. Storm re-lit his cigarillo and stared at the screen, blowing clouds of smoke at the CNN reporter.
“You’re not allowed to smoke in here, you know.” He heard the bartender’s voice behind him.
Storm growled and made to put out his smoke.
“Give me one, and I’ll let it slide. Pretty sure the bosses won’t mind at the moment.”
Storm slid the metal case over to the man with a smile on his face and he turned to the screen again.
Jack came on again. He suddenly had a guest with him, whom they had dug out of the woodwork very quickly. Storm shook his head. It was obvious CNN had this guy on standby asked him to begin analyzing the events, which the man dutifully did, but Storm turned his face away in irritation. The man was waffling, obviously just speculating at things as he went along. The robbery had only just happened, the police had only just arrived and already the man was claiming it was ISIL terrorists backed by Russia or something crazy nonsense like that.
“Seems serious,” the bartender remarked to him.
Storm just growled, “It’s bullshit.” It earned him a surprised frown. “They’re making this up or they’re reading a script. There is no way they know all this when the police have only just arrived.”
The bartender nodded, and then let a big cloud of smoke escape past his lips. “I suppose you’re right.”
Storm sighed and laid the half corona down in the ashtray. He laid his head down on the bar and closed his eyes. The sound of the television droned into his head, and the bartender was busy cleaning up the wreckage that had been caused by the stray bullets. His frustration had been boiling over anyway; the robbery had caused a moment of excitement, but now the news was irritating him and making his frustration even worse.
He looked up when another sound rang in his ear. It was the sound of heels on the parquet flooring. “You know you’re not allowed to smoke in here, right?” the woman said in a low voice. She sounded disapproving. She looked it too, when Storm fixed his eyes on her.
The only response to her disapproval that he could muster was to pick up his cigar and shrug. He was too busy eyeing her.
She wore a perfectly tailored black skirt suit and simple pumps. Her legs were toned and shapely, she had a perfect hourglass figure and her brown hair was tied into a bun at the back of her head, though several strands of hair were already escaping. She had big blue eyes that seemed to look straight through him.
“Yeah, I know. But right now I don’t give a flying fuck.” Storm jabbed the cigar towards the television, where Jack's guest was still speaking.
“If you turn that off, you can go outside and smoke,” the woman bit at him.
The bartender put his cigar down and smiled at her. “Can I get you anything, miss?”
“A martini, please, very dirty.”
Storm sighed and got up. He was still angry and frustrated and he did not feel like he could deal with the moaning of this woman. He went outside with his smoke and his glass and sat down as close to the heater as possible.
He
smoked his cigar and slowly drank his drink, hoping he would have some time to cool down. He did not get it. The bartender tapped him on the shoulder not five minutes after he sat down. “They just announced they are conducting a search for the robbers. Everyone is to stay indoors and all doors and windows are to be locked. I got a call saying I should lock down too.”
Storm swore. He growled as he stood up and went back inside. The woman was still at the bar.
The bartender refilled his glass the moment he sat down and he slammed the drink back. He finished his cigar and sighed.
“If I can’t sit and smoke quietly, I might as well go to bed.” He got up, but the woman touched his arm, making him stop. “You’re frustrated for some reason, I am frustrated for some reason. Give me your room number, maybe we can help each other out.”
He stammered the number of his suite and she let him go. He was flabbergasted by her directness. It had left him speechless and all the way back up to his suite and when he dropped onto his bed and closed his eyes, he still pondered it.
***
Storm awoke with a start.
His dreams had been haunted by images of a burning bank, injured people, a big black man with dreadlocks and a bright smile and a judge who fell dead to the ground as he was riddled by gunfire. That was when he woke up.
Then another sound reached him. Half dreaming still, he thought it was the sound of gunshots, but then he realized it was a knock on the door. He stretched out and got up. He pulled his suit straight and ran a hand through his brown hair, brushing the locks away from his face. He had let it grow a bit recently, and he liked the way it looked, though he was now constantly running his hands through it. Then he opened the door.
The woman stepped in the moment the door swung open. She had a bottle of champagne in her hand and waved it.
“Thought a nightcap might help us both.”
She sashayed into the room, her hips swaying as she walked with a perfectly measured gait. She put the bottle down on the table, and then stripped off her blazer. She pulled her blouse out of her skirt and ripped the hair band out of her hair, shaking the long tresses loose.
Storm ran a hand through his hair again. It was becoming a tick, he would have to try and control it. He knew he had a light form of Tourette’s, though not the cool kind. He always had tics, but most of it was barely noticeable for people who weren’t looking for it. But this one was becoming obvious and he knew what had caused the tick this time. The woman before him had looked attractive before, but right now she just looked like a porn star.
“You do have some glasses here? I’m not going to be drinking from the bottle until the second day into this lock-in.” She smiled at Storm and nodded to the bottle on the table.
“Lock-in?” Storm frowned at her, but he went to the minibar and grabbed a couple of the champagne flutes that stood on top of it.
“Police are hunting for the robbers. They have said everyone should stay inside. The hotel is locked down. Not even trips into the garden, I’m afraid.”
Storm sighed. “So, I am stuck with you now, miss...?”
“Gray. Alex Gray.” She curtseyed. “Pleasure.”
“Storm McCoy.” He handed her the glasses and waited for her to open the bottle. “So, what’s the deal with this?”
