The Last Motel

by Brett McBean

  “Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. He followed Madge up to the desk.

  “Yes. My name is Madge by the way.

  “Name’s Morrie. And that’s Judy. My wife.” He frowned. “I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?”

  Madge smiled. “Yes.”

  “You’re well hidden,” Morrie said. “We almost missed the turnoff.”

  Madge nodded. “I know. Most people say that. I can’t lie, though. I like it that way. I’m almost sixty-four. I’m liking the peace and quiet more and more as I get older.”

  “Know what you mean,” Morrie said.

  “So, what do you do?”

  “I’m a carpenter. Run my own business.”

  “Really?”

  “I guess you’d know all about that.” Morrie gave her a nervous smile. “Running your own business I mean.”

  “I suppose so,” Madge answered. She took the registration book out.

  “This is beautiful country. All the pine trees.”

  Madge nodded. “I just love their smell.”

  “Is that where you got the name from?”

  “The name of the motel? Yes. You see, all the pine trees on this mountain are Lodgepole Pine. Native of Western America. All of our cabins are made from them too.”

  “Are they?”

  “Certainly are.”

  “Fascinating,” Morrie said.

  “I just need your name, address, all that sort of thing.”

  Morrie nodded.

  She handed him the folder and a pen. He scrawled in the registration book then handed the book and pen back.

  “Okay,” Madge said, slipping the folder under the desk. “Is it for one night?”

  “Yes. We’re, ah, driving up to Mansfield tomorrow.”

  “Beautiful town,” Madge said.

  She went over to the key rack, took down a set of keys, then shuffled back. “You’re in cabin two. The second on the right.” She handed him the key.

  “Thank you,” Morrie said, pocketing the key. From the front of the office there was a sudden burst of wind. Both Madge and Morrie flinched. A young man entered. The stranger closed the door, then walked up to the counter. He stood behind Morrie.

  The man reminded Madge of that Michael guy who had booked in earlier. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans and he sneaked the occasional glance at her.

  She turned her eyes back to Morrie. “I lock the door at midnight, but if you need anything, just ring the doorbell, which is located outside, by the front door. I go to bed very late, so don’t worry about disturbing me.”

  Morrie smiled. “Thank you, but I think me and the wife will be having an early night.”

  Madge nodded. “I guess I’ll be seeing you in the morning then. Have a good night.”

  “Thank you,” Morrie said again. “Good night.” He turned, nodded hello to the man, then headed outside.

  The man approached the desk. He looked just as scruffy as the other guy, Michael; probably more so. His hair was long and greasy and his jeans had holes in them.

  “Can I help you?” Madge asked.

  “Yeah, I’m staying in cabin three, and I was just wondering if you had any beer I could buy.”

  “Ah,” Madge said with a nod. “You’re Michael’s friend.”

  “Who?” The man said. He quickly nodded. “Ah, Michael. Yeah, I’m his friend.”

  “I’m sorry,” Madge said. “I don’t have any alcohol on my property. Have no license, anyway. I don’t drink myself. The stuff can lead to trouble. Vandalism and the likes. Not that I’m saying you’re a vandal or anything.” Madge smiled nervously. She wished to God she hadn’t said that.

  The man nodded and smiled politely. “I understand. You want to keep your motel in good condition. And they’re such lovely cabins, might I add.”

  “Thank you,” Madge said.

  “Well is there a town near here that we could get some beer?”

  “The closest town is Hutto, which is about a twenty-minute drive. It’s a very small place, though. Almost deserted. I don’t think they have anywhere that sells alcohol.”

  The man huffed. “Surely it has a pub or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Madge said. “You could try, but it would probably be a waste of petrol.”

  The man shrugged. “Oh well. We might take a drive anyway. We’ll see.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

  “Thanks anyway,” he said. “Say, I was just wondering, how big are these mountains? I mean how rugged and bushy?”

