by Nikki Pink
First, he’d stopped at the imaginatively titled “Road Motel” to inquire about a room there. From the outside it had looked promising - it had the kind of shitty vibe that seemed appropriate - but when he went inside things fell apart. The woman behind the counter was about a hundred years old and seemed to be going senile. A fat lot of good she would be.
He escaped by asking if they had a honeymoon suite — of course they didn’t — and expressing disappointment at their lack.
Where would he and Karen honeymoon, he wondered? Would they go somewhere far away, Hawaii perhaps? Or after their years apart maybe it would be better to simply stay at home, together. He considered the multitude of options happily as he drove to his next stop.
After the Road Motel he visited somewhere called the Jones Motel only to find it closed. Maybe the Jones’s died of old age, he mused.
The last one however seemed like it just might be what he needed.
Dewey parked his car in the dusty lot. The individual rooms which made up the motel complex were arranged in an L shape, with an office at the end.
The place had certainly seen better days and he guessed the nearby interstate had taken away most of the passing traffic and customers.
Who would use a place like this now? Perhaps some of Farmington’s high fliers bringing their mistresses and hussies for a secret romp in seedy surroundings. Maybe people trying to keep a low profile.
What was most intriguing about the place, apart from its shittiness, was the motorcycle parked outside the office. It was some kind of Harley Davidson (bikes weren’t really his thing, but he could read the name on the gas tank), and that probably meant the owner knew the Sons of Dumbness.
Dewey closed the car door behind him, adjusted his sunglasses, and then headed toward the door of the office.
When he pushed the flimsy door open a bell attached to the frame let out a weak tinkle.
The room had a couple of lawn chairs off to the side, and a counter with a wide eyed and confused young man behind it.
“Good evening,” he said to the glassy eyed youth behind the counter.
The clerk opened his mouth but nothing came out. What the hell was wrong with him? Dewey estimated him to be a similar age to himself, maybe a couple of years younger, but it was obvious he’d made some poor life choices, unlike Dewey.
“Sorry to disturb you so late,” he tried again.
This time the man behind the front desk managed to work his mouth. “’Evenin’”
Dewey flashed his white teeth in a smile. “I was wondering, do you have any rooms available?”
The clerk blinked. “Rooms?”
“Yes. Of course, if you’re full, I’ll be on my way.”
“Rooms. We got rooms. Sure.”
Dewey gave a broad smile of relief. “Fantastic. I’d like to stay for two or three nights, if that’s okay?”
The clerk’s mouth gaped open then slammed shut again as he recovered. “Sure. Stay as long as you want. It’s fifty a night.”
“A bargain!”
The clerk nodded as if a little uncertain. He didn’t seem to agree that it was that good value for money.
“Could you write your name here?”
Dewey nodded, and then paused. He leaned in conspirationally. “Why don’t we call it sixty a night? Three nights?”
“The room’s fifty.”
“How about I give you sixty though. And I forget to write my name.”
“Forget?”
He was beginning to get annoyed. “Yes, forget.”
Realization finally flashed across his face. “Oh yeah. Right. Forget.” He laughed. “I forget a lot of stuff.”
Dewey smiled kindly. “I bet you do.” Moron.
“That’ll be a hundred eighty dollars then.”
Dewey cocked his head. Had that imbecile really managed to multiply sixty dollars by three nights in his head so quickly? Maybe he wasn’t quite as dumb as he seemed. Maybe.
Dewey handed the money over to the young man who counted it carefully.
“Here’s the key. I’ve given you number twelve. I’ll walk you over.”
“Oh don’t worry, there’s no need.”
The clerk flicked his hair away from his eyes as he headed around the counter. “It’s no problem man. It’s cool.”
“I said,” Dewey’s voice was cold, “there’s no need. I’ll show myself.”
Dewey held up a hand to block the young man who was still walking toward him. The man bumped into it, and slow as molasses he again finally understood.
“Cool. Okay. Cool. Sorry.” The clerk headed back to his position behind the counter.
“That’s okay. You have a good night now.” Dewey flashed him another friendly smile before leaving. Being polite was fucking annoying when dealing with stoned morons.
“You too sir. Thank you.”
Dewey raised a hand in the air as a final farewell as he left the office.
He quickly went to the room, and looked around. It was worse than he had imagined. It looked like it had been designed in the eighties by someone using junk left over from the seventies and installed and maintained by drunks.
He ruffled the bed and tried to turn on the lamp next to it. It didn’t work. Of course.
Dewey checked his reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. He looked good. Of course. He grinned. Karen would be so surprised to see how he had matured. He still had his wrestler’s body, but now his face was more chiseled, more refined. “Like a fine wine...” he muttered to himself. He was the best looking person he knew.
He left the main light on as he exited the room. He had no intention of staying there.
He banged the trunk of his car as he passed it on his way to the driver’s door. Something to keep Red amused.
Sitting in the car he plugged his small receiver into the AUX socket of the car radio and turned it on. He pushed the seat all the way back and closed his eyes to rest while he waited.
