by Aven Jayce
“Oh yeah, twat queen. Well maybe it will be him. He’s the one who better keep his guard up.”
I can’t stand it. They’re still yapping. I slam the door on my way out, mumbling, “It’s one thing after another. If it’s not my son, it’s the old fuck, if it’s not him, it’s Sophia and the terror twins, if it’s not them...” I head down the corridor, muttering, holding my gun under my coat, not having a clue where I’m going or what pushed me over the edge. Has to be the old man. Has to be him. All I wanted was to get wasted tonight. Should’ve opted to smoke a bowl instead. And I can sense Jules is following. I know she’s behind me.
“I left my husband...” I say under my breath, thinking of my family’s bullshit. “I hate you, Dad... Go ahead and fuck me, Mark. It’s all you want from me...”
“I told you there’s something wrong with him,” Sam says to Karina as I pass them standing outside their room.
Hell, I forgot about them. That’s more shit to add to the pile.
“You fucked up the best night of head ever, Dad... Mark, you better apologize... you better get along with him, he is my Dad.” I wish Jules would stop following me. I know she’s behind me. “Go back to the suite, I need to be alone.”
“Is he talking to us?” Karina asks.
I turn and watch her parents enter their room, then scan the corridor, expecting to see her following me, but landing on a pair of shiny black oxfords instead. It’s him. Standing outside my suite, his cane placed directly in front of his body with both hands resting on top. His shoulders back, feet spread, chin up, and cane being raised. He knocks it against one of the tables in the hall then sets it back on the carpet, flashing timeworn, yellow-teeth.
I step forward and he gestures with one finger to stop. To hell with him. I approach, only with each step forward, he moves toward the room closest to my suite. I walk faster, noticing the key card in his hand.
He swipes and enters the room, the door shuts, locks, and I’m a second too late. I use my card in haste, but he’s set the inside latch, forcing me to smack the door with my palm in frustration.
“Open the door. Tell me what you want,” I say firmly. “Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’re here to start something, now open the door and let’s get it started.”
Croaky, ill-sounding words pierce my ears. “Give me thirty minutes, sonny boy.” He expels a rattling cough and his grisly breath seeps through the door. “Let me prep.”
A tremor of dread fills my body and my fingers turn cold. Never has a man cloaked me in fear. Lucky me, the grim-fucking-reaper has entered my hotel.
“Thirty minutes, Mark,” he wheezes. “Make time for death.”
CONFIRMATION
MY FINGERNAILS DRUM the lobby desk as I hover over Chloe, bearing a brightly lit face of scorn.
“Mr. Jameson, I would’ve called you. He must’ve checked in while I was on break.” She looks up at the security cam, knowing straightaway she’s caught in a lie.
“How much did he pay you?”
“He didn’t—”
“How much?” I lean in, projecting my strongest voice.
“Five hundred dollars for me not to mention he was here.” She lowers her head. “But he had I.D. this time.”
“So that makes it okay? Pack your stuff and get the hell out of here.”
“I was doing my job. You can’t fire me for checking a man into a hotel room. What’s the issue?”
“How about bribery and deceit? Is that a big enough issue for you? It is to me. What else do you do around here for a little extra cash? My hotel manager said we have food missing from the kitchen. You selling turkeys and cranberry sauce to people? Or are you accepting money on the side for guests to have a room with a view of the lake? No second chances, not with something like this. Time to check out of the Jameson.”
Her head hangs low as she takes her things from the back office, dragging her feet past the towering Christmas tree, burning fireplace, leather chairs, and out the front door.
I call Jules to come downstairs, then search the lobby computer for the guy’s information.
“Here we go.” I type in the room number. “Checked in for one night, one king bed, one guest. His Pennsylvania license was scanned, name is... uh.”
“Hi,” a woman says. She waves a sheet of paper in front of my face, trying to get my attention. “Here’s our itinerary, can you check us in? Hello?”
“Yes.” I nod with a deep exhale, puzzled by the name on the screen. It has to be a fake license.
“How about now instead of tomorrow?”
Bitch. I take her papers with an artificial smile and retrieve the reservation, getting the key cards together, and I’m pleased when Jules arrives.
“Let me finish this for you.” She takes on the simple task while beaming cheerfully at the guest. Warm and welcoming, that’s what I always say. It’s the only way to run a successful business, yet I’ve fucked up twice recently by running my mouth throughout the second floor corridor.
Kindliness isn’t in my blood at this moment. My head’s clouded. I saunter into the back office, take a seat and lean back.
Could it really be him, and more importantly, why? Why would he be here? I access his check-in information on my desktop, certain my drunken mind’s playing tricks on me. I need to see it again.
“The pool’s down the hall and to your right, weight room and tanning beds directly across from the pool area, the restaurant and bar toward the back, and you have a lovely room on the second floor. Enjoy your stay and please don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything.”
I don’t believe it. Either the guy made this bogus license to fuck with me, like he did with my birth certificate, or someone has a shitload of explaining to do.
“Where’s Chloe?” Jules walks in and parks her ass on the desk in front of the screen.