  “You thinking of doing some hiking?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  “Beautiful country,” Madge said. “Quite dangerous, though. It’s not for your average Sunday bush walker. It can get pretty hairy in parts.”

  “Sounds like my sort of mountain.” The man smiled. “What’s the name of this mountain?”

  “We’re on Mt. Morris. It’s one of the largest in Victoria. You can actually walk to Hutto through Mt. Morris. The hike takes about two hours.”

  “Really? That might be a good one to do.”

  “It’s one of the more tame walks. If you want a really tough and hazardous hike, do Devil’s Gorge. It takes two hours up and back. It takes you through caves, up to the highest point of the mountain and across really narrow cliffs. The walk eventually leads to a deep gorge.”

  “Hence the title.”

  “Exactly. It’s a very deep chasm. A few people have committed suicide there, actually.”

  “My God,” the man gasped.

  “Yeah. Horrible way to die, if you ask me.”

  “What about any roads for cars? Can you drive up the mountain?”

  “Why would you want to drive up?” Madge asked.

  “Just wondering, that’s all.”

  “There’s none, I’m afraid. All walking tracks.”

  The man nodded. “No problem.” He ran his fingers through his long hair. “So you’re all alone here, huh?” His voice sounded shaky.

  Damn! Madge thought. Get lost you filthy little pervert.

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, no. My husband is back there.” She pointed her thumb to the curtain that led to her living quarters. “He generally does all the book-keeping and business side of things. He leaves all of the customer service and tending of the cabins to me. He’s an ex-policeman, actually. Retired from chief inspector.”

  The man’s face grew pale. “A policeman?” he said, attempting a smile.

  Look who’s scared now, Madge chuckled to herself.

  “Well,” he pronounced. “I’d better get going. Nice talking to you. Thanks for the, ah, information about the mountain.”

  “Good night,” Madge said.

  “Yeah.” He turned around and hurried to the front door.

  After he was gone, Madge collapsed in the chair. It was times like these that she wished her husband were still alive.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Parked outside cabin two, Morrie shut off the engine and headlights, then turned to his wife. “Come on, Judy. Hon?”

  She was still staring out the window.

  “You could at least talk to me. It’s not all my fault, you know.”

  Judy turned her head slowly and faced him. Even in the dim light he could see she had been crying.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m just so scared. We can’t go back home. The police are probably looking for us.”

  Morrie reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s get our bags inside. We’re both tired.”

  “Who’s tired?” Judy said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.”

  Giving her shoulder one last, gentle squeeze, Morrie gripped the door handle and hopped out. He went around to the rear of the car and opened both doors. He heard the passenger door slam shut, and Judy came around and stood beside him. He reached in, grabbed the two travel bags, then handed them to Judy. Without saying a word, she took both bags and walked towards the cabin door.

&
nbsp; Morrie took the last of their luggage, two suitcases, from the back of the car and placed them on the ground. He slammed both doors shut and taking the two bags in his hands, walked over to where his wife was waiting, shivering from the squally wind.

  He had to put the suitcases down again when he reached the door so he could get the key out of his pocket. He opened the old wooden door, and let Judy go in first. She switched on the light then threw the bags down beside the double bed. Morrie followed with bags in hand and kicked the door shut behind him. “Rather modest,” he said.

  “That’s an understatement.” Judy sat down on the bed.

  Morrie placed the two suitcases down, glad to be rid of their weight. “I’ll check what’s behind that door,” he said. “Make sure Norman Bates isn’t hiding in there.”

  Judy began crying. She placed her head in her hands and sobbed hard. Her whole body jiggled.

  Morrie quickened over and sat down beside her. “Stop ya crying, Judy. It won’t do us any good.”

  In between sobs, she managed to choke out, “We’re…criminals…Morrie.” Then she whispered, “Murderers.”

  “Don’t say that!” Morrie growled. “It was an accident.”

  Whatever minimal amount of compassion he had built up for his wife drained from him the moment she uttered that word.

