California Motel (Spencer and Miller Book 1)

by Roach Spell

  Reagan looked at Spencer. “Well, young man, you know I was a Hollywood actor, so I was used to taking a bullet every once in a while.” Laughter broke out in the room.

  The situation was cleared, but it did not all go smoothly. Three people hospitalized, the fuel to be clean off the roads, and the event ended much earlier than planned. The Reagans left an hour later, directly through the reception, shaking Miller and Spencer’s hands with appreciation. They went off with a heartwarming goodbye. Their limousine drove away, guarded by a caravan of secret service agents and police cars, where they headed toward LAX via the PCH.

  Spencer featured on the local news as some sort of hero, shaking hand with the mayor. He was feeling very proud, as was Miller, although Miller was not too keen on exposure. Instead of talking to the press, Miller called his wife and took his book to his room.

  That night, Miller read the entire novel Bertha had given him. He could not find much evidence in it, but it was a damn good read. He learned a great deal, about what power, bribery, and insanity had done to some of the folks in Southern California. He thought about Reagan that night, as he was once governor of California. Would he know about the treasure?

  21

  Miller came to the reception rather late the next morning, tired, and in urgent need of coffee.

  Spencer got up before dawn, since a young couple had rung him out of bed, begging for a room. Both appeared a bit high, and even though it was against the rules, Spencer was softhearted and gave them a room anyway. They did not have proper identification, only some student cards, so Spencer said that he would check on their room at eight a.m. sharp, and they had better be gone by then. Off course, they did not leave on time; Spencer used a copy of their room key and found the youngsters still lying in bed. He gave them another twenty minutes to get up and pack their things, and they were now sitting outside on the bench, drinking coffee and eating more than their share of the morning croissants that the motel offered for breakfast at the reception.

  The youngsters were giggling happily when Miller walked passed them.

  “Aren’t those two a bit young to be motel guests?” he asked.

  “Where are their parents? Did you give them a room?” Miller looked at Spencer with tired eyes. He was still holding that book. Spencer ignored his question about the young lovers and asked, “Did you find any clues in that oil story?”

  “There are no leads in it, but I read the entire book,” replied Miller. “It was a fantastic page-turner. You should have a look, and then return it to Bertha. Would you?”

  “Sure thing, sir. I will be glad to. Besides, I see big Bertha every evening to hand over the daily revenue.” Spencer, thinking about her panties and how he would finally give them back to her, just to see her reaction.

  He knows Bertha well enough, and expect her to be excited about it. He might even get a reward that he could collect under her desk.

  “One Way or Another” blasted into the reception just then. Spencer really admired Blondie.

  “Look over there,” said Harper, who rushed inside for a glass of water. He was carrying a rake, which he had used to get all the grass out from behind the buildings gutter.

  He pointed in the direction of Room 8, where Spencer had placed the two drug dealers. They all looked over toward the room. Scarface was back, standing in the parking lot outside Room 8. He was holding on to a suitcase, when a car pulled up. Someone with dark glasses collected the suitcase and immediately drove off again.

  Scarface now, walked straight toward the reception.

  Miller sneaked into Spencer’s living room and hid, since the criminal would recognize him immediately. Scarface took a good look at every single person near the motel entrance and reception desk. He poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “Mr. Spencer, right? Can you tell your housekeeper not to come clean every day? We are not that messy! This morning she knocked on our door at nine a.m. She should have waited until we left for the day and used a key to get in. We were still asleep. I told her nicely in Spanish to stop, but she insists on cleaning every day. Therefore, you have to tell her not to do that. Tell her that once a week is plenty. ”Spencer got the message and said, “Comprendido guapo, I will make sure that she does not disturb you. Let us agree she will only come on Mondays. Please tell me, how much longer will you stay?

  I will need to collect money for another week by tomorrow.”

  “We continue to stay for one more week,” said Scarface. “If we reside any longer than that, I’ll let you know.” He reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and took out a bundle of dollar bills, which he handed over to Spencer. Scarface paid for another week and added extra ten dollars. “Gringo, that’s for you,” he said. “Take good care of everything.

  In addition, you may want to check your backroom. I can smell Cuban cigars. Adios.”

  Spencer looked slightly puzzled and Miller stood behind the door in the hallway, trying to direct his cigar smoke in the opposite direction. Spencer opened the door once he was sure Scarface had left.

  “Well Detective, it looks like our friend knew you were here. Btw, why do you handle his case?

  Isn’t that more DEA? Or is he involved not only in drugs, but also in murder?”

