It happened pretty much that way. The only person who showed up was an old man who wanted a free room. No way I was going to incur G-Ma’s wrath with that, but I did take some pity on the guy and gave him ten bucks. I pointed him in the direction of the shelter, which he knew very well, and he left looking reasonably happy.
I wasn’t quite as relaxed as G-Ma, who greeted middle-of-the-night guests in her fuzzy pink bathrobe and thought nothing of it, but I wasn’t going to spend the night in my jeans, either. When Stump yawned for the third time and glared at me, I went to the bathroom and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, locked the door, and turned over the “Ring Bell For Service” sign in the window.
“Okay, let’s hit the hay,” I said.
Stump had far less compunction than I did about sleeping in G-Ma’s bed. I turned back the flowery bedspread and she jumped in (it took three tries), burrowed under the covers, and sniffed a wide circle, then emerged, tossing the sheet with her nose.
“Scoot,” I said, sliding in beside her. “This is weird, huh?
I’d spent many a night in the motel, but I’d had my own twin bed in what was now a storeroom. There was no place to sleep but G-Ma’s bed, but it still felt weird. The room hadn’t changed one bit during my lifetime. She had the same bedspread, the same curtain, the same ceramic woman’s head on the same embroidered runner on her dresser. That woman used to creep me out.
Stump did not care. She flopped and scratched around until she had a nice little swirl of covers around her head, with just her little black nose sticking out and one eye barely visible. I snuggled in beside her, and she was snoring within thirty seconds.
I left the closet light on and the door cracked, because I didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and freak out about where I was. I was fairly sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, until I woke up to Stump’s growling.
I freaked out, even with the closet light on. I was still mostly asleep when I leapt out of bed, careened around the room and knocked G-Ma’s woman-head off the dresser, catching it before it hit the floor.
“What? What? What?” was all I was capable of saying.
Stump rose and growled again, the hairs on her back rising.
It was probably just a customer, I told myself as my heart thudded and I my knees went weak. Stump wasn’t used to people coming to our door in the middle of the night. I picked her up and hugged her to me, hurrying to the front door.
There was no one there. Stump growled again. Then she barked.
I jerked so hard I almost dropped her. “Stop it!” I said. Okay, whined.
I took a deep breath. One of us needed to get a grip.
“Stop,” I said calmly. “Everything is fine.”
She relaxed, then tensed again and barked so hard she made herself choke. My heart hammered. What a couple of hardcore chicks we were.
I checked the lock on the door, then remembered the back door and went to check it. It was locked, too. I listened hard for whatever it was that was setting Stump off.
Nothing. Occasional traffic on the street.
I was just about convinced that nothing was wrong when she stiffened, pointed her nose toward the parking lot, and howled.
Oh, good Lord! The horror of that sound. Like being in the eye of a tornado or something.
I reached for my phone. I had dialed 9-1 when I remembered what G-Ma said about being grounded. Did that count for me, too? And what would I say when I got them on the phone? My dog is howling and I’m scared? I’m sure they wouldn’t care for that. Plus, I had been — however falsely and unfairly — arrested for prostitution at this very motel about fifteen hours ago.
“Hush,” I said to Stump, but it was more of a plea than an order. She didn’t hush. She shoved at my stomach and lunged toward the door, raising an unholy cry.
I tiptoed to the window and peered out again, craning to see the sidewalk close to the door. What if someone was hunkered down right there out of sight, just waiting for me to open the door so he could pounce?
I deleted the numbers. I stared at the phone. Tony?
I had his number pulled up and was about to hit the send button, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. What if nothing was wrong? Probably, nothing was wrong. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. If there was a bad guy hiding out of sight, he was either very small or a contortionist. Stump was probably just freaked out because we were away from home.
If I called Tony, he might think I had dragged him down there just to get his attention. Plus, if I wanted to focus on making myself appealing to Tony, probably a seedy motel trapped in 1984 wasn’t the best setting for it.
Stump subsided into a low growl and I began to relax a little. Maybe she’d just had a bad dream.
She jerked stiff, then began a baying howl that had me in tears of terror.
I punched in Bobby’s number.
“Sloan,” he answered.
“Look, I know it’s probably nothing but it might be something and you are the police and it’s your job to help me.”
Bobby sighed. “Salem. What’s going on?”
“I’m at G-Ma’s motel by myself and Stump keeps barking and growling like she hears something or — or senses something.”
“She probably senses a leftover cheeseburger in the wastebasket of the next room.”
I gripped the phone between my shoulder and ear, then covered Stump’s ears. “This is not the time for fat-shaming my dog, Bobby. I really am kind of freaked out. Can you just drive by here and check it out real quick? Please?”
“Your grandma is gone?”
“Yes, she’s in Amarillo with my mom.”
“And she took her gun with her?”
“Yes,” I said. I kind of wish I had it with me, although I was almost as afraid of accidentally shooting Stump as I was of any bad guys.
“You do know we have patrolmen all over part of town, right? If you call 9-1-1 — ”
“We’re grounded,” I said. “G-Ma’s raised too many false alarms.”
“You can’t get grounded from 9-1-1, Salem. Not even you and your grandma.”
