**Part Two
Chasing Mama
**30 Clean the Carpet
August 8, 2013, 10:30 AM
Clark opened the door to his room and there he was. Eight was still snoring, sound asleep. He loosened his grasp and dropped the carpet shampooer, letting it fall a noisy, hose-and-attachments-rattling ten inches to the floor. Eight snorted, rolled over, and pulled a second pillow over his head; it was too early for him to wake up.
Clark didn’t like sharing his tiny room with the ingrate, but he had told the bail bondsman that he’d be his big brother’s custodian and would keep an eye on him twenty-four hours a day while he was out on bail. That didn’t mean he’d share his king-sized bed with the fetid fellow, though. He had managed to wedge the motel’s rollaway cot into the economy-sized room by shoving it under the bathroom counter. It was either that or Eight would have to sleep in the tub. And that wasn’t likely. Eight hated baths—he thought they were for girls only.
"Wake up, dude!” Clark kicked his brother’s foot to punctuate his request, then walked over and opened the window another couple inches. Eight’s stench was overpowering. Until he was done with his instructions and could leave the room, those erratic breezes would have to do to make the air quality tolerable.
“Today you start your new job—cleaning carpets—so get out of bed.”
Eight grunted, scratched his crotch, and rolled over to the edge of the cot. He started to sit up and smacked the side of his head on the underside of the bathroom counter. “Damn!” He flopped back onto the thin foam mattress, dropped one holey sock-covered foot over the edge, scooted the other leg over to join it, and then paused to figure out his next move. He finally slithered over the edge, following his feet to the floor, where he sat, glassy-eyed and panting, legs splayed apart, wondering why he even bothered to listen to his brother.
Clark waited for Eight to extricate himself from under the counter before he continued. “Listen, I'll show you how to do the first one, but then you’ll have to do the rest of the rooms yourself. I can't be with you the whole time you're working, but I'll never be more than a few hundred feet away. Now, can I trust you not to run away?"
"No worries about that." Eight grinned, remembering that his quarry was just a few rooms away. "No worries." He grabbed the mini coffee pot on the counter and poured out two cups of coffee, one only half-full. He reached into his pocket, slyly opened a little paper envelope, and dumped its contents into the full cup. He glanced back, saw that his brother was looking at a sheet of paper, and then went back to preparing the coffee. He made a big show of pouring sugar into both cups, stirring them with a flourish, pinkie held out.
Clark waited until his brother was done with the barista duties, and then gave him the list of empty rooms to clean along with a master keycard.
“Sweet,” Eight said when Clark told him what it was, “I mean, thanks.” He held up the keycard as if it was the Jewel of the Nile—he wouldn’t even have to steal it from him.
He watched—well, sort of—as Clark showed him how to operate the carpet cleaner. "Do this room first,” Clark said. “I'll come back and check on you in half an hour or so. I have some people checking out real soon, so you're on your own. Don't disappoint me, eh?"
"No worries," he repeated, then gloated, "No worries. Oh, and thanks for starting the coffee. Here, I fixed one for you, too," he said with a wink. “I hope you like lots of sugar.”
**31 Mickey and Minnie Mouse
August 8, 2013, 11:00 AM
James picked up a used plastic bag for trash and saw there was still something in it: the nightshirt he had bought for Leah on their first shopping trip together. “Hey,” he called out.
“Yesss,” Leah said slowly, anticipating a joke or a prank. Why am I so comfortable with him? He always seems to be able to please and surprise me. He certainly seems like Mr. Right. And so far, he hasn’t given me any reason to regret my snap decision to marry him and go on the long—lifelong—trip back to the 18th century and Mom.
James squinted as he tried to read her face, confused and unsure of her suspicious reaction. ‘Why is she grinning like that? Did I say something funny, or fart? Oh, good grief! She really is getting under my skin…and what a wonderful place for her to be… Stop that, Melbourne! Pay attention to the conversation you started! “I purchased something for you, but forgot to give it to you. You’ve been sleeping in your shirt and I…um…thought that this might be a little more…” He gulped as he searched for a better word—couldn’t think of one—and so just spit it out, “modest.”