  Miller spoke in a low voice so that Harper and the two kids could not hear. “He did murder a policeman, but there was conflicting evidence, so we had to let him go on bail. The DEA will move in as soon as I have something that can bring him back into custody. Then, according to our rules of justice, the entire file presented again. In the meantime, we’ve got a new witness, but we can only bring him in with a new conviction, so we’ll have the best luck getting him on simple drug dealing.” Spencer could hear Esperanza talking to Harper outside. “Esperanza, please do not go into their room as often,” said Spencer, pointing to Room 8. “Okay?”Esperanza, though, was carrying a trash bag from Room 8. She handed it to Spencer. “Look, please.”

  Spencer and Miller looked inside and found many papers cut into very small pieces; some of them folded like little envelopes. Miller took the bag and returned to Spencer’s living room, using his table as a flat surface to lay the papers out. Only Spencer followed him, he made sure that everybody else stayed at the reception.

  “This is clear evidence,” explained Miller. “This is how they prepare and pack the drugs. See?

  The white powder traces in those, thrown away due to failure. When they fold this, they make it in the shape of a mini paper envelope, which is very sensitive work. Some of them tear, so they take out the drugs again and throw those away. They keep the good envelopes to sell to the kids partying down at the beach. If Esperanza has been cleaning every day, then they have had no time to get rid of this. They must have had money in that suitcase, which I am sure its handed over to their syndicate. That here is, those traces, are enough to get them into police custody, and once they are inside, we can solve the entire case, including the homicide. Tonight, the DEA will move in with a squad team and arrest the two guys.” Once again, Miller sounded a lot like Columbo. The young lovers on the bench waved goodbye to Spencer right as he came out of the side door from his living room. The boy called, “Dude, thank you. This is a great place. I hope that you will let us come back and stay again soon. ”Spencer gave them the thumb up sign. This is a crazy place to work, he thought to himself. I had better put some Air Supply music on the turntable. Tonight, I am sure there will be even more action.

  22

  Jim took over the lobby so that Spencer could find Bertha and give her the motel revenue for the day. Although there were few vacancies at the motel, the room prices had to remain on the low side, as the place had really come into age, surrounded by luxury hotels that offered all the modern conveniences that the Villa did not.

  Spencer was going through a lot sprays and traps to hunt cockroaches and rats. He was unsuccessful, however, as those animals had gained a lot of experience over the years. It was their home just as much as it was his. A friend to most anim
als, Spencer did not enjoy killing any of them. Usually he would let the rats run through the backyard, talking some sense into them before he opened the trap to set them free.

  There was also an opossum family living directly behind Spencer’s apartment, and he recognized the sounds they made late at night. When he pointed the flashlight at them, he always thought they looked dead because they “played possum” with him.

  That was their defense mechanism, and they did it when people approached them. That way no one would touch them – they simply looked too ugly and sick. Their odor appeared infected too, but the truth was that they were not. In fact, possums got rabies less often than most other sophisticated animals, including cats and dogs. Therefore, Spencer feed them the leftover food from the Mexican place. In time, they would not make as much noise or any sort of mess at all. In fact, they got quite big and fat and overcame their fear of Spencer.

  Bertha was also fat, and she was not scared of Spencer either.

  “Bertha, here is the money, honey,” said Spencer, joking with her. Over time, he had learned that she liked him, and now it was the perfect moment for him to hand over the panties and let her know that he totally enjoyed the taste of them. Bertha was not at all surprised. She furnished him with a grimace of, catching a mouse in a trap.

  Made for Spencer.

  She knew that he would find it, on that fateful day, and she was watching when he had picked it up. After all, the parking space where she had left them was just below her office window. She had prepared her panties for him, and made sure they smelled just the way a man would like. She knew that a rock dude like Spencer would not be able to resist; he was a lonely soul tempted by the flesh of women.

  Bertha looked at Spencer and pointed her fingers in his direction. He followed her like a good puppy, straight to the cozy darkness of under her desk. She typed away on her oversized calculator and did the monthly accounting, which took a great deal of time. She did everything right so that no number would be missing.

  Spencer returned to the reception, with a light soreness and a numb feeling, his mouth still tasting of Bertha, far into the night. This was the first of a series of monthly visits for Bertha and Spencer – visits that neither one would miss for anything in the world.

  It was midnight sharp. The DEA team, which consisted of eleven men and one-woman investigator named Jean, were taking action. The door to Scarface’s room rammed in, in a second, and no gun fired, because it all happened so fast that the two criminals had no time to react. Handcuffed, the men dragged out of their room and pushed into separate police cars. Scarface revealed a crooked smile when he saw Miller and Spencer.