  He jumped up and stormed over to the back window. Resting his arm on the windowsill above his head, he muttered, more to himself than to Judy, “It was an accident.” He felt a ball of fire rise up in his body. “Fuck!” he spat, pounding the wall with his fist. He flung the curtains closed, then turned around and faced Judy.

  “What are we going to do?” Judy whimpered. She looked up at Morrie, her chubby face smeared with tears. “I can’t believe we just left him there. We should’ve...”

  “Jesus Christ, Judy! We’ve already discussed this. You went along with it. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time.” Morrie brought his hands up to his head and massaged his temples. He could feel one of his migraines coming on.

  “Well we can’t do anything about it now,” he sighed, the yelling not helping his inflating headache. “What’s done is done.” He sauntered over to the fridge and opened the door. It squeaked from years of constant use and lack of maintenance, and Morrie noticed that no light came on inside. The scant shelves contained a carton of milk, a tub of butter and a few cans of Coke and Sprite.

  “There’s no beer,” he said. “Jesus Christ!” He slammed the fridge door. “I guess you forgot to bring any booze.”

  “We were in sort of a hurry,” Judy told him. “Alcohol was the last thing on my mind.” She gazed down at the four pieces of luggage that sat on the floor. “My God, all we have left in the world are packed in those.”

  “I gotta take a leak,” Morrie said. He walked across the room, opened the door and switched on the light. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

  The shower was crammed in one corner, with the toilet positioned in the other. He strode over to the toilet and lifted the lid. He prepared himself in case a large spider had crawled its hairy way into the bowl, but was relieved to see nothing but shallow water. He unzipped and used the toilet.

  Morrie wandered out a minute later. “Old fashion dunny,” he said. “Has a chain.”

  Judy was still sitting on the bed, clutching a handful of tissues. She wiped her nose. “Probably been here ever since the place was built.”

  Morrie walked over and sat down on the bed. He rubbed his temples again.

  “Migraine?” Judy said.

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t think we packed the aspirin,” Judy said. “I’m sorry Morrie. I know it wasn’t entirely your fault.”

  Morrie huffed.

  “It’s just...where are we going to go?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” Morrie answered. “I thought we agreed on driving north, take it as it comes.”

  “You think that other boy went to the police?”

  Morrie shrugged. “Probably. Should never have let him get away.”

  “Morrie!”

  “It’s the truth.” He glared at his portly wife. “Don’t yell at me, okay? Especially not when I have a headache.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said under her breath.

  “Watch it, woman,” Morrie warned. “Not tonight. Just lay that smart mouth of yours to rest, okay?”

  “Ah, go to hell,” she snapped.

  In a whirl of movement, Morrie shot out his right hand and slapped her on the cheek. It left a red imprint of his large hand.

  He immediately felt a sting of regret.

  “You bastard,” she cried, standing up fast.

  “I warned ya,” he said. “Not tonight.”

  “Go fuck yourself. Murderer!”

  She rushed over to the door and ran out into the night.

  “Where are you going?” Morrie called out. “Come back, Judy!” He stood up and mumbled to himself. “Jesus Christ. Damn woman.” With a loud sigh, he headed for the cabin door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Eddy sat up. “Sounds like someone’s done a runner.” He was grinning.

  “Who cares?” Al said. He was now lying on the bed, hands tucked under his head. His face, however, was grim. He turned and looked over at Eddy. “A fucking ex-cop, Eddy. What are we gonna do?”

  “Wish I could hear what was happening,” Eddy said. “Probably the wife’s fault. Sensitive bitch, I bet.”

  “Ugly, too,” Al said.

  “A bit of a fatty, huh?”

  “Guy was scary, though. Big man – looked like a truck driver or something.”

  “Probably beats her,” Eddy said. “Just like my old man.”

  “Anyway, who cares? We’ve got our own problems.”

  “Oh yeah, the policeman,” Eddy chuckled.

  “What?” Al whined.

