California Motel (Spencer and Miller Book 1)

by Roach Spell

  Spencer said, “How could that be related to her murder? Mothers recognize their sons, and Miss Rose did not say anything to me about that. Maybe he is dead. If that’s the case, then chances are she never stopped grieving.”

  Miller retrieved a fresh cigar and cut off the back with a small jackknife he carried around for that very purpose. “Dead?” he said. “Maybe, it could probably be that something similar happened to him, something similar to death.” Spencer looked and thought but not saying, Rose did say, she recognized somebody, or did she not.

  Yuki left the Villa Motel and went back to the family-owned Korean Motel across the street.

  She kissed Spencer and said, “You know, my brother is not accepting guests at an hourly rate anymore, especially those young-looking ones. Now you have them all. It looks like you attract them anyway.”

  She went off giggling, her cheeks looking ripe and sweet as she walked across the empty harbor road. He really liked that girl.

  “She seems very good for you, also she is smart and kindhearted, just made for someone moody like you,” said Miller.

  He then sighed and asked to use the reception phone so he could call his wife.

  Dick Dale and his gang stood in the doorway of the Villa Motel, collecting their keys. Spencer could not stop talking about how great it was to host them, and he even asked Dick for an autograph and a photo. The legendary musician was very nice, and he introduced his band and his young wife to Spencer. Then the group poured themselves some afternoon coffee, and Dick showed his guitar to Spencer. Before long, he had officially invited him to his ranch, where he had his own private plane and airport. Spencer promised to attend their show that evening.

  Miller saw the band leaving the reception, when he returned from the city library, where he had been going through some archived newspapers and registered names. “Was that who I think it was?” asked Miller, looking for coffee.

  “Not sure, Detective,” said Spencer. “Were you a surfer boy? Miller smiled doing a hand-wave, “in the sixties we surfed, and we made some very special boards. Dick Dale played at an ice cream parlor in Newport Beach, and those events always packed with thousands of enthusiastic people.

  His sound was revolutionary – and loud. I was there and it was wild, he is a legend.”

  Spencer and Miller agreed to go see the band together that evening. Yuki joined them, and Harper as well, the four of them emptied lots and many Corona beers. It was a good night at the Villa Motel, and it was after midnight when Spencer returned home and sent Jim to bed. Jim was at the reception all evening, mention to Spencer that he had heard some strange noises coming from Spencer’s apartment. Spencer took note of it, although he was sure that it was merely the possum family again.

  24

  He put all the leftover Mexican food away and Yuki came along to keep him company. She knew he fed those animals, and that scared her a bit. However, to their surprise, when they entered the bedroom, there really were strange noises. They were coming from inside, just, as Jim had said.

  “What is it, darling?” asked Yuki, sounding a bit worried. Spencer looked around and switched on the light. There was a black and white tail moving about.

  “Oh, it’s a raccoon,” he said. “Wait, no – it’s a skunk!”

  The smell had already seeped into the air, although the animal had not released its spray yet. Its tail went up, and the skunk stared at them, ready to turn around and spray his bedroom. “I’m going to get you out of here,” said Spencer to the skunk. “Move to the side, Yuki, so our little friend here can leave through the living room. I’ll open the side door so it can say goodbye.” The skunk did not even think about leaving, though. It was searching for food, and the animal had found the cookies beside the bed. Spencer snatched the cookies, crawled over the bed, and spoke softly. “C’mon, follow me,” he said, dangling the treats above the skunk. “Here are the cookies, little fellow. Tsss, tsss.”

  The skunk went under the bed. No way, Spencer thought, and before the skunk had a chance to settle, Spencer clamped its tail down with his hand and pulled it back out. Kneeling on the king bed, he held the tail at the level of his own face. The skunk looked directly at Spencer, who could only close his eyes and suppress an urgent need to scream. Yuki, who did scream, released a sound higher than the highest key one can reach on a piano; it was an awful sound, only made worse by the vile odor of the skunk.