“Oh, you don’t like looking at my butt cheeks when I get up in the morning?” She raised one eyebrow, as if waiting for a reply—but really didn’t want or expect one—and then laughed out loud. She knew he had watched her perform discrete tugs at her shirttail when she got out of bed. At least now she had panties, though.
Rather than answer her awkward question, James shook his head, ignoring it. He took the red, white, and black nightshirt out of the bag, unfolded it, and shook it out, as if it were a toreador’s cape.
“Mickey and Minnie Mouse!” she squealed, “a practically perfect pair.” Leah suddenly remembered the last time she had said those words—their first full day together. She had referred to the two of them as such after spending their first platonic night together in the motel’s king-sized bed. Well, she had been right about the designation, even if she hadn’t known much about him at the time. And he was getting more and more desirable every day, every hour.
James remembered when he had heard her use that phrase and could tell by the look of nostalgia on her face that she was thinking about that day, too. “So how come Minnie gets to wear a skirt, but Mickey goes around with nothing on but shoes and gloves? Do you think we could get away with that? I mean, with this heat, it almost sounds like a good idea, except for the gloves part.”
“Well, maybe,” she paused and added, “but only after we’re married.” Leah felt a blush bloom instantly, racing from her cheeks to her shoulders. Damn, why was this happening?
She quickly changed the subject, trying to quench her body’s sudden warmth. “How did you know I wore a size medium?” she asked coolly. She knew it was a dumb question, but had to change the subject from running around with her soon to be husband, both of them naked… Damn, I’m blushing again!
James could see how embarrassed she was with the topic of nudity. He smirked at her and said, “Oh, does the ‘M’ mean medium? I thought if I gave it to you, then that ‘M’ meant you would be mine.”
“Oh, so if you wear this, then you’re mine?” she asked coyly. Any lingering doubts about marrying him were evaporating with each blush. Now she was definitely glad she had decided to marry him—he was absolutely charming!
James performed a fast one-handed grab, pulled off his tee shirt, and donned the new nightshirt in four seconds flat. He straightened out the seams of the snug-fitting garment, brought his face up to look at her, and said, “If that’s all it takes, then I’m all yours, darlin’.”
“Here,” she approached him cautiously. She wanted to be frisky, but besides the fact that she wasn’t sure how much he was just playing the hetero sexy hunk, and how much was real appeal—she was beginning to doubt those tabloid stories that he was gay—she was still on her period and didn’t want to get too carried away. She knew the first time with him probably wouldn’t be perfect, but she at least wanted it less messy. “I get the shirt tonight. You can wear it tomorrow,” she cooed, “if you’re a good boy.”
Leah reached down and fingered the hem of the nightshirt, gently lifting it above his hips, keeping her eyes away from his face, but unable to keep her hands off his skin. His flesh felt so good under her hands. She wanted to savor every nuance of his firm and slightly furry form.
James let her take the shirt, only giving her a token amount of assistance in its removal. Her hands were cool on his belly, ribs, then up and across his shoulders and arms, as she gently tugged the soft cotton
over his head. Yes, they were cool and inspiring. He’d have to turn the temperature down on the shower in the morning and remember how her hands had been all over his upper torso. It wouldn’t take too much to stretch this memory into one of ‘her hands all over his lower body.’
“If you don’t mind,” she said, breaking his reverie, “I want to take a shower. I feel kind of icky, and really, I want to enjoy every luxury I can before we leave. I think I’ll miss showers more than anything else.”
“You do that,” James said, then sucked in air at the thought that maybe she pleasured herself in the shower like he did. “You do that,” he repeated. Hopefully, she took images and memories of him in there with her. At least, he thought women did the same thing in private that men did…
**32 Call 911
August 8, 2013, 11:00 AM
Eight had watched the Brit and Leah—yeah, that was her name—leave an hour earlier. They were probably renting the room on a daily basis. That meant they’d have to be back by noon to pay for the next day. He'd have to do something fast. One thing he had learned from Grandpa was to strike now—today’s lucky break might be a stone wall tomorrow.
