The Last Motel

by Brett McBean

  What was that?

  She slammed the fridge door and cocked her ear, not daring to breathe. She thought she had heard the whir of police sirens. She stood by the refrigerator, holding her breath for thirty seconds, before she was positive that the police weren’t on their way. She let out her breath and paced up and down the cabin.

  “Hurry up,” she said. Her voice made her nervous. It sounded scared and high.

  No matter what the old woman knew, she would tell Morrie, as soon as he came back, that they were leaving. No arguments, no discussions, just take the bags and leave.

  Oh shit! Did Morrie sign in under our real name and address?

  Knowing her husband, he would have. The thought of using aliases and a wrong address was not in his nature. She should’ve told him before he went in to register. It was her fault as much as his.

  Not that it matters, I suppose, Judy thought. The police already know our names and where we live. It’s where we are now that counts.

  She stopped pacing and looked over at the large gym bag. It was lying amongst the other bags and suitcases. The black Adidas bag, the one that held the rifle.

  The fact that she could even think of it made her ill. She shook the thought away.

  No! No more innocent people hurt.

  But she couldn’t help but wonder if it might come down to that

  There are four other guests staying. What, kill them all?

  She could feel tears begin to well up, another onslaught of uncontrollable weeping. She was about to sit back down on the bed and cry, when the door opened and in walked Morrie.

  “About time,” she snapped as he closed the cabin door. “Well, tell me. What happened?”

  He went over to her, took her by the hand and told her to sit down. Morrie sat down beside her. “She didn’t know anything. She hasn’t been listening to the radio all night.”

  “Are you sure?” Judy asked. “What the hell took you so long?”

  “I couldn’t just go in there for five minutes and find out if she knew. I had to pretend to be over there for the reasons we talked about. And it worked. I had some whisky, we sat by the open fire and talked about a lot of things. Trust me, if she had known something, I would’ve picked it up.”

  That made Judy a little more relaxed. She closed her eyes and sighed. Morrie put his hand around her neck and gently rubbed. “It’ll be okay, Judy.”

  “Did you sign in under our real name and address?” She spoke quietly and slowly.

  “Ah, yeah. Why?”

  She huffed. “I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s just if the police come through here after we’re gone, or worse, while we’re still here, she’ll tell them where we are. She knows our names.”

  “The police won’t find us here. They’re probably not even searching for us at the moment.”

  “You think so?” Judy said.

  “Yeah, you remember what the news report said; we’re not even suspects at this time. They have no proof that we were there at the time of the shooting. All they want at this stage is for us to get in contact with them. Hell, for all they know, we could be out of the country on a holiday.”

  “And you think we should call them? It’s just a trap, Morrie. For us to turn ourselves in.”

  Morrie shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t think we should call them, but I don’t think it’s a trap, either. Look, if we can get to another state, hide out somewhere remote, even if the police do decide to search for us, they won’t be able to find us. When everything has cooled down, we can maybe fly to another country.”

  Judy turned and looked at Morrie with a certain amount of scepticism. “Who’s to say that the old bag won’t hear a late news report on the TV? I mean, she’s bound to hear about it eventually.”

  From Morrie’s expression, Judy could see he knew that was true. “If she does squeal to the cops, we’re gonna have to shoot her.”

  “What!” Morrie gasped. “You fucking crazy?”

  “I’m the only sane person in this room. I think we should leave, right now. That way, if she does call the cops, we’ll be gone. And we won’t have to kill her.”

  “It’s getting late, Judy. She’ll probably go to bed soon. By the time she hears about us in the morning, we would’ve already left.”

  “Why are you so adamant in staying?” Judy said. “Why don’t we just fucking leave, now that the police know our names?”

  Morrie took his hand away from Judy’s neck, and began massaging his temples hard.

  “You know, there is only one person, besides us, who knows what really happened tonight.”

  Still rubbing his head, Morrie gazed at his wife. “Who, the kid that ran away?”

  “He is the only person who can tell the police that it was us, not a drive-by shooting or something. If the police really do believe that we were never there tonight, that kid is the only witness to say we were.”

  “Well, there’s not much we can do about it. We won’t be able to find him for heaven’s sake!”

  “Yeah, but it means that most likely the police know we are the ones. Surely that kid has gone to the cops by now.”

  “The news didn’t say anything about it.”

  “The news,” Judy huffed. “I’m telling ya, the police already know. It was a trap, just like I said.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  “Leave,” Judy said. “Let’s get our things together and drive away. If the police are searching for us, they won’t know where to look, unless that old bitch rings them and tells them.”

  Morrie stood up gradually. He looked exhausted. “Okay, let’s go.”

  A wave of relief swept over Judy. “Thank you, Morrie.”

  He wandered over to the pile of bags, bent down with an arduous groan and picked two up, including the one with the rifle. “You know, it’s going to seem highly suspicious leaving in the middle of the night. She’s bound to hear the car start up and wonder why we’re leaving. Maybe call the cops because of it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She won’t call the cops because we’re using the damn car. We could be going for a late night drive through the mountains for all she cares. Anyway, it’s no concern of hers; as long as we’ve paid for the night, she won’t even care.”