“Fired.” I look up and she cocks her head, noticing the strain in my face.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“She took a bribe from the old guy. He’s in the room next to our suite.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. Are Soph and the kids locked in?”
“They’re settled for the night, and she won’t open the door if he comes knocking, that’s for damn sure. What do you think he wants?”
With fixed eyes on my computer, I stroke her bare legs tenderly. She crosses them and lowers her head, drawing me out of my zone.
“Mark?”
Her hand rests on mine and I move it leisurely to the side of my face, smelling her flesh. “You high?” I whisper.
“No. I was putting away the stuff from Jack’s room. Handling the bowl must’ve left a scent on my fingers.”
She slides onto my lap, her arms and back caressed as I study her pretty face.
“I love you, Jules. I wish I could put into words why I’m unsettled. Just remember that I love you.”
“Remember? Are you okay?”
I pull her closer and rest my head against her chest, taking deep breaths. “No, princess. Not this time.”
She lifts my chin, yielding a look of concern. “You’ve never said that before.”
“I know. This unease has only happened one other time in my life—when my dad was shot. I knew something was wrong, just didn’t know what until I got the call that he’d been killed. It’s the same feeling.”
“No one in your family’s going to die.” She makes an effort to calm my nerves. “This is so unlike you... extra wasted tonight or what?”
“Maybe.” I stare at the screen, debating if I should call her and ask... find out for sure if it’s him, or just talk to the fucker first. “It’s more than the booze. There’s been abundant chaos every single goddamn day since my son arrived... he stabbed me and I hit the little prick, turns out your dad’s an embalmer and we came close to beating the shit out of one another, Cove and Sophia split, you refuse to marry me, and a demon con artist is breathing down my neck.”
“Who? The old guy? He’s no match for any of us. Even your sister could take him. And she and Cove will be fine. Sometimes people have marital problems, we do, and we haven’t even said our vows yet. And Jack, he’s a typical teen with an atypical father. If you think about it, our lives are no different than they were last week, last month, or last year.”
I shouldn’t expect her to understand. Normally, I’d say kill the bastard upstairs and be done with him, only he’s an oddity and I’m a inquisitive fucker, so I can’t. Not this time.
“Can you cover Chloe’s shift? The system shows there’re still two guests who haven’t arrived. I need to do something then I’ll be back down. Security’s around if you need anything. He’s probably checking the corridors or the pool, should be back in the lobby soon.”
“I won’t clean the bloody mess this time unless I can participate.”
“Is that right?” I grin. “Share the kill? I’m supposed to share everything with you except my last name?”
“Yep.”
“You’re like Jack with the lousy attitude.” She gets an ass smack, the back of her neck gripped, and a frisky bite on her chin. “Tell me that you’ll be my wife. Say it. I need to hear those words tonight.”
Her lips trace mine in a slow, suggestive manner.
“Jules, we have thirty days before our marriage license expires. There’s no reason to wait. Besides, I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
She pats my cheek, making fun of my words. “You’re the ‘cream of the crop,’ the finest, loveliest, most delightful murderer I’ve ever met, and all of those things go double for what’s in your pants... but don’t rush it. In fact, I believe impatience killed the cat, not curiosity, and you’re impatient about everything. As soon as you stop asking, step back and relax, it will be time.”
“Ah, so it’s all about you having control again, you, you, you,” I tease.
“No, it’s about patience.”
“Say it,” I request. “Just in case.”
“In case what? Stop this juvenile act like you’re turning into a little chicken shit. You want me to go upstairs and stick a knife in his head, twist, and kill? Are you holding back because of his age?” She kisses me, taps my nose and walks back to the lobby, swaying her ass in my face.
An evil, smart, badass troll is what she is.
“Who’s holding back? I’ll eat the old bastard for breakfast and shit him out for dinner!” I shout.
“Hello. Welcome to Jameson Hotel. Mr. and Mrs. Clark, we have a beautiful room waiting for you. Was the weather nice on your drive in?”
Fuck. Guests are here. Fuck, fuck, I’m an idiot.
Her head surfaces, leaning around the doorframe with a shameless smirk. “Just kidding. The lobby’s empty.”
“Great, I’m stressed out and you’re pranking me? Just wait. My belt will be off before dawn.”
She leaves in laughter and a minute later a wiggling ass appears. Her skirt rises, revealing the best black Sharpie message I’ve ever read... Owned by Mark Jameson, with an arrow pointing to her asshole.
And the woman wonders why I want to marry her. “Very clever, princess. Thank you.”
“No problem, future husband,” she says, lifting her sweater to flaunt a second message on her abdomen. Mrs. Julia Jameson.
“See, now that’s better.” I point to the name. “If you’re trying to get me out of this funk, that will help.”
The sound of luggage rolling through the front door interrupts our remaining time together before I head upstairs. She leaves to greet the arrivals and I check my watch.
He said make time for death. I’m ready. My guns are in place, blade in my pocket, and whatever the fuck he came here for... I’m ready.
I scrawl a final note to Jules, slipping it in her skirt pocket on my way past the desk...
I ruled our relationship because I loved you last.
