Hard Yards

by J. R. Carroll

  ‘I understand,’ Barrett said. ‘It’s just that … well, this is very important. I mean, very important. It’d mean a lot to the lady, too.’ He looked over his shoulder at Mai Ling, sitting quietly in the car, and the manager sneaked a peek too – not that he could see much in the dark except a woman’s silhouette. ‘She’s … special. To be honest with you, tonight’s our first night together. I was hoping you might find us a cancellation or … something. It’s only for one night, and I’d be prepared to pay twice the going rate – in cash.’

  The manager studied Barrett, who held his gaze. He was wondering if Geoff’s theory about top hotels reserving rooms for the Sultan of Brunei applied to suburban motels too.

  ‘We’re booked solid,’ the manager said. ‘Have been for months. But hold your water. Let me see …’ He tapped his computer keyboard. Barrett waited. The impression he had was that the man was going to find him a room, but had to make it look good.

  ‘Well, well. You’re in luck,’ the manager said, still tapping the keyboard. ‘Party that was supposed to arrive today isn’t coming until tomorrow, apparently. See?’ And he swung the monitor around to show he wasn’t bullshitting.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Barrett said, reaching into his pocket. ‘Thanks. What do I owe you?’

  ‘Going rate’s two hundred and twenty-five dollars a night. Breakfast not included.’

  Holding Diaz’s bankroll below the counter, Barrett peeled off four c-notes and a fifty and handed them across in exchange for a room key attached to a large plastic tag.

  ‘Check-out time is eleven a.m.,’ the manager said. ‘Sharp.’

  Barrett said, ‘Don’t worry – we’ll be gone by then.’

  The motel was a two-storeyed, cream brick structure of rectangular design, with a swimming pool occupying the enclosed area. From the upstairs walkway, it gave off a shimmering turquoise glow from the underwater lighting. As far as Barrett could see, most of the car spaces were taken, but no-one was around. He found the room and slid the key in, then turned and looked at Mai Ling, waiting silently behind him. He wasn’t sure if she was smiling at him or not, but at this moment she was a very desirable commodity indeed.

  When they were inside, Barrett placed her suitcase on the stand provided and said, ‘The first thing you can do is call the airport, okay?’

  Mai Ling was already on the bed, leaning back on her arms with one leg tucked under the other – a posture that revealed a dark, inviting space between her thighs. She had kicked off her shoes, and she wasn’t wearing stockings. ‘Okay,’ she said, and produced her phone – a cute little lime green one. Barrett found the number in the directory and read it out to her while she punched buttons. When she was connected, he wandered over to the window, checking outside. There was a garden, some trees, a high brick fence, then a local neighbourhood road. Very quiet – ultra peaceful, in fact. It was difficult for him to come to terms with the night’s violence.

  ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘Singapore Airlines, departing at 10 a.m.’

  ‘So … it’s all arranged? You’ve booked?’

  ‘All arranged,’ she said, slipping the phone back in her bag. ‘And now I think I’ll have a shower.’

  She took her toilet bag from her suitcase and walked past him, brushing his jacket, and he said, ‘Mai Ling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come here.’ He took her by the arm and turned her around.

  She went to him and he held her tight and snug, as he had done outside. When she lifted up her face, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her slightly opened mouth. After that he pressed his face into her neck and shoulder and then began undoing her top as she dropped the toilet bag.

  ‘Aren’t you going to let me freshen up first?’ she whispered in his ear as the top slid from her shoulders and floated to the carpet. She had nothing on under it. All she was wearing now was a short black skirt.

  ‘Don’t know if I want to wait that long,’ he said as he stroked her back and gazed down at her breasts. They were small and white and perfectly formed, with sharp little buds – exactly how they’d been in his sex dream. ‘But all right. I’ll do the same.’

  ‘It’ll be quick. Promise,’ she said, smiling as she drew away, picked up the toilet bag and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  In preparation for his own turn in the shower, he undressed down to his underpants, then thought, to hell with it, and got rid of those too. While he waited he smoked a cigarette, flicked the TV on and off and paced restlessly around the room – he was starting to feel pleasant waves of nervous excitement in his stomach.