He hid in the empty room next to theirs and waited for them to return. It was 11:00. Check-out time was noon. He was pretty sure he hadn't missed them. Nope, there they were. The Limey always let the woman drive. He was either very brave or really lazy. Gee, he probably even had her wipe his butt. He chuckled at his own crude thought. Well, he'd let her wipe his ass anytime. She was kinda cute, but a little young for his tastes.
James thought he saw someone in the empty room next to theirs. Well, maybe it was rented out now. The season was slow, and there weren't any new cars in the parking lot, but maybe someone had taken a taxi here. Hopefully, they wouldn't be too noisy. He and Leah were keeping early hours and certainly didn't want to have party animals in the room next door, staying up until the wee hours of the morning, drinking, and carousing. The wee hours were when they got up for their walk, breakfast, and to complete the tasks on their to-do checklist.
Eight pulled back quickly. Damn! The man had seen him, or at least had seen that there was someone in the room. Damn, damn, damn!
He listened at the door, waiting for what seemed like an hour for them to leave. What was taking them so long? Didn’t they know that they had to pay for the room in the next fifteen minutes?
Finally, the door was shutting. Eight peaked out and saw the Brit walking towards the office. He also heard the shower running. Evidently, the woman was still in the room, taking a midday shower. Hmm, maybe he'd get a free show. Nope, concentrate on getting the letters. Once he had them, he could have all the hookers and shower shows that money could buy.
ӁӁ
The lobby was empty when James came in. The ever-present Clark was nowhere to be seen or heard. James called out, “Hallo” several times, both inside and out. As he stepped behind the Formica counter in the tiny office, he heard odd noises, almost like grunts, then suddenly, crash!
James pushed open the ‘employees only’ door and saw Clark on the floor, his body twisted like a drunken yogi, nearly buried under rolls of toilet paper and boxes of tissues.
“Are you okay?” he asked, as he tossed aside paper products to make room so he could help the fallen man get to his feet.
Clark reached out and accepted the assistance. “Uh, I think so. I’m sure glad I grabbed for that shelf and not the one with the glasses and ice buckets. Thanks.”
Clark nudged aside the cartons of toilet paper and tissues with his feet, trying to create order out of chaos, when he suddenly looked up at James. “Oh, is it check-out time already? Sorry, I think I passed out there for a few minutes. Uh, am I bleeding?” Clark took a quick inventory as he patted himself down. “Not that I’m afraid of blood or anything—I just don’t want to make a mess on the carpet. Oh, shit! Eight’s supposed to be cleaning the carpets and…oh, excuse me.”
Clark scurried over to his position behind the counter and stood up straight, shoulders back, chin out, as if he were acting the part of a storekeeper in a high school play. He watched James with unblinking eyes, waiting for him to proceed to the other side and take on his role as customer. “Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
James dipped his head and looked into Clark’s eyes, shook his head slowly side to side and asked, “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head a little too hard? If you’d like, we can take you to the emergency room. Your eyes don’t look quite right.” James didn’t want to say it looked like he was high, that his pupils were dilated, but that was what he saw.
“I’m fine, uh…I think…” Clark’s last words trailed off to a whisper. He grabbed the counter and slid to the floor in a controlled fall. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled, as he rolled forward, his body bent in half. And then he was out cold.
James ran back around to Clark’s side of the counter and straightened out his slumped-over body. He put his ear to his chest. He was still breathing, but his heart was racing. He didn’t want to leave him alone and run back to get Leah. Well, when in doubt, call 911.
James reached up and grabbed the cordless phone from the counter. He dialed 911, but there was no answer. “Shit!” He stood up and looked around. The desk phone was a multi-line model. He picked up the receiver, dialed 911 again, and got the same response: nothing but a click and a return to the dial tone. He looked at the phone’ again and saw the little sticker: Dial 9 for an outside line. “Well, fuck!” he exclaimed. He pushed another line, dialed 9, waited for the tone, and then dialed 911.
