Lovely Death

by Brandon Meyers

  It was Laura. It had always been Laura. For the past two years, through countless sickening letters, through court-ordered restraining orders, she had made his life a living hell. At least, back then he had thought it was hell. Laura’s death should have brought him relief. It should have given him back a peace of mind that he had not known in a long time. Her death should have been a cause for celebration. But ever since she had collapsed on Nick’s entryway rug, with a sizzling piece of lead lodged inside her vital organs, Nick’s life had become anything but livable.

  The bitch had cheated death. Her insinuation in the darkened car had been that she’d given her life willingly, meaning that she had intended for Nick to shoot her down. She had wanted it. And now, as improbable as such a thing should have been, she was haunting him. Laura Scranton was tormenting him. Hell, she had somehow almost killed Layla by using him as some sort of puppet, or conduit. Nick rested a hand upon the front pocket of his jeans. He felt the lumpy outline of brass-cased lead. The bullet which he had now twice discarded sat there, resting in wait. He pulled it free and chucked it out the car window.

  Laura had forfeited her life. And for whatever purpose—by whatever unknown means—she intended to have Nick’s life as well.

  Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged his open fingers down his chin. He licked his lips, staring out at the open road. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Layla watching him. He let his hand drop to rest in his lap once more. And when he did, his wrist rubbed against the firm nub of something sitting in the bottom of his pocket. It was short and cylindrical, and emanated a trace amount of heat that he could feel when he touched it with his fingers.

  It was the bullet. The one he had just thrown out the window.

  Thirteen

  Nick declined Layla’s offer to take over driving. Instead, they continued onward until reaching another roadside truck stop. While there, Nick paid for a puffy stuffed jacket off a spinning coatrack. It was navy blue and made out of some kind of vinyl material. It fit Layla nice and snug. It made her look like one of those ridiculous Aspen socialites with her tight pants and high-heeled footwear. Nick never entertained the notion of getting one for himself. His leather jacket was far from a parka, but it would suffice in keeping him warm enough for now.

  At the station, Nick refilled the Cougar and bought a pair of proper mugs, which were promptly filled with fresh coffee.

  It was late afternoon, but according to the GPS, if they stayed on the road for just a few more hours they would cross the South Dakota state line and reach a more decently sized city before nightfall. Either Sturgis or Deadwood would be fine. If he could have done it, Nick would have preferred not to stop at all. But he knew his body would not handle it well. He was already exhausted. And the caffeine would only go so far to keep them from careening off the road.

  Once the trio was completely refueled, Nick, Layla, and the Cougar took to the road again. The only sound between them was the mellow thunder of the Mercury’s tailpipes as they sped off with the retreating sunlight at their backs.

  ***

  It was after seven when they reached Deadwood, South Dakota. The sun had long since departed, and the Cougar’s pneumatically activated headlights lit the street in powerful white halogen. The lack of electric “light pollution” was still not something Nick was accustomed to, and this place made Spokane look like a booming metropolis. As Nick guided the car through the city’s outskirts, following the signs pointing toward Main Street, street lamps became increasingly more prevalent. They passed numerous Colonial style houses, most with lights on inside.

  The town itself was situated in the heart of the Black Hills, surrounded on all sides by rocky terrain and coniferous trees. It was not unlike some of the small Colorado mountain towns he’d grown up loving, like Estes Park.

  When they reached Main Street, Nick was surprised to see the number of people out milling around, traveling from building to building on foot. At first he was perplexed, but then he realized what he was looking at.

  Main Street in Deadwood was a brick-paved avenue lined with both brick and wood-sided buildings. New street lamps stood overhead, fashioned to look antique, matching the similar Wild West-style ambience of a thoroughfare that had been carefully restored to represent its rich historical significance. But the most notable thing—and more so at night—was the presence of casinos dotting the length of the street. Not the gaudy, extravagant, money-suckling abortions that typically came to mind when one thought of the Las Vegas Strip. No, these were gambling halls, casinos of a bygone era where Wild Bill Hickok was shot dead in a poker game while red-lipped working girls carried on with their boudoir entrepreneurship upstairs without batting an eye.

  Actually, this place reminded Nick very much of Central City in Colorado, another mountain boomtown whose only real longstanding lifeblood had been the gaming industry. Also, unlike the throngs of drunken fools and hustlers lining the streets of Las Vegas, the casino patrons of Deadwood were of a much more modest and tolerable number.

  No Parking signs lined the length of Main Street and Nick followed a Volkswagen Beetle with Arizona plates as it turned into a designated parking lot next to an azure, four-story casino the size of a Victorian mansion called The Blue Belle. The “NO” was not illuminated on the neon vacancy sign. The Cougar was one of only six cars in the half-full parking lot.

  Layla had fallen asleep about an hour prior and she groaned when Nick nudged her shoulder. Then her eyes focused on him, and for the briefest moment she was startled. Nick saw a flash of fear in her eyes which disappeared when she turned to look out the window. It made him feel like shit.

  “We’re here? Is this a hotel? It looks like a house.”

  “Yeah, this place didn’t look too bad. Anywhere but a fucking corporate hotel. I think we ought to still be able to get a hot meal before the kitchen closes. You’d better put your jacket on.”