  When she emerged Mai Ling was wrapped in a white towel that was tucked under her armpits. Her hair was wet and slicked back, and she had on fresh lipstick and make-up. When she wafted past him, eyeing his nakedness, he caught a whiff of a luscious perfume. In the bathroom he showered quickly, soaping up vigorously and getting rid of every trace of Diaz. After he’d dried off, he checked out his profile in the mirror: the paunch was thickening, no doubt about it, but at least he could still see his dick – even without the mirror.

  He came out wearing the towel around his waist to find Mai Ling curled up on the bed. She had pulled the covers off so that only the sheets remained, and she was between them with the top one thrown back so he could see all of her – naked and excruciatingly lovely. She was leaning on one elbow with a bank of pillows behind her head, her eyes fixed on Barrett as he came towards her and flung the top sheet further away. Leaning over her, he held her face in one hand and kissed her, tasting the lipstick and swooning from the perfume while she moved a hand under the towel and felt for his cock. The towel came adrift as she squeeze-stroked it, making him erect straightaway. He broke from kissing her and watched her delicate hand working keenly and exquisitely on him.

  ‘Now I want to suck your big, fat cock,’ she said, and ran her fingers all over its length.

  With his legs astride her he rubbed the swollen head of his cock on her lips so she could lick it, then slid inch by rock-hard inch into her mouth. When she began to suck it, he shut his eyes and gave an involuntary, racking gasp that sounded as if he had burst into tears. Recovering, he settled into a slow, steady rhythm, pushing his cock in and out and moving it around inside her cheeks and thinking about maybe blowing a nice big load soon. But no, no, no … This had to last, he wanted to go on and on without coming, he wanted the thrill of sex play and anticipation more than the actual explosion itself. She sucked and sucked, doing it beautifully with her eyelids fluttering and leaving crimson lipstick smears as well as saliva on his cock. Sometimes she took it out and licked it all over and pressed it into her face, squeezing it and smiling up at his broken, tortured face. Then she would put it back between her lips and carry on …

  A couple more minutes and he felt he was losing it. ‘I have to come, baby’ he breathed.

  ‘No, not yet,’ she said, slipping it out. ‘Let’s make it last a long, long time. Do you want to lick my cunt for me? That’d be so nice.’

  She spread her legs as far apart as she could as he lowered himself over her stomach, onto her tuft of fine black pubic hair. Here, too, there was perfume. He worked his tongue right into her while she adjusted her position, sliding down the bed a little and pushing herself up into his face. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he heard her say. And that was what he was doing – fucking her with his tongue, darting it around in her and kissing it and feeling her juices really flow. She squirmed and squealed and moved a pillow under her buttocks. Barrett licked her until his jaw ached, then kept at it until he felt sure she had orgasmed at least twice. Then he felt a light sprinkle of warm liquid on his chin as she sighed and shuddered and flung her arms wildly about.

  ‘Did you come, baby?’ he said, looking up at her over the patch of wet, matted black hair.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Do you want to come again?’ He sat up, showing her his hard, throbbing, lipstick-stained cock. ‘Do you want it in you yet?’


  ‘Anytime,’ she said. ‘Anything, anytime.’

  Taking himself in hand he slowly fed it in. Again he had to gasp with shock – she was slick and tight and so goddamned thrilling. He started fucking her in a restrained way, a couple of inches or so, then gradually deepened his stroke. He could see her heart pounding in her ribcage as he gave it to her over and over, pushing it in all the way, holding it there, then withdrawing completely and pressing it into her once again. She curled her legs around his, effectively locking him into place. Mai Ling was an energetic and inventive lovemaker, frequently switching positions and moving all over the bed like an octopus. Whenever he could feel his own orgasm creeping up on him, she always sensed it and rolled on top, where she could slow things down and dictate terms.

  ‘You’re not going to do it inside me, are you?’ she said, pressing down firmly on top of him and stopping his flow. ‘That’d be naughty.’

  ‘No, I won’t do that. Promise.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before. There are some condoms in my bag if you want one.’