“You’re not supposed to say fuck,” mumbled Clark, as he tried to open his eyes. He managed to get a peek of daylight, then his eyeballs rolled back into his head, and he was unconscious again.
James crouched down; one hand holding the phone, the other on Clark’s wrist, making sure he was alive, his heart still beating.
“Is this an emergency?” asked the woman on the other end of the line.
“Yes, yes, um, I don’t know what’s going on here, but the desk clerk fell. I thought he was going to be okay, but now his pupils are dilated, and he can’t even sit up. I think he hit his head pretty hard. Um…can you send an ambulance…um…right away?”
“Calm down, sir. I already have a unit dispatched. Can the man breathe and is he bleeding?”
James always thought that he’d be able to handle an emergency in a cool, calm, collected manner. Even excitable would be better than this. He was panicking, and that was making him even more frazzled. Focus, man, this isn’t about you and how you’re handling the situation. Just answer her questions! “Um, bleeding, no; breathing, yes. And his heart seems to be racing. How soon until they get here?”
“They’re on their way now, sir,” the iron-willed voice on the other end replied.
You’re worthless, Melbourne, a babbling idiot. She’s holding this situation together by the strength of her tone while you’re falling apart.
The piercing whine of the sirens brought James out of his pity party. “I can hear them now, ma’am. Please tell them we’re in the main lobby, not in one of the rooms.” He hung up the phone, then realized that neither of them had said good-bye. Well, he didn’t have anything else to say, so she could just call back if she forgot to ask him something.
The sirens were getting closer. He didn’t want Leah to be frightened. Shoot, she’d be fine in this situation. This was what she was trained for. He swallowed hard. Now he was glad that she wasn’t here. He didn’t want her to see his ineptitude. Buck up, Melbourne! He looked down at Clark. He was still alive and breathing, but his pasty-white complexion was now tinged green. He lifted the man’s right shoulder and turned him onto his side. Hopefully it was just a little gas.
Braat!
“I guess not,” James said, and turned away from the pukey, coffee-colored mess Clark had just regurgitated.
Sirens, flashing lights, and a sense of charged excitement filled the air outside the fr
ont door. Three assorted-sized medics tumbled out of the gleaming white and blue ambulance and pushed through the glass doors, ready to remedy any situation.
James stood up from behind the counter to make his presence known. “He’s back here, but watch out—he just lost his cookies and everything else.” James moved away and made way for the professionals and their paraphernalia.
“What do you know about him?” asked the square-jawed lady medic with the aluminum clipboard.
“Um, his name is Clark Kent MacLeod and when I came in, he was in the back room. Evidently, a shelf of supplies fell on top of him. It was only rolls of toilet paper and boxes of tissues, and I thought he’d be okay, but then he started acting strange, and his eyes were dilated…” James paused and bit his bottom lip. He didn’t want to suggest anything that might get the lad in trouble, but they should probably know.
“Yes?” the lady asked, “You wanted to say more about his eyes?”
“Well, it looked like he was stoned, but I don’t think he’s the type, despite his long hair. He’s a pretty straightforward and dependable kid. He practically runs this place, from what I’ve seen. I think he lives here, too. And no, before you ask, I don’t know about any next of kin.” He paused as he watched the medics check Clark’s vitals, and then noticed one of them scraping the remains of the vomit into a plastic bag.
He turned away and asked the medic, “Which hospital are you taking him to?”
“Moses H. Cohn,” she said. “But give us a few minutes to get there and for the doctors to check him out.”
James would make sure he and Leah went to see him. There were worse feelings than being alone in a hospital with no one to care about you, but not many. In this case, he had control over it. He knew he’d want someone to be concerned if their places were switched.
ӁӁ
Eight stepped out from the room and watched to make sure that the Brit had gone into the lobby. It would take him a while to find Clark. That date rape drug he got from Harry would be just the ticket to put baby brother out of commission for a while. He couldn’t possibly have tasted it in the coffee after all the sugar he had put into it for him. “Sweet!” he said, then chuckled at the irony of his remark.
Aye, I am a Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 2) Page 24