  Spencer almost fainted. Impulsively, he grabbed the skunk and ran as fast as he could to the side door, where he gave the animal a swing out toward the parking lot.

  A young couple standing outside their room on the first floor received a fair amount of the skunk spray, which the animal was still releasing in large quantities. Spencer collapsed onto the hard ground of the parking lot and ripped off all his clothes, stripping right down to his underwear. Yuki came outside and threw up all the beer and tacos she had eaten that night. The skunk stood there with the lovers, its tail up high, shooting spray directly at them as if to say, “Get out of the way, morons.”

  Finally, the skunk ran off toward the nearby field.

  It was as if someone had released a stink bomb at the reception, and in Spencer’s home, it smelled so bad that he could not return to either part of the motel. Spencer grabbed the keys and spent the rest of the night in Room 8. On his way upstairs, he woke Jim up, and asked him to look after the reception. Jim sat down on the bench outside, since the sulfurous odor was still too strong inside the building. The young couple, meanwhile, ran back to their love nest and showered all night long. Spencer and Yuki did the same.

  Hours later, Spencer knocked on the young couple’s door and suggested that they walk all down to the beach, since saltwater would help them get rid of the smell. The cleaning process went on until sunrise. Esperanza had already called in some special team of chemical cleaners by the time they returned from the beach. Too tired to continue bathing, Spencer still stank for another day. Esperanza arranged a baking soda and dish soap bath for him, which helped a bit, and Spencer continued to wash his face with tomato juice. Several days later, he finally returned to his apartment. Before leaving Room 8, though, he found that somebody had been drilling tiny holes into the walls and floorboards. He wondered what the reason could be.

  25

  Miller been called into Los Angeles in order to testify against Scarface. He did not mind leaving for a few days, as the entire Villa, badly skunked.

  Before he left, he took a close look at the entire motel and all of its surroundings. Spencer joined him; one cat family, always sat in front of Jim and Esperanza’s rooms, and near Harper’s residence. Most of the staff had single rooms, but they shared a laundry room that Stan and Marie used as well.

  To his surprise, Spencer met an old man living in the corner room on the second floor for the very first time. He stayed in Room 48, his name was Charlie, actually Charles, and he was originally from France. Charlie always paid Terry directly for his room, so he never interacted with Spencer. This was how it had always been. Esperanza often cooked for Charlie, and according to Jim, the man was an old artist, a circus clown and magician. Miller really wanted to talk to him, since he had not done so yet. He was just about the same age as Miss Rose, which made Miller even more interested in getting to know the long-term motel guest. Miller asked him to come outside and join him on the bench next to the laundry room.

  “Do tell me about yourself, Charlie,” Miller said.

  Spencer approached Esperanza, who was washing all the towels and sheets from the room. She had a helper with her, a nice-looking Mexican chica whom he really liked. He would sometimes go to see her and give her some extra work, just for the chance to steal a smile from her.

  “Please make us some cups of coffee, Esperanza,” said Spencer. “Bring it over to us. Muchas gracias.”

  “For forty years I was a circus clown and magician, traveling from France to America and performing for the Big Top Circus,” said Charlie. “It was a three-ring circus, but th
ere was one winter that was so cold I suffered from a case of pneumonia from which I never really recovered. I had to stop and move to a warmer region, and this is where I have been living for many years now. I heard about what happened to that old lady, but I’m afraid I cannot help you, as I never saw her here in the days leading up to her murder.” He continued, “I do know one thing, though, and that is that the story about the treasure here is true. Jim told me about it the other day, and the story of that hidden treasure on these grounds is nothing new. Mary told me about it long ago. Indeed, she asked me to find the treasure for her once, with a dowsing rod. She used to see me down by the beach, dowsing for coins in the sand, and I guess that made her think that I could find it”

  He wanted to carry on with his stories, but Miller interrupted him between sips of coffee. “Do you have a pen, sir?” he asked.

  Nodding his head briefly, Charlie got up and returned with a lead pen.