  ‘Not now, baby. Later … Next time.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  She played with him a little longer, then said, ‘So … you want to let it out now?’

  ‘Please …’

  She lifted herself, easing him out, then jerked him until there was one hell of a mess all over the shop.

  After burning all that bodyheat they were cool, so Barrett drew the sheet up and they snuggled together under it. Barrett was still tingling and they were both clammy, even though he’d towelled them off.

  They lay still and quiet for a while, then she said, ‘Diaz was a low, filthy motherfucker, wasn’t he?’

  He had to laugh – such coarse language was amusingly incongruous coming from such a sweet-faced young thing. The impression given was that she used these words without knowing their meanings – as if ‘low, filthy motherfucker’ were interchangeable with ‘perfect gentleman’.

  ‘He was one of the lowest,’ he told her.

  ‘It was … so horrible.’

  ‘A lot more horrible for him than us.’

  ‘You don’t have a guilty conscience about it, do you?’

  ‘Christ, no. Diaz wasn’t a person, Mai Ling. He was an object. A thing. And he’d spent all his credits in this world. I’m more concerned about getting caught up in a police investigation.’

  ‘Do you think that’ll happen?’

  ‘The other girls’ll come home in the morning and find the body. Then the cops’ll hit the scene. Since you won’t be around, you’ll be a suspect. But by the time they put the pieces together, you’ll be safely in Hong Kong.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  So do I. He cupped one of her breasts and kissed her. ‘You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  Second time around Mai Ling produced a seriously ribbed Erotica condom and rolled it onto his erection. They made love in a much more relaxed fashion, and with the pressure off, Mai Ling came as often as she wanted before he took his turn. After that he checked his wristwatch and saw it was time to hit the road. Extracting himself from Mai Ling’s insistent embrace, he took another shower and thought about how difficult it was going to be to leave her to fend for herself. She was a warm, affectionate person who didn’t deserve any of this. She was also young enough to be his daughter, but since he didn’t have a daughter that wasn’t a problem. Drying off, he remembered what was in the back of his mind outside the motel, and made a mental note to give her the wad of cash from Diaz’s wallet. That should make her life on the lam a bit easier.

  21

  One thing that really ruffled Edward’s tail feathers was not being able to crash. Not that he needed a lot – four or five hours – but if he didn’t get it, his head could go seriously skewiff. Before the Marines, before Nicaragua, where he’d contracted malaria, he was like any other dozy adolescent – sleeping half the day and jerking off the other half. Military life had robbed him of the ability to sleep soundly without the aid of pills. He hated pills, didn’t use them anymore apart from the quinine, and then only sparingly. It took him a long time to drop off, two hours or more, and then the slightest sound would instantly trigger his wake-up mechanism: the click of a door, the creak of a floorboard, a light being switched on or off down a hotel hallway. Moving around a lot as he did, he never got used to the night noises. Once roused he would lie awake for another two, three or four hours, trapped in an endless loop of memory and fevered imagination.

  Right now he was having problems with his next-door neighbours, who spent all their nights rowing in loud, drunken voices, throwing and smashing things against the floor or the walls. Edward was heartily sick of it. He was seriously pissed. It had been bad enough missing his chance – couldn’t believe his luck, the target appearing right in front of him, like a gift from God – but then that other asshole turns up and spoils the party. Well, fuck his liver. Edward would have been out of this shit-hole, he’d be ex-country now, the cash in his safekeeping, except for him. Who was that big fuck, anyway? Edward remembered him from the cocktail lounge – he’d spoken to him – and it turns out he’s some kind of minder or bodyguard. Edward was thinking, I’m going to have to waste that cunt to get to Delfranco. He is in the fucking way, the dumb ox.

  But these people next door, they were something else again. He could hear the smack of his fist hitting her, the squeals and screams of pain and distress, the hysteria, drunken babble, bits and pieces of the ‘conversation’: ‘I told you not to drink my fuckin’ beer, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Now I got nothin’ for tomorrow, you fuckin’ bitch.’ ‘Get fucked, you selfish bastard.’ Smack.