  “She was just bullshitting ya, Al. There’s no husband back there. Trust me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know, that’s all. She’s alone in there. Don’t worry.”

  Al was still unsure. He didn’t know whether to believe the old lady or Eddy. He stared up at the ceiling of the cabin.

  “So what if her husband’s an ex-cop,” Eddy said. “He’s what, at least sixty years old. We can take him if anything happens.”

  “Jesus, no,” Al said, shaking his head. “We’re already deep in shit. I’m not adding a dead cop to our list. Anyway, how do you know he’s sixty? She could’ve married a younger man.”

  “Well it doesn’t matter,” Eddy said. “Because there is no husband.”

  “Whatever you say,” Al sighed. He sat up and hopped off the bed. He walked over to the fridge. He opened the door and scanned the contents. “Wanna drink?” he called to Eddy.

  “What is there?”

  “Ah, Coke, Sprite or Fanta.”

  “Throw me a Coke.”

  Al reached in and grabbed two cans of Coke. He threw one over to Eddy, who caught it with the precision of a football-player.

  “Nice catch,” Al said. He pulled the little tab off. The can hissed. He took a drink and winced as the acidic liquid fell down his throat. He let out a gassy burp.

  “I can beat that,” Eddy said. He sculled almost half the can, then geared up for his turn. From deep in his throat, Eddy bellowed an enormous burp, which lasted for about five seconds. When he had finished, he looked at Al, and smiled. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “I’m impressed,” Al said. “There’s no point trying to beat you.”

  Eddy grinned. “Call me the burp master!”

  Al finished off the drink. He threw the can down to the floor. “We’re going to have to start working out what the hell our plan is,” Al said. “Regardless of whether there’s an ex-cop here or not.”

  Eddy threw his can to the floor, then let out another smaller burp. “I know, Al, old buddy. I know.”

  “I think that Devil’s Gorge is out of the question,” Al said
.

  “And that old bag said you can’t drive anywhere on the mountain, right?”

  “That’s right. I mean we could still try. You never know.”

  “I suppose,” Eddy said. “Let’s not rush this though. We’ve got the whole night to think it over. I don’t want to get fucking caught,” he said with a grin. “Not for something we didn’t even do.”

  “Damn straight,” Al said.

  “Hey, you got any smokes? I forgot to buy some.”

  “All out.”

  “Shit,” Eddy huffed. “No booze, no cigarettes. I’m gonna go crazy.”

  “Maybe our friends next door have some. I just heard them get back.”

  “Really?” Eddy grinned. “Ssshh.”

  They stopped talking, and listened. All was quiet. They didn’t hear any more shouting.

  “Must’ve kissed and made up,” Al said.

  “Pity. There goes our entertainment for the night.” Eddy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna see if I can get us some fags.”

  “He’s married, remember?”

  Eddy smirked, and stuck up his middle finger. “Maybe we can have a foursome.”

  “With her? No thanks.”

  Eddy chuckled and walked towards the door. He opened the door, and was hit by a gust of wind. “Fuck it’s freezing out there.” He stepped out and closed the door.

  Grinning, Al walked over to his bed and lay down. The grin didn’t last too long, though. He started thinking about their predicament, and what would happen if they were to get caught. The thoughts that ran through his mind gave him shudders – thoughts that were mostly of prison. He told himself to stop thinking about such things and that they were going to get through this okay. He turned his thoughts to the couple in the next cabin and wished he were in their shoes.

  If only our biggest problem was arguing over some petty problem.

  He brushed some hair out of his eyes, then turned his body and reached over to the radio that was sitting on the table between the beds. He switched it on and then ran through the stations until he found something he liked.

  Then he laid back, arms tucked under his head and wondered how Eddy was doing next door. He could really do with a smoke.

  Stretched out on the bed, Al wondered if all the cabins were this gloomy. The bulb that gently swung from the ceiling gave off a dim glow. The scene was quite eerie, and the room looked to Al like a cross between the motel from Psycho, and the cabins from Friday the 13th.