The idiot inside hadn’t noticed Dewey stick another listening device to the underside of the counter as he’d leaned over. Now every noise inside would be broadcast here to his car.
All he had to do now was wait for the imbeciles to track him down. Then he could rid Karen of them once and for all and their new life together could begin at last.
“Soon, my love. Soon we’ll be together again.”
Dewey ignored the indignant shuffling and scraping coming from the trunk.
Day 2
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Karen
Bang, bang, bang.
My head was pounding along with the door. I stretched my arms wide and blinked repeatedly, surprised to find myself completely naked.
Memories began to flood back. Red. The video. Dewey. My house. Shit. Bottle.
“Bottle!”
I blinked again and looked to my side just as I felt the bed shift. I saw the toned, tattooed man next to me sit up and scratch the back of his head, the movement rippling his chest.
I bit my lip and grinned. There are worse ways to wake up with a headache. And hey, I was doing better than the day before. This time the guy was still here.
“What is it?” shouted Bottle.
“We got him! I’ve found him!” came the ecstatic voice from outside. It was the young guy from yesterday. What was his name. Tease. Time. Tidy. Turner. Twist. That was it.
“No shit? Did you call the boys? I’ll be out in a minute.”
“T-Bone and Gauge are here already.”
I looked at Bottle who now stood naked in the center of the room, glancing up at a clock on the wall. It was 10 a.m. but it felt like six.
“Tell them I’ll be out in a minute.”
He turned to look at me, not bothering to cover himself. I didn’t mind, I could have looked at him all morning long. “You coming?”
I shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. Why should I have been? I’d slept with the guy for God’s sake. Who the fuck knows how the mind works.
He�
��d turned around again and was pulling on some clothes. While he was facing away from me I used the opportunity to pull on my underwear and jeans. I had to buy some more, I thought.
Shit, I needed to buy more everything. I let out a sigh.
“What?” asked Bottle.
“Nothing. Everything.” I answered.
He laughed. “I get you.”
He wandered over to me and placed a hand on my bare waist. “Let’s get this fucker today.”
I nodded and began to pull my t-shirt over my head.
He held up the t-shirt with his other hand, and ran his right hand up my belly and slipped it under my bra, squeezing my right breast. I stared at him not knowing how to respond.
He gave me a wink.
“Let’s go.”
A moment later his hand was gone and I stood there bemused for a second, before finishing pulling the t-shirt on.
***
Twist started to speak at a hundred miles an hour, words and spittle flying out of his mouth. “See, I have this friend, see. From school. When I was in school, before I dropped out, see?. And anyway, my friend, Tony, he dropped out too, see? And Tony couldn’t get a—”
Gauge smacked the table hard with the bottom of a bottle of beer causing a loud thunk. “Get to the point.”
Twist gulped. “Gecko’s Motel. Tony said he checked in last night, or at least some weird preppy guy did, and his car is there now, see?”
“Gecko’s? That shithole’s still open? Huh. And Red?” asked Bottle.
“I don’t know, Tony said he doesn’t know. He said the guy has a ‘Do not disturb’ sign up on his door. I told him not to go in.”
“Did you see him?” I asked.
Twist gave me a blank stare, confused, before realization dawned. “Oh, I haven’t been there. I spoke to him on the phone, it’s like twenty miles away, see? I couldn’t get there and back yet.”
Bottle’s chair scraped across the sticky floor. “Alright people, let’s roll the fuck out. Twist, your friend wouldn’t have done anything stupid, would he? Like let on that we were coming?”
Twist shook his head violently. “No way. I told him to stay in the office, see? Told him not to even look. Told him he could be dangerous and I’d handle it.”
“You’d handle it?” asked Bottle.
“Uh. I mean we.”
Bottle shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You stay here. Clean this place up, it’s a shit-hole.”
Twist looked a little dejected but did not complain. “Sure thing. I’ll tidy up here, make it clean as a whistle, see?”
The other men rose, and I did too, though with a little hesitation. Would I be left behind too or was I expected to tag along?
Bottle glanced and me and nodded his head toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”
I grabbed my cell phone off the table and forced it uncomfortably into the tight pocket of my jeans. T-Bone and Gauge were ahead of us as we walked out the door. Bottle wrapped a comforting arm over my shoulder and gave me a squeeze before we got to his motorcycle. My lips curled up and warmth spread through me again. How did he know I needed that?
He grabbed a helmet for me, and before too long we were rolling down the road, heading for a motel that was not just named after a lizard, but apparently owned by one if the name Gecko’s was anything to go by.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dewey
Dewey was whistling as he opened the trunk of his car, to reveal the blinking eyes of its red-headed occupant. “Hi, Red!”
The biker couldn’t say anything through his gag, but his eyes showed that he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy at all. He was even less happy when Dewey removed the glove from his right hand, grabbed a hunk of Red’s hair and gave a yank, pulling a small but substantial tuft of hair from his head.
“Bye, Red!” Dewey slammed shut the trunk of his car before heading back into the motel room. He liberally distributed the hair: a couple on the floor, a couple in the bed, a couple on the pillow and the rest in the drain under the shower.