  Right now, two forty-five a.m., they were at it full tilt. He was calling her a filthy slut and a root rat and she was telling him he was a fucking faggot. ‘Can’t get it up, can you? You’re not a real man. Roy’s a real man. You’re a fuckin’ faggot. You’re only good for bending over.’ ‘Wouldn’t want it get it up you, you cunt. You fat-arsed whore. You pig. Fuck you, anyway. And I’m gonna kill Roy, too.’ Smack. Scream. Smash. That was enough for Edward: sitting up in his sagging mattress he thumped on the wall, hard as he could. Shut the fuck up in there. Everything went quiet. Well, that was better. He fell back again, sighing, forearm flung across his eyes. Now he had a thumping headache, thanks to the killer parked in his brain and those two black trash assholes. He shut his eyes, willing the pain away. Bang, bang, bang. Unbelievable. They were thumping on Edward’s wall now. Bang, bang, bang. What the fuck kind of shit show was this?

  Edward sat up. Bang, bang, bang. ‘Mind your own fuckin’ business, mate,’ came the drunken howl. Edward thumped again, so hard dust and fragments of plaster came down from the ceiling. ‘Cut down the fucking racket,’ he yelled. ‘I can’t sleep, you prize pair of assholes. It’s three o’clock in the fucking a.m.’ Then he thumped it a few more times to drive the point home. He fell back again, the painful throb in his head becoming more intense. It got so bad he sometimes had to throw up for half an hour. He kept still, trying to stay calm. Nothing came from next door, thank Christ. Must’ve got the message. If only he could sleep, the headache would disappear …

  Bang, bang, bang. Holy shit. He was half under then. Oh, no. But wait a minute – that wasn’t the wall being banged. What in the fuck …? Bang, bang, bang. Christ. This was truly beyond comprehension. They were knocking on the fucking door. Edward dragged himself off the bed. He was wearing nothing apart from a pair of boxer shorts with a pattern of smiley faces on them. That didn’t seem appropriate for dealing with a problem at the door. Reaching for the chair next to the bed, he found his tan trousers and pulled them on. Then he got on his hands and knees, feeling around under the bed …

  When he opened the door, the big black man had his fist raised, preparing to belt it again. He had on a Mambo wind-breaker, dirty pair of track pants, rubber thongs. Corn-blond dreadlocks, rings in his nose and lips, wild look in his bulging, heavy-lidded brown eyes. Shitfaced.
/>   ‘What is your fucking problem, buddy?’ Edward said.

  The black man lowered his fist, then stabbed a finger at Edward. ‘You’re my fuckin’ problem, mate.’

  ‘Why is that? You’re the one making all the fucking noise around here.’

  ‘You’re in the wrong neighbourhood, Yank. You’re in the wrong fuckin’ country. What right a you got to … to go comin’ in here, our country, tellin’ us what a fuckin’ do? Own the fuckin’ world now?’

  ‘Shove a plug in it, man. All I want is some shut-eye. Okay? You understand? Sleep. Comprende?’ He started to close the door, but the man put the flat of his palm up and stopped it. He stepped inside, placed a thonged foot over the threshold, then a bunched fist right under Edward’s nose.

  ‘Gonna teach you a fuckin’ lesson, gringo. You don’t come here and throw your weight around …’ He stopped right there, the rest of the sentence trailed off, forgotten. Now he was staring at a fucking gun. Shit – where in the fuck did that come from?

  ‘Get outta my face,’ Edward said. ‘Get outta my place. Just back off and shut the fuck up, dickhead.’ Right then Edward was so pissed off he couldn’t help himself: he whipped the gun barrel across the man’s astonished mug, just like he did to the stiff at the teller machine, then back the other way. Instantly two crimson flower-bursts opened up on his upper cheeks, an inch or so below the eyes. It happened so fast, and the man was so whacked anyway, he didn’t see any part of it. All he knew was, he had taken a couple of backward steps, his head was in a swim, and now there was all this … blood streaming down his face.

  Edward yelled: ‘I hear one more peep outta you or your woman, my mambo friend, I hear you fart, or flush the fucking can, and I’m coming in there with Mr Smith. Now be gone, asshole. And be silent.’