Maybe I should call them. It was late, they probably weren’t too busy —
Stump leapt out of my arms and set up a furious bark at the door.
“Holy crap,” Bobby said. “Is that your little fat dog?”
“Please, Bobby,” I said. “She’s hearing or seeing something. If it’s the robbers you will never forgive yourself…”
“Give it a rest, Salem, I’m half a block away.”
“You are?”
“Just stay inside and I’ll look around.”
Within ten seconds, I saw his car slide into the parking lot and bang his undercarriage on the giant pothole outside Room 3. I winced. Hopefully he wouldn’t blame me for that.
He drove slowly around the parking lot, over to Mario’s restaurant, past the metal fence that used to encircle the swimming pool, and then back toward the office. He pulled up before the front door and shut off his lights.
I opened the door, assuming that if a bad guy was hunkered down there, Bobby would have shot him by now.
“Nothing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. He grinned, taking in the bare parking lot. “Business looks slow.”
“Don’t let G-Ma see you smiling about that. But yes, it looks like you’ve scared the trade away for a while.”
He bent and scratched at Stump’s ears. “What are you doing causing trouble, huh?”
Stump moaned and arched against his hand. I probably would have done the same thing if I wasn’t a married woman. But I was, so… I just watched and sighed inwardly.
“I’ll walk around and take a look, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I didn’t see — ”
Stump gave a high-pitched yelp and took off across the parking lot.
“Stump!” I shouted, running after her in my bare feet.
Bobby’s footsteps pounded the asphalt behind me. “Good Lo
rd, I had no idea she could run that fast,” he shouted.
“Me either,” I huffed.
She hadn’t run that fast, in fact, since I’d had her. Then again, her exercise was mostly just sniffing around my postage stamp yard at Trailertopia, and the short trek from our front deck to the car. Running was never a necessity.
She was hauling butt now, though. She disappeared around the back of Mario’s restaurant. Bobby passed me. He had longer legs and boots on his feet.
We rounded the back of the restaurant. The back door stood wide open. Stump was nowhere to be seen.
Bobby whipped around and motioned for me to stay back.
“But Stump!” I hissed. I moved around him to go after her.
Bobby grabbed my arm and hauled me back. “No, Salem! You don’t know who’s in there.”
“Exactly!” The thought of Stump alone in there with some bad guy had me frantic. “We can’t just leave her in there.”
A crash came from inside. I gasped and lunged toward the door.
Bobby gripped my arm again. “I’m going to call for backup. We’ll wait until — ”
“That will take too long.” I stepped around him again. “Stump!” I whispered frantically. I patted my legs. “Come here, baby! Stump!”
Bobby made a sound in his throat that I was pretty sure meant he wanted to throttle me. He handed me his phone, then pulled his gun and a flashlight from his belt.
“Call 9-1-1 and tell them to get a patrol car out here. I’ll see if I can see anything.”
With trembling hands, I fumbled with the phone while Bobby slid along the wall toward the open door.
Just like TV cops, he poked his head around the doorway with his gun and flashlight drawn. He swept the room quickly, then entered.
My hands were shaking so hard, I kept pulling up icons that weren’t the phone. I listened intently for another crash, the yelp of a dog that had just been kicked, or — and my knees went weak at the thought — the sound of a gunshot.
I finally got the phone pulled up and struggled for half a second to remember the number for 9-1-1. I dialed it and put the phone to my ear, struggling to think of the words I would say once I got the dispatcher on the line.
Nothing. Nothing from the phone, and nothing from the restaurant. The world went silent around me as I waited an eternity.
I pulled the phone away from my face. I had forgotten to hit send.
I reached to do that when:
“Oh, dear God,” came Bobby’s voice from inside.
My heart stopped. “What?” I shrieked, running inside. “Stump!”
Bobby flipped on the overhead light as I came in.
I blinked against the bright light, expecting to see carnage everywhere I looked. Instead I saw Mario’s kitchen, same as it ever was, and Bobby, tucking his gun and flashlight back into his belt. Stump stood over a pile of garbage spilled onto the floor, licking her lips. She’d turned over a trash can.
I stood, breathing heavily and trying to keep from fainting. “What? What happened?”
In answer, Stump let out a belch.
Bobby jabbed a finger in her direction. “That! What in the world is wrong with your dog?”
In another second, I realized what he was talking about. The most unholy smell emanated from Stump’s belch, instantly filling the room with stench.
I darted glances around, my mind still focused on bad guys with guns.
“It’s clear,” Bobby said. “Whoever closed up must have left the back door unlocked, and your dog smelled day old tamales at a hundred yards.”
I dropped to the floor beside Stump and hugged her, tucking Bobby’s phone into my pocket. I regretted the hug instantly; the squeeze made Stump belch again. I was weak with relief and needed to breathe clear air.
Bobby stomped around the kitchen, clearly lacking the perspective to see what a joyous occasion this really was. Oh well. His loss.
I stood and began to pick up the trash. “I know she wasn’t just after the tamales, Bobby. She woke up from a dead sleep. She heard something, and not just the siren call of stale Tex-Mex.”