  “Oh shit,” Morrie uttered. He let the bags drop to the floor.

  “Don’t tell me,” Judy said. Her voice barely concealed her impending anger.

  Morrie, standing by the door in his loose jeans, flannelette shirt and blue rain jacket, looked at that moment like a child who had been caught out not doing his homework. He didn’t look Judy in the eyes.

  “There’s a problem, Judy. We haven’t paid yet.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Morrie and Judy’s Story

  9:00 p.m.

  The lounge room was in darkness, except for the flickering light that radiated from the television screen. That’s the way Morrie liked to watch his movies – with all the lights out. Especially when he was watching a horror movie.

  He had a six pack of Foster’s beside him on the small table, along with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of corn chips. He picked up the bowl of freshly made popcorn, which was coated in melted butter, and began shoving large handfuls of it in his mouth. Popcorn fell into his lap, some even lodged on his thick beard.

  What a night it was going to be. First up, for their Halloween marathon, channel six were showing Night of the Living Dead, which had just started; after that was the original Dracula; followed by The Exorcist.

  On screen, a brother and sister were walking through a spooky looking graveyard.

  Morrie had seen this film a number of years back. If he remembered correctly, this was the film that had the black man giving all the orders, and him being the only one left at the end, alive.

  But the police shoot him by accident, don’t they? Morrie thought, smiling. So what’s the moral of the movie; that niggers aren’t any better than zombies. He chuckled, bits of masticated popcorn spilling ou
t of his mouth.

  * * *

  He took a sip of beer, then placed the can back on the table.

  From out in the kitchen, he heard the clanging of plates and cups. Judy was finishing the washing.

  “Can’t ya keep it down, woman,” Morrie mumbled to himself. He thought about getting up and closing the door, but he couldn’t be bothered.

  She should be finished soon, he thought.

  He glanced down and saw a pile of popcorn resting in his lap. He brushed them off his old, tattered bathrobe, then brought his feet up and rested them on the large coffee table in front. He let out a deep burp and grinned.

  There was a crash in the kitchen. The sudden noise made Morrie jump. “Jesus fuck!” he growled. “I hope that wasn’t a good one, Judy!”

  He waited for about ten seconds before Judy poked her head around the corner. “I’m sorry, Morrie. It was only an old plate, though.”

  He didn’t bother responding. He settled back into the chair and had another drink of beer.

  Shuffling back into the kitchen, Judy walked over to the cupboard under the sink and took out the dustpan and broom.

  “Lazy fat fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Didn’t even ask if I was all right. Couldn’t care less that I might’ve cut myself.”

  With her moccasins slapping on the linoleum floor, Judy went over to the broken dinner plate and bent over. She brushed the shards of plate into the dustpan, and when it was full, took it over to the bin and tipped in the contents. It took three trips for her to rid the floor of the broken plate.

  She placed the broom and dustpan back under the sink, then proceeded to put away the rest of the dishes.

  She had just placed the last of the dishes into the cupboard when the doorbell rang. It gave her a small shock, and she thought it was lucky that she wasn’t holding another plate.

  She wandered into the dark lounge room.

  “Was that the front door?” Morrie called over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I wonder who it could be. I’ll go check, okay?”

  “Sure. I’m in my bathrobe, anyway. It could be trick-or-treaters.”

  “We don’t get many of them out here. In fact, I can’t remember ever having any.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  Judy walked out of the lounge and headed down the hall.

  Down the end of the corridor there was a door that led directly into their garage. The TV became gradually softer as she made her way down the chilly hall. She opened the door and stepped into the even colder garage. She could smell old paint fumes, methylated spirits and the stale odour of oil and petrol (they now kept the car out in the driveway; the garage was cluttered with too much junk).

  There were three doors in the garage – the large car door, the one that led into the house and another door that led to the outside of the house. This had a good view of the front door. This was where Judy headed.

  The meagre light from the hallway didn’t light the dark garage. But Judy knew from twenty years of living in this dump of a house exactly where the side door was. She bumped into a few boxes along the way, but didn’t bang into anything hard.

  With her arms stretched out, she found her way to the side door.

  Far from the television, the garage was silent, and from outside, Judy could hear people talking.

  Great, there’s more than one.

  She fumbled for the handle.

  Maybe it is trick-or-treaters; or a family looking for their lost dog. Then why would they be laughing?

  She carefully flicked the lock, then, ever so slowly, opened the door just a crack. Outside was dark; the only light came from the small overhead lamp at the front door. She could make out two people. They were tall, wearing black suits, sunglasses (sunglasses!), and black hats. They were standing by the front door, looking around, and chatting to each other.

  My God, who are these people?

  They both, as if sensing somebody was watching, looked over in her direction. She got a quick look at their faces. She gasped and closed the door even more, leaving the smallest of openings. Due to their sunglasses, Judy couldn’t tell if they were staring straight at her. Her heart pounding, Judy gently closed the side door, locked it, then rushed back through the garage. She kicked the boxes as she went past, and managed to stay on her feet. She made it to the lighted hallway, and as quickly as her overweight body would allow, ran down the corridor and into the lounge.