  “Thank you, Mr. Charlie,” said Spencer.

  Charlie, ever the magician, made the pen disappear. Spencer and Miller looked at each other in surprise.

  “Now the pen will come out of Miller’s ear,” he said. It did. Spencer clapped his hands. He was clearly very impressed.

  “If you don't mind, Charlie, I will come by again,” said Spencer, “and you can show me some of your tricks and tell me some good old circus stories.”

  He and Miller waved goodbye to the old man and returned to the office together. Miller exhaled the extra smoke from his cigar into the air, trying to defeat the smell of the skunk. He then looked at Spencer and said, “I will be back in two days. I hope that I can put Scarface behind bars by then.

  Please do me a favor and keep a close eye on Mary and Stan. They are my prime suspects.”

  That reminded Spencer of something he had almost forgotten to mention. “There are suspicious drilling holes in Room 8,” he said. “Maybe Scarface hid drugs that way, blowing cocaine straight into the spaces.”

  Miller laughed and said, “It would be difficult to get the drugs back out, if that were the case. Maybe those are more likely to search for a hollow space where something can be hidden?” They looked at each other, their eyes full of unspoken knowledge and understanding.

  The parking lot, packed for happy hour at the Mexican restaurant, so it was time for Spencer to show his guests – and the restaurant patrons –who was really in charge of the Villa Motel.

  Before Miller drove off, listening to Glenn on his old AM radio, he cranked down the window and said; “and Spencer, by the way, stop stealing those license plates from the wrongly-parked cars in the lot. Even if it helps, it is illegal collecting those. Goodbye.”

  26

  “Sorry, we are all booked tonight,” said Spencer.

  It was a great feeling. For the first time since Spencer had begun working at the motel, he could switch on the No Vacancy sign.

  He felt so wonderful and successful that he took a photo beside it. He asked Harper to take the picture with his Polaroid camera. Harper left his hand over the lens the first time. The second time, he shook the camera like it was some kind of toolbox. Finally, Spencer showed him how to hold the camera, and the third picture turned out fine. He would present it to Terry and let him know that the motel guests were all staying for at least a full night.

  A group of former East German folks had arrived, since they could travel freely, now that the wall had come crumbling down. The wall had divided the country, much like in North and South Korea. Spencer thought about it. How terrible it was that some of his distant relatives actually lived on the Eastern side of the wall. He was friendly to his new German guests and gave them plenty of brochures. He also suggested that they visit the nearby Pilgrim.

  Spencer then walked over to Yuki, who had lost some of her own relatives in Korea. She was grateful to America, a country that allowed her family to accomplish their dream, of owning a motel in California.

  On Spencer’s way over, he told Jim to watch the reception and arrange for extra bread and croissants, since there were so many guests at the motel.

  Bernadette’s room occupied again and Spencer felt relieved that the guests were foreigners, who were not familiar with all the local stories. Yuki gave Spencer a big hug and introduced him to her grandmother, a short, toothless, gray-haired woman. Yuki announced that she was ninety-eight years old. Spencer, full of disbelief and respect, reached for her hand. What a grip, he thought.

  “What has she been eating for all these years?” joked Spencer. “Must have been a lot kimchi.”

  The old woman looked at him like Yoda out of Star Wars.

  “Working, young man,” she said. “Hard working, regular glasses of Soju, and rest. Those are all the things you will ever need.”

  She took his hand and led him over to a table with that Korean rice liqueur, and she made him drink two glasses quickly. She waved goodbye to Spencer.

  Yuki smiled, holding his hand and walked him back to his place. “Now that you are relaxed, I will stay with you tonight,” she said. “We will have extra free time, as there is no more trouble in the air.” Yuki and Spencer exchanged kisses and so much more. If only she had not been wrong about the trouble….

  Before long, there was a banging sound at the front door of the reception. Spencer was dressed and stepped outside. The white clock in the hallway revealed, it was after one a.m. Opening the sliding window, Spencer showed his face to the noisemaker.