“You look like a nice man, you are clearly frustrated with something and I’d like to help you out with that.”
“And how do you reckon on doing that?”
As an answer, Alex stepped up to him and kissed him. She ran a soft left hand along his stubbly cheek and pushed herself against him. “Might that work to alleviate the problems?”
Storm stood still for a moment. “I’m...”
Miss Gray glared at him. She turned around and walked to the bed, her hips swaying. Her back turned to Storm, she opened the buttons of her blouse as she walked. She dropped to her knees on the bed and as her blouse fell open, she bent down, arching her back and hiked up her skirt. The tops of her silk stockings showed and she smiled back at him seductively.
“And might this work?”
***
Storm was not sure whether it was the sun that woke him, or the feeling of Miss Alex Gray below the sheets. “Maybe you can come up here and let your mouth do something else?”
He breathed sharply as she moved there before coming up from underneath the sheets. She laid her naked body down on top of his and kissed him.
Storm kissed her back, but when her lips left his, he reached for the remote control on the bedside table. He turned on the television and found a news channel. He watched it, with Alex’s head resting on his chest. He ran his fingers through her brown hair but kept watching the news.
A news anchor was reading through a now well-rehearsed script of the events of the day before, before launching into a summary of the police measures in place across New York City.
He tried to focus on it, but the moment they reminded the viewers that the police had advised everyone exercise extra precautions or stay inside their homes while the search for the bank robbers ensued came on, he felt a hand under the sheets guiding him in. He felt her tighten around him as she slowly began to rock her hips.
Storm tried to keep his attention on the television, but it was tough with the sensations that flooded his body now. He felt her lips on the skin of his neck, her tongue followed as she approached his jaw. Her soft, smooth skin was pressed close against his. It felt like a warm piece of silk flowing over him, covering him. She was an exceptional woman, in many aspects.
Alex reached her climax and continued her efforts until he did too. She rolled off him and lay beside him in the big bed. “Not many can go that many times,” she remarked casually.
Storm rolled up on his side and looked at her. “Really?”
She nodded. “And you seem to care about the person you’re with getting pleasure too.”
“Is that so rare?”
Another nod. “Yes, at least for me. Very hard to find.”
He rolled onto his stomach and raised himself up a bit, looking straight into her eyes. “Do you spend a lot of time looking for it?”
Alex frowned, realizing what was behind that question. “Enough dating, but not a lot of this.”
“So what was that about last night? Not that I’m displeased with all of this, but you do make me wonder.”
She sighed. “Not sure. I just felt like I should be doing this. Usually, I am a bit more timid, but there was something...”
“About me, or about the whole situation?”
She rolled onto her stomach as well and looked at him. “Big robbery, cute guy, and loads of other stuff. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“At the time?”
“Now I realize there is a big flaw in it.”
Storm frowned.
“I chose to go to bed with a man who does not seem to be providing breakfast.”
He laughed heartily. Then he reached for the phone and dialed room service. “Hopefully they do have something. Never know whether they have enough supplies to last until the police let trucks come through again.”
Alex laughed too.
Storm ordered two full English breakfasts and then turned the television volume up. Alex threw all the pillows against the headboard and leaned back. Storm sat back next to her, watching the news coverage of the events in the city.
Manhattan was still under cautionary advisories; the Liberty Street block was on complete lockdown. Even camera crews were being kept out of the immediate area surrounding the bank. The only people moving freely were heavily armed police and military. The government and the city were providing the television footage it seemed. A few cameramen were embedded with small task forces, but the main footage of the empty streets came from drones.
One such device showed the garden of the hotel and the sight of it got Alex to jump to her feet and rush to the window to close the curtains. It was only then Storm realized the hum of the machine had not been on the television but outsi
de their window. “Fucking things,” he remarked angrily.
“Yeah, they’re a menace,” she said as she crawled back under the covers. She fixed her eyes on the television, and the images of the hotel had gone. But the drone of the camera outside their window had remained. She growled.
“Don’t think about it,” Storm remarked.
“Can’t really stop thinking about it when it’s reminding me of its presence all the time.”
“Maybe you need some distracting?” Storm turned and laid his body over hers. He kissed her and let his left hand run over her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
They enjoyed each other again until there was a knock on the door. Storm jumped up, grabbed a bathrobe and opened the door. It was breakfast. He brought the trolley in and sat down by the table with his plate. Alex got up too, not bothering to put anything on, and sat down opposite him. Storm handed her the other plate. They ate in silence, just letting the news anchors rave on.
The words flowed past them, somehow it didn’t seem to matter what they said. Alex didn’t seem to care, Storm didn’t believe a word they said. He had decided the day before that they were all full of it and only a tiny bit of information would be true and actually valuable.
When the plates were clean and they got to sharing the pot of coffee, Storm looked over Alex’s body. He admired her nakedness and the way she sat there so completely comfortable in her own skin.
“So what brought you here?”
“You being hot.” She smiled at him.
Storm shook his head and took another sip of coffee. “What brings you to New York and this hotel?”
“Oh, that,” Alex replied. “Business and pleasure. I’m a boat builder. A company based here wants to buy some of my designs. I only do wood, but they want to adapt it for fiberglass.”
“Don’t meet many female boat builders.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not many of us around, no.”
“So that’s the business part, what’s the pleasure part? Not just hooking up with me, because you couldn’t have known that coming out here.”