Bobby mumbled something and kept on checking out the empty building. He walked outside to check out the door. When he came back in, it was with a completely different demeanor. “The back door’s been jimmied.”
“I knew it!” I bent to scratch Stump’s ears. “Good girl. You scared the bad guys away.”
Bobby went into the storeroom and pounded on the back wall beside the back door, testing something out.
“Is there a broom and mop bucket in there?” I’d picked up all the big trash, but there was a mixture of corn meal, coffee grounds and something I didn’t want to determine left behind.
“Yep,” Bobby called back. “Still water in the bucket, in fact.”
That didn’t sound very hygienic. I picked up Stump and carried her with me toward the storeroom to get the mop. “You’re a proper hero, Stump my girl.”
Bobby’s phone rang and made me jump again. I pulled it from my pocket and fumbled with it, trying to hold Stump with one arm and get the phone right side up with the other.
My toe knocked up hard against something beside the door. “What the — ” I yelped. I couldn’t see what it was with my hands full, but I’d hit it hard enough that it slid aside.
“Your phone is buzzing,” I said to Bobby, hopping around on one foot.
Bobby turned toward me to take the phone, then his eyes went wide. “No!”
The bad guys must be right behind me! I spun, the phone flying out of my hand.
The room was empty, save for a big metal door swinging shut.
Bobby’s phone plopped into the mop bucket.
One by one, realizations slammed into me.
The door was locked from the outside.
My phone was back in the motel office.
Bobby’s phone was in the mop bucket.
No one knew we were there.
The restaurant was closed on Sundays.
I was trapped with Bobby Sloan.
I needed to pee.
I grabbed the knob and turned with everything I had. The door rattled, but didn’t give.
“Here.” Bobby edged me aside and fiddled with the knob. He bent over and peered at it.
He muttered a bad word. “That’s a good lock.”
“Mario just replaced all the locks, inside and out.”
“Because of the robberies.” He bent and fished his phone out of the mop bucket, fixing me with a look.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “You screamed and I thought the bad guys were behind me.”
“I didn’t scream,” he said, indignant, shaking the phone so nasty mop water flew around the room. “I just said no and then you threw my phone in the mop bucket and locked us in this room.”
“I panicked, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one.” I wiped droplets of mop water off my arm and wondered if he would accept a Llano Wireless “Smart Enuff” phone. Not likely.
“That’s issued by the department. They’ll replace it, but they won’t be thrilled about it.”
I hadn’t been thrilled at the thought of it coming out of my pocket, either. I told myself I really was paying, via my tax dollars. So it was okay. Except for the trapped in the room part.
Bobby’s gaze traveled around the edge of the door, and he ran a hand along the hinges.
“You have your radio or something, right?”
Bobby remained silent, staring. Then he turned and stared in a different direction. He didn’t say anything, and that made me nervous.
He didn’t have a radio or something. The room was small, one very strong metal door and three cinder block walls. No escape.
“Well, I know one thing. I’m not going to panic,” I said, feeling the panic build exponentially with every breath I took. “We might be trapped in here, but it’s not like we’re going to die. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“We could suffocate, the place could catch
fire, Mario could have a family emergency and decide to close down for a week, we could starve to death — ”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Already? I didn’t even get to tornadoes.” He looked around. “Although with these walls, we’d probably make it out of a tornado.”
“Come on, tornado,” I said sarcastically.
Bobby shoved a shoulder into the metal door. It didn’t budge.
I sat on a box that held five gallon buckets of cooking oil. “We won’t starve. We’re in a room full of food.”
“All of it in cans. Unless you want to drink that oil you’re sitting on.”
I looked around in growing dismay. He was right. There were giant industrial size cans of tomatoes, beans, oil, spices. None of them were accessible without a can opener.
Because I didn’t think I’d be much help in the escape phase of this adventure, I put my energies into the area of survival. Surely there was something here two people could subsist on.
Styrofoam cups. Corn husks. Were those edible? Stump would undoubtedly try, if we were in here long enough. Corn meal. Salt, pepper and cumin. What the heck, Mario? Not a single bag of Doritos?
“Help me find a screwdriver,” Bobby said.
Under the circumstances, I decided to forego the lecture on using the magic word. I set Stump down and slid aside cans and boxes, looking for anything resembling a tool of any kind. Nothing on the upper shelves. I bent and searched the lower shelves.
“There’s a box of order books. This looks like menus from the old Italian place. Here’s a pen. Can you use that?”
“For what? To write a note and slip it under the door?”
“You know, if you were MacGyver you would build a communication device out of two bean cans, a couple of paper clips and a good wad of spit, and get us out of here.” I knelt and slide aside a few more boxes — all containing heavy duty aluminum foil. If worse came to worst, maybe we could make a tool out of aluminum foil.
“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t thrown my phone into a bucket of water, I could call someone and do the same thing. No spit required.”
“I was making a joke, and I didn’t throw it. I dropped it when you screamed.” I sat clumsily on the concrete floor. Stump immediately jumped into my lap and curled up, resting her broad nose on my thigh and watching Bobby. “No need to begin the blame game.”
Caught in the Crotchfire Page 12