  As she rushed past the front door, she heard the strangers outside banging against the door.

  They’re not going to leave.

  Morrie glanced up with a frown on his face when Judy came flying in.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he said. “And why haven’t you answ...?”

  “There are two men outside. Wearing suits and sunglasses.”

  “What? Sunglasses?”

  “I don’t know, Morrie. They looked pretty scary. Like...hit men or something.”

  Morrie placed the bowl of popcorn down on the table and stood up. “You didn’t speak to them?”

  “No, no. I just looked from the garage door. I’m not sure if they saw me.”

  “Jesus,” Morrie muttered.

  “And one other thing...one of them was, well, Asian.”

  As soon as she told him that, Morrie’s eyes widened.

  She saw hatred and anger in those beady eyes. “What the fuck are we going to do?” he said.

  “Morrie...”

  He gazed over at his frightened wife.

  Her long hair was messy; strands fell down her face. Despite the chilly night outside, sweat dripped down her plump, red face. “Go and get your gun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Morrie used his Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle for two reasons; primarily for hunting, mostly rabbits and ducks. The second reason, and heaven forbid it should ever happen, was as a self defence weapon in case somebody ever broke into their house. That had fortunately yet to occur.

  Morrie’s father had given him an old bolt-action rifle, but his own carelessness had let the gun rust when he left it out in the rain years ago.

  He got talked into buying a .223 semi-automatic by the sales assistant, and it took Morrie a while to get used to it. Now, he was in love with his Ruger. He took special care with the cleaning and handling. It was a slightly lighter and smaller gun than his old bolt-action, but it fit his hunting needs just fine.

  He kept it hidden away in the bedroom closet. He had thought about buying a glass cabinet, or even a simple rack, but the thought of waking up in the dead of night to find a robber, or worse, lurking in the house, and the gun locked away somewhere in another room, didn’t appeal to Morrie. He wanted to be able to grab the rifle as quickly as possible, in case of an emergency.

  And Morrie agreed with his wife. Two strange men dressed in suits and wearing sunglasses at night was an emergency, or at least a possible one.

  In amongst their clothes and hangers, Morrie grabbed the rifle that stood propped against the closet wall, and pulled off the protective rags.

  “Hurry up, Morrie,” Judy whimpered.

  Morrie was filled with too much rage and exhilaration to bother shouting at Judy to be quiet. Instead, he said, “Go and get the cartridges.”

  Judy nodded and rushed over to Morrie’s bedside drawer.

  The magazine was stored in a large shoebox on the ground beside the rifle. With the gun in his right hand, Morrie bent down and picked up the shoebox.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  He hurriedly opened the shoebox and pulled out the dark grey magazine.

  “Here we go,” Judy whispered from behind.

  Morrie moved over to the bed where he lay down the rifle and started thumbing the cartridges into the magazine. When it was full, Morrie picked up his rifle and locked the magazine in place.

  Without speaking a word, he ran out of the bedroom, down the hall and towards the garage. Judy stayed close behind him the
whole time.

  Holding the gun firmly in his right hand, Morrie crept through the dim, cold garage. He knocked into the boxes, gave them no thought, and made it to the side door.

  “You stay in here,” Morrie whispered. He unlocked the door with his left hand, and peeked through the small gap. He saw the two men not by the front door, but wandering around the lawn. They appeared to be gazing around at the house, talking to each other.

  Wonder which one’s the gook, he thought.

  With a deep breath, Morrie stepped out of the garage. He held the rifle low by his right side. “Can I help you?” he asked. His voice came out strong, threatening.

  The figure closest to Morrie started walking towards him. Just like Judy said, the stranger was wearing dark sunglasses, and an equally dark suit and fedora hat.

  “Hey man, what kind of party is this? What are you supposed to be?”

  Morrie could tell by the voice that the one venturing closer was the Asian. The other figure remained back.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Morrie warned.

  “Very funny, now let us in.”

  The other person said something to the Asian, which Morrie couldn’t quite hear. The Asian turned around and answered him. He then turned back around and kept on walking.

  “I’m gonna have to ask you men to leave,” Morrie demanded.

  The Asian laughed. “Very funny. What took you so long anyway?”

  Morrie still held the rifle by his side. His hand was twitching; should he bring it up?

  The figure standing back removed his sunglasses. Morrie glanced over at the man, caught a glimpse of his face, but quickly brought his eyes back to the approaching Asian.

  “Stop!” Morrie bellowed.

  The Asian brought up his hands. “Hey, it’s cool.” He chuckled. He then lowered his right arm and reached into his jacket.

  Oh my God! Morrie screamed in his head.

  Before he had a chance to think twice about it, Morrie raised the rifle, aimed it at the Asian’s chest and fired.

  The loud crack echoed through the night, and Morrie saw the Asian lunge backwards. He heard Judy cry out from behind him, and he fired once more, the bullet hitting the Asian just above the first wound.