Dewey hadn’t used the shower in there himself of course, nor even slept in the motel room. He didn’t want to leave any evidence of his visit to this shit-hole of a town. Well, nothing apart from the destruction he would be forced to leave in his wake.
Exiting the room for the second-to-last time he headed over to the shabby motel office. The faded white wooden panels of the building had paint peeling off of them and some of the lower panels looked to be rotting. Dewey tutted to himself at the state of disrepair before pushing the door open.
The bell above the door rung as he entered, and the wide-eyed, slack-jawed stoner who was manning the desk lifted his head in surprise. His drug use had obviously caused ruinous damage to his already no doubt meager mental faculties, because he looked positively shocked at Dewey’s entry, and could barely manage to say “How— How, can I he- help you?” with his slurred and stammering words.
“There’s a problem in my room, I need you to come and have a look,” said Dewey, rapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for the glacial response.
“Wh—, What’s the problem?” asked Tony.
“The electricity has shut off. Nothing. No lights, no TV, no air. Zip.”
“That sucks man.” Tony shook his head in sympathy.
Dewey stared at him incredulously. “Aren’t you going to do something? Maybe, check the breaker?”
“Sorry man. That’s not my job. I just do the desk.”
Dewey raised his eyebrows. “Please, I need electricity. Surely you can have a look, can’t you? Do you know where the breakers are?”
Tony shook his head in apology and sympathy. “Sorry man, that’s above my pay grade. I check you in. I check you out. I check you in, I check you—”
“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” Dewey had had enough. He reached over the counter and grabbed the long-haired stoner by his scalp, and with a powerful grasp sent the young man sliding over the counter toward him. Dewey let him fall to the ground, before grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and yanking him back to his feet.
“Okay, okay, I’ll take a look, jeez—”
“I said shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Dewey pulled out the handgun that had been tucked into the back of his jeans, and pressed it into Tony’s jaw. He shivered, thrilled, as the young man swallowed in fear.
Tony didn’t try to resist as Dewey marched him to his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Karen
As we sped through the desert with open road ahead and behind I leaned my head against Bottle’s firm leather-clad back. I was tired. After all the adventures of the previous couple of days I needed a rest. But I wouldn’t get one yet.
Out on the road it felt like we were safe. As bizarre as it may seem, flying down a road with just two wheels between us and a whole world of asphalty-hurt I felt more secure than I had in years. Safer than I had in my most recent house, safer than I had in prison, safer even than I had in my family home the last few years I lived there.
The roar of the motorcycles was a comforting white noise, like the sound of the ocean. Not that I’d ever been to the ocean, not in person, only vicariously through television and movies. I would have dozed off eventually I’m sure, but before I could we arrived. It had taken us less than thirty minutes to cover the twenty odd miles.
I raised my head and looked around as we pulled into Gecko’s Motel. It looked like a ghost town. Apart from a motorcycle next to the office the parking lot was empty.
After we dismounted I looked around. Making up an L-shape were the motel rooms, each attached to one or two neighbors, each with a door onto the parking lot, and each looking as deserted as the next.
“Guess business isn’t too good, huh,” said T-Bone.
Gauge and Bottle shook their heads slowly. Bottle waved a hand distractedly at me, indicating for me to stay behind them. The three bikers ahead of me crept toward the office, each holding a handgun in front of him.
�
�Anyone comes out, give a yell,” ordered Gauge.
I nodded and swallowed, my eyes scanning across the unmoving doors. Out of the corner of my eye I saw T-Bone give the unlocked office door a kick far harder than necessary to open it , ringing a loud bell as it swung open and crashing back into the wall. Bottle and Gauge stormed into the office, guns pointed ahead of them. I heard a brief, shrieking whistle which signaled to T-Bone that it was okay to enter. As he did so, he turned to look at me and gave a heavy shrug. I nodded, and followed him inside.
It was dark inside the deserted office after the brightness outside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, there was nothing remarkable to see.
“Guess Stony isn’t here,” said Bottle.
I wondered whether he was making a joke, or whether he’d forgotten that Twist had said Tony.
Gauge leaned his shaven head over the counter, before straightening up again. “Let’s go.”
“Where to?” asked T-Bone.
“Room twelve,” growled Gauge, “it’s the only one with the key missing.”
Huh. How’d he think of checking that? He was a true detective.
I followed the men outside again, and after even that short time in the office the stark brightness outside was overwhelming. I wished I’d brought my sunglasses with me yesterday. Now they were presumably a molten charred mess in the remains of my house, along with everything else I owned.
With my hand held up to my brow to block out at least some of the sunlight I followed the bikers to room twelve. It looked no different to any of the others - it was just as decrepit and unloved as the rest.
They didn’t bother to knock. Using the same entry method as with the office T-Bone kicked the door open and the other two stormed inside.
“Well, shit.” Gauge’s voice sounded somewhere between disappointed and pissed off.
“Jesus.”
I hurried toward the door. What the hell had Dewey done now?
T-Bone turned around from peering into the room and put out a hand to block me. “Ain’t nothing you want to see in there hon.”