A(I)NCESTRY
THE CORRIDOR WALLS THAT SURROUND his room dissolve into a blur while I focus on the peephole, knowing he’s inside, watching, possibly stroking the door, trying to feel me as his endless, raspy breaths are ingested and spit out. My palms rest against the doorframe, high above my head, leaving me vulnerable for a shot to the chest. Presenting myself this way should convince him of my power—back off.
A television blares a few doors down, but the other rooms surrounding us are unoccupied. I imagine when he checked in, he requested to be by my suite. For my own privacy, the rooms around my place are always the last to be booked. He got what he wanted from Chloe. It’s amazing what people will do for a small amount of cash... and now the two of us are alone.
I power my words through the closed door. “You’re a fraud. Don’t mock my family.”
The inside latch opens and the deadbolt is turned. There’re no words, only the sound of sluggish feet trailing along the carpeted floor. The loud breathing fades and the glowing light coming from the gap under the door turns to darkness.
Don’t overthink. Enough of the what-ifs.
With my gun drawn, I pause in the entryway to survey the space. One dimly lit corner lamp casts a warm yellow glow throughout the room. A brown suitcase is spread open on the floor next to the bed, and beside it are bony, bare feet. I follow his stark-white, hairless legs to a shriveled dick, flabby stomach, saggy-breasted chest covered in moles, up to a wrinkled neck and weathered face. He sits on the edge of the bed with the small kitchenette table pulled before him, cane in one hand and patting the mattress with the other, wanting me to have a seat.
“Who the fuck are you?” I continue to stand by the door, making sure the room is secure. The bathroom’s dark and no one else seems to be here. “You alone?”
“Sit down, Mark. Close to me.”
“Fuck that.” I point my gun at his head. “Take out your weapon and place it on the table. Cut the shit.”
He laughs then nearly coughs up a lung, his face turning red and dick bouncing with each gasp for air. “Your inquisitive Jameson mind won’t allow you to kill me, not yet. Trust me, take a seat and listen. Be good, hear me out, and then you can shoot.”
He touches himself like he’s trying to jerk off. Thank fuck it remains slack. The sight is more disturbing than viewing his name on the license.
“I have no weapon, but I have a story to share that will make you whole.”
“Make me whole? What, like I’m not a man? Jesus Christ, are you broke? You need money? People come begging and expect a handout from me all the time. Is that why you’re here?”
“Your money?” He coughs. “No, kiddo, money isn’t a necessity any longer.”
My pulse just did a long stride over the starting line and isn’t going to slow until it reaches the finish. “What did you say?”
He looks up and for the first time I’m close enough to see he’s suffering from glaucoma. The man lacks any distinguishing characteristics, including eye color, though they look brown under the clouded areas. He has a few strands of greasy white hair tucked behind his big ears, but no tats, scars, or any other identifying information.
“Kiddo,” he grates.
That’s a coincidence. A term my father always used. The guy must’ve been a client of Jameson Industries. I bet he heard my dad say it back in Vegas. And I bet this old bastard’s dying. He’s here because he’s longing for one last fuck from Marcus Wild. What a way to go. Hell, I don’t blame him. I’d fuck myself before my death if I could.
“The way you’re fondling your dick, I’d say you want something I’m not offering.”
“There’d be no choice on your part if I were thirty years younger,” he rasps. “Now, listen up, accept the truth, and then you can put me to sleep.” He reaches into his suitcase and takes out a black wallet. It’s flipped open to display a badge and set in front of him on the table.
Shit, I take a look and should’ve known—the guy’s a detective, that’s how he obtained the birth certific
ate and license. And he must be lying about being unarmed.
“Tilted head and full of fright?” He questions my expression. I guess his vision isn’t all that bad. “I doubt you’re the type to shy away. Can’t be if you’re like Paul.”
“No fear,” I answer with authority, pulling a chair to the table to sit across from him. “Did you work on my dad’s murder case or the child porn ring with Cove? You from Vegas?” I reach for the wallet, reading the name on his I.D. card that’s opposite the badge. Fuck, same as the license he used to check in. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Shall we begin?” he asks, swaying his cane in a hypnotizing motion. “Take out your cell and make the call.”
Waiting, he places a hand on the table. His finger passing over his name while he instructs me. “Call her. I can tell you haven’t, now’s the time. The truth can only come from her.”
My gun’s pointed at his chest as I take out my cell. Peeved, I tap the number. I was going to do this before I came up here, but decided to wait to see how things played out.
“You won’t kill me just yet. Put the gun down. Story time comes first.” He slides the wallet across the table and I lower the gun. The fucker’s right. It’s only raised out of habit. Even if he’s armed, he’s too slow to shoot first.
“Mark? It’s... it’s after midnight here.”
I knew she’d be asleep.
“Are you okay? Is Jack alright? What’s... what’s happening?” Her mouth sounds full of saliva.
“Mom.”
“Is it Sophia? Is she okay? She hasn’t called in years, and what’s your excuse? We used to talk all the time; these days it’s only once a month. What have you been up to?”
“Get to it,” he says.
I inhale until my lungs can no longer expand, holding the breath while waiting to form the correct sentence. “Tell me again about Granddad.” I pick up the wallet and stare at the name... Jameson.