  The Blue Belle Casino and Hotel was very much like the rest of its outdoor Main Street counterpart. It boasted an abundance of hand carved oak on both the floors and furnishings, all stained the peaty color of walnut. Wallpaper with a light pink floral design covered the walls from the chair rail upward and the whole place was lit with a slew of yellow electric bulbs housed in fixtures that were exact replicas of old-timey candle-powered wall lamps. Slot machines lined most of the free walls, and the echo of plinking coins rang throughout the place as patrons cashed out their machines.

  In the main foyer, Nick and Layla followed a hand-painted sign pointing upstairs toward the hotel Check-In.

  As it turned out, there were two rooms left in the modest establishment that evening, out of a grand total of ten.

  Layla protested, saying it was unnecessary to rent two rooms for the night. But deep down, they both knew that neither of them would rest together easily. Layla’s truce with Nick’s apparent inner monster looked much stronger on the surface than it truly was below. And both of them were aware of that.

  The mustachioed old guy behind the counter was visibly puzzled by the decision to take both separate rooms, but he gladly accepted Nick’s credit card without hesitation. The fellow was dressed like an Old West bank teller, with a starched white shirt, black vest, and those little armbands that squeezed his shirt tight just above the elbows. From below his little black bowler hat he smiled at both of them amiably. Nick didn’t know much about being a businessman, but he did know that only a fool asks questions when someone is offering him money in exchange for his services. Especially in what Nick could only imagine was the beginning of the slow season in a niche tourist town.

  After receiving their keys, the pair of travelers made their way to the third floor dining room. Since neither of them had any real luggage to speak of they had no need to visit their rooms first.

  Nick noticed that most of the patrons were middle-aged or older, walking about in pairs and watching the other gamblers feed coins into the noisy one-armed bandits. There couldn’t have been more than
fifty people in the whole building, with probably double that number in attendant slot machines.

  The dining room took up the majority of the third floor. It doubled as the hotel bar, too, and thankfully it was a little quieter here because there were no slot machines present. At the bar there looked to be a few video poker machines built into the bar top, but that was it. Nick chuckled. The scene reminded him of a film set parlor that Clint Eastwood might have walked into as The Man With No Name, looking for an ass to kick. Except it was cleaner, and more modernized. The dozen or so cloth-draped tables all had little salt and pepper shakers placed neatly at the edges, and those white plastic cups that held ten different kinds of fake sugar packets.

  A squat, pudgy man who was dressed similarly to the Check-In attendant stood behind the bar, shining empty beer glasses. A bored looking blonde waitress, dressed up in a frilly blue dress sat at one of the stools, staring into her drink. The bartender paid her no mind, but waved to Nick and Layla as they sat at a corner table. Only two other tables were occupied. On the opposite side of the room, a jovial white-haired couple laughed and clinked together wine glasses. Two chairs down from them, a pair of women who looked like they might have been sisters sneered at the carefree laughter. Fortunately, the party poopers were in the process of leaving.

  Nick watched as the bartender made his way to their table, instead of the waitress. When he saw her hiccup and sway slightly in her seat he thought he understood why.

  “Evening folks,” the bartender said. “The name’s Chuck. What can I get you to whet your whistles?”

  “How about a cheeseburger?” Layla said immediately.

  “Oh, you’re here for grub, huh? Sorry to say it but the kitchen just closed. We don’t usually get much dinner traffic in here this time of night during the week.”

  “So, you don’t have any food?” Nick asked, a little annoyed.

  “Please,” Layla asked, “we’ve been on the road all day and I would kill for something to eat that doesn’t have Little Debbie’s face on the wrapper.”

  Chuck wrung his hands, looking them both over. It was clear that they were tired and hungry, and he decided to put in a little extra effort to accommodate. “I think the soup might still be hot. And even though it isn’t on the menu I can probably throw together a couple of sandwiches for you two. Nothing fancy, you know? I think I’ve got turkey cold cuts in the fridge.”

  Nick gave a weary thumb-up. “That sounds great, Chuck. We’d really appreciate it.”

  “Anything to drink?” Chuck asked, still exercising that nervous clasp of his hands.

  “Just water, please,” said Layla as she stripped off her jacket.

  While Chuck’s attention was drawn to Layla’s small, perky tits in her tank top, Nick eyed the bar. Bottles filled the three tiers, their contents glowing in a beautiful amber rainbow of colors. The spectrum called out to him in hues of tawny and gold, the perfect way to calm his nerves after a particularly troubling day. He knew that just one drink wouldn’t hurt.

  “Make it two waters,” Layla said.

  When Chuck looked up to discover he’d been busted admiring her body, he coughed into his hand and hurried off. “You got it,” he called back nervously.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Thanks. I spaced out.”

  “Yeah. You do that.”

  Nick started to say something about the cowboy ambience but the boisterous couple across the way erupted in laughter again, loud enough to interrupt his train of thought. He and Layla watched the inebriated patrons quiet into giggles, pawing at one another over the top of the table.