  “I need a room!” cried a man.

  “Sorry sir, but the sign outside clearly says there are no rooms available.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what the sign says,” snapped the man. “I need a room, and I will get a room.”

  “Look,” said Spencer, “I suggest you go across the street and get a room over there.”

  Slam! The man closed the wooden shutter, which hit Spencer right in the face. Spencer fell several feet backward, right into his reception desk. Surprised, he jumped up instantly, clutching his baseball bat, maneuvering forward and hitting it through the window toward the person’s hands.

  “I am a Vietnam veteran, and you are discriminating against me by not giving me a room, you son of a bitch,” the man screamed at Spencer. He glanced at the ex-soldier and saw that he had tattoos all over his face, bulky arms, and on his hands as well. There was a teardrop inked in beneath his left eye, a statement of desperation, sadness, and grief.

  “Calm down, sir, and we’ll talk,” said Spencer. “I’ll come outside now, and we can sit, smoke, and drink. You just need to calm down, okay?” Much to Spencer’s benevolence, the man did calm down. He opened the door, bringing some cigarettes, behind the desk, he opened a cabinet with some whisky inside, and then he sat next to the soldier.

  Spencer experienced all of this before, as guests are people and people in California can be very crazy. The good thing about people in California is that they also have a variety of intense emotions, which that allow to influence.

  A Vietnam vet with regrets – not the first one Spencer had met. The relationship could go from bad to good and back again, or worse. Maybe the man would become that pain in the ass kind of friend who just will not leave you alone. That was just about as bad as any other scenario.

  Spencer needed to calm the soldier down and direct him to the neighboring motel.

  The veteran told Spencer that he had flown in helicopters. His duty had been to sit behind the machine gun and clean the enemy line. While they were sitting outside on the bench, the man drank the booze and smoked their entire supply within half an hour.

  He had killed many civilians and members of the Viet Cong, and he explained that the tear was a symbol of his shame over some, that he had done.

  Now that the supplies were gone, the veteran stood up, inhaling his last cigarette before asking Spencer for another. Spencer, of course, was now in trouble again, and he said, “Let me accompany you to the other motel across the street. My friend will give you a room.”

  “I could stay with y
ou, man,” said the veteran. “I could really use some company, and maybe you won’t mind too much.” His words made Spencer shiver. Sounding friendly in theory only, something creepy, resolute, demanding, in which he spoke.

  If Spencer declined, then all hell would break loose, and that tall, burly ex-soldier would surely win. Spencer picked up his baseball bat slowly and stood up. He walked a bit closer to the motel across the street and pointed at it,

  “Let’s go over there. The owner has a vending machine with some food and cigarettes.”

  The soldier stood up and followed close behind him. Bit of a moment later, he kicked Spencer in the ribs.

  It hurt like fire.

  Spencer went down while the stranger’s huge hands formed a fist and approached his face.

  Lying on the floor, Spencer turned around and saw “Bruce Lee” Yuki to the rescue!

  “I will kill you,” the killing machine roared. His warrior scream was long and deep, which made him look and sound like a grizzly bear.

  Spencer numb by pain and surrounded by the slow-motion movement of the soldier’s fist.

  Yuki, fast as lightning, shooting up like a firework, her legs hovering off from the ground, one in front, precise like a thundering spear, going straight into the monster’s face.

  The soldier went down, the tear on his face nearly flying off.

  Yuki’s brother ran toward the action from across the street while the police sirens came nearer.

  The Vietnam veteran, sprawled out on the ground, and suddenly, Yuki’s grandmother was standing beside him, reaching down to him and feeding him kimchi. He was numb but awake, and he looked at the old woman in defeat.

  That was when the soldier began to cry, pleading for forgiveness. He cried over all the Vietnam children he had killed as an innocent young man during a time of a senseless war. Spencer did not press charges against the man. He just wanted the police to take him far away, like a grizzly, put back into the wilderness.