  By the time the room quieted again Chuck had returned with two steaming bowls of soup. It was chicken noodle, and it was very tasty. Chicken noodle soup was hard to fuck up. Shortly after, he returned with a couple of turkey and cheese sandwiches.

  For the entire meal, Nick and Layla didn’t say much. They didn’t have to. The wine soused couple’s conversation was loud enough for everyone to hear. Apparently they were on a second honeymoon, travelling across the great wide nation in a Winnebago. Nick tried to tune it out but by the time he was done eating he felt like one of those sisters who’d left in a huff.

  When he waved for the bartender to return, Nick saw the blonde waitress turn her head toward him and Layla. Her face was porcelain pale, with lips that sparkled like rubies. Her hair was done up in a high pile of curls. She certainly looked the part, just like the type of woman who would have frequented a watering hole back in the days of the Wild West. She flashed a smile at Nick, tipped her drink toward him, and then turned back to the bar.

  Layla followed Nick’s gaze, looking over her shoulder.

  “Let’s get out of here, huh?”

  “Yeah, alright.” He pulled a twenty from his pocket, waved it in the air for Chuck to see, and then laid it on the table. “Let’s go.”

  Their rooms were located on the top floor, directly across the hall from each other. And even though they were the most expensive they were both quite small. The building, after all, was a hundred-year-old structure and in the days of yore such things as excess space were not a necessary commodity for a room in which to park your boots. Nick went back out to the car to get his toiletry bag. He knocked on Layla’s door and handed it over to her, taking only his toothbrush.

  “Let’s see about getting some more clothes tomorrow,” he said.

  She nodded, fighting back a yawn.

  “Good night, Layla. If you need anything…” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Hey,” she said as he turned. “You’re not going to just ditch me here in the middle of the night, are you?”

  Nick lowered his eyes, turned again to open his door. “That bag in your hand? The car keys are in it.”

  And indeed they were.

  “Hey, Nick.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You need to burn that tee shirt.”

  He glanced down at the howling wolf lithograph on the front of his cheesy gas station shirt.

  “Jealous,” he said.

  “Or you could gain two hundred pounds and start playing World of Warcraft. Your call.”

  “Good night, Layla.”

  “Good night.”

  Nick’s door clicked shut behind him, biting off the hallway light. He fumbled the safety chain into place and was left to drag his hand across the wall in search of the switch. His toe slammed into something solid.

  “Bitch,” he said, even though his shoe took most of the collision. He reached down and felt the soft, fluffy cotton of the bed’s comforter. He followed it to the headboard, fumbled around until his fingers connected with a lamp. When he pulled the chain, he was met with a surprisingly bright light. In contrast to the rest of the dim casino, Nick’s bedside lamp might have been the brightest bulb in the place.

  There was nothing special about the room. It was smaller than most Holiday Inn accommodations, only with nicer furniture. The bed was a simple Queen-sized number which took up most of the space. Two doors stood directly behind him, containing what could only be a bathroom and a closet.

  Nick took his toothbrush into the bathroom, stripping off his shirt and shoes on the way. Much like the rest of the casino’s motif, the washroom was a simplified combination of Old West style and modern convenience. The wallpaper was soft blue and paisley patterned, met with stark white porcelain fixtures. The toilet had a water closet pull chain, but was plumbed directly into a contemporary drain. The shower was a claw-footed tub with a pull around curtain, and the sink was a tall white basin that sat upon a polished mahogany vanity. An oval mirror ringed with brass gilt was mounted above it.

  For a moment Nick considered taking a shower, but his exhausted body assured him it could wait until morning. He tried not to look too closely to the man he saw in the mirror. What he did see were a pair of dark eyes with even darker pouches forming beneath them. He saw greasy hair that hung down into his eyes and the purple stain of a bruise around his left temple. When he got around to sh
owering tomorrow, he’d also need to make some time to introduce his face to a razor. In short, he looked like shit.

  Nick stared at the pure, blank porcelain of the basin while he brushed his teeth. He’d had his fill of the mirror. He splashed some water on his face before leaving the bathroom.

  Nick was on his way to bed when something flickered at the corner of his eye. He looked past the TV stand/dresser to the room’s most shadowed corner, where the desk was parked. Seated in the swiveling office chair sat the girl from the bar. She wore a blue-corseted dress and a devilish smile, grinning at Nick through a heavily powdered face. She hiccupped, took a sip from her short whiskey glass.

  Nick saw that there was another glass at her elbow, which she promptly pushed forward. The woman presented a bottle and poured another neat drink.

  “Well hello, sugar. Take your boots off and stay a while. It looks like you could use a bourbon.”

  Fourteen

  At first Nick was startled, shocked into taking a step back on the carpet. His knee connected with the bed and he reached down to steady himself. The surprise gave way to curiosity when he realized that the woman was watching him with amusement. She was unarmed, unless you were one of those special kind of people who considered alcohol to be a deadly weapon. He looked to the door, saw it was still latched from the inside, and stared again at the barmaid as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

  “How did you get into my room?”

  The young lady threw back her head with a laugh. Now that he looked more closely, Nick could see that she was a young woman, probably no older than eighteen, but aged by an antiquated application of powdery makeup.