  He leaned forward and spoke through the open car front window. “Miller,” he resonated, “I knew I could smell you. You have no evidence against me, not then and not now. I will be out and coming here again in no time. Amigo, Spencer, you will see me shortly. Please keep my room free until then.”

  That sounded scary, thought Spencer.

  He turned toward Miller, hoping for some form of reassurance. Jean, the DEA agent, closed the car window. She chewed her gum and told Scarface to shut his fucking mouth. Jean was a tough one; Miller knew her well.

  The DEA cars drove off into the sticky late night while the California ground trembled lightly. Bernadette Rose’s room remained sealed, like a secret for further investigation.

  The Villa Motel had a lot more coming. Spencer did not get much sleep again that night.

  23

  Spencer kissed Yuki on her temple. She was pearly-white, soft, and had that very special Asian girl fragrance that she released through her hair and skin. Just by smelling hair, Spencer could identify the presence of every girl from that region.

  “Thank you for coming over, to give me a surprise at late night,” he said. “It’s wonderful, and so unexpected.”

  Yuki was a girl who smiled constantly. She was as light as a feather and simple in the way she handled herself. Being with her was never stressful at all. In fact, Yuki is super smart and open; especially to the one she gave her heart.

  The problem was that Spencer was fighting his own demons, which included moments of depression. His skin trouble with rosacea had manifested in his mind for too long, so there were moments when he was just unpleasant to everybody around him. He usually knew when there was a bad day coming, and then he would say things that could really hurt other people, but he was yet to find the cure for his behavior.

  Yuki, of course, realized this very quickly, and she was the only one who knew how to deal with him when he was in that state of mind. “How come Miller does not consider you a suspect, when you are living right across the street?” Spencer asked. “He talked to me and my brother the day after it happened,” said Yuki, “but he was not interested in us as potential suspects. It was more about whether we observed anything. My brother saw you crawling across the parking lot on your hands and knees that night, and at first, he wanted to run and help you. Soon he realized that you were very drunk and actually singing a song. The detective asked what kind of song it was, and my brother remembered the melody.”

  Yuki continue, “Miller was able to identify it as, ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. ’ We stood there with the detective and smiled because he then said that you must be a soccer fan, a fan of your home team in Scotland.”

  Spencer, flushed and sighed. “That is certainly true.”

  The doorbell rang outside Spencer’s apartment. “Terry,” Spencer said in surprise, pulling up his pants and throwing on a shirt. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Where have you been? “So many things have happened here,” continued Spencer. “You saw that with Reagan, the Anderson’s child abuser, and recently when they got those drug dealers. This place really offers me a lot of excitement and sleepless nights.” Terry grumbled, “I was in Vegas at my club, but Bertha kept me updated. I am actually surprised that with all this commotion happening around here, you seem to rent out more rooms than ever. It is great, the way you are increasing business here. Now I would like to see the guestbook, if you don’t mind.” Spencer kept it in one of the lower drawers of the reception desk. He usually filled in the names of all the guests who stayed at the motel, and they had to sign in anyhow.

  “So, you rent out many rooms two to three times a day, I see. The secret is that you’re running a love motel here,” said Terry. The motel owner smelled of weed.

  Spencer smiled. “You know,” he said, “We do have a certain history here. “The Villa tends to be a favorite spot for all kinds of couples. I was surprised myself, that after all that has happened here, young folks are still dropping by.

  Some told me they like being close to the sea, and others like ordering the Mexican food and being served in their room. The location is nice, they say. Some couple came in the other day, and they said they had heard the Villa Motel has the coolest manager in town. Moreover, they were excited about staying in a place with a murder case. And of course, I give guests a small discount on the room if they only stay for a couple of hours.”

  “Esperanza has to work more hours to clean the rooms several times each day,” continued Spencer, “but Bertha agreed to raise her salary a bit. I hope that’s cool, Terry.” “Yes, fine,” said Terry. “The high times of the Villa in style are over anyway. The next step will be to tear the place down, but don’t worry – that's not going to happen anytime soon.”

  He looked around then, trying to identify the noise he had just heard out in the hallway.

  “That’s my girlfriend,” explained Spencer. “You know her – Yuki from across the street.” Terry turned away. He did not react to Spencer. “Please reserve two rooms for tonight,” he said. “Make it three, since Dick Dale and his band will be playing at the Mexican restaurant.”

  Spencer grew excited. “Isn’t Dick Dale the king of surf guitar?” he asked.

  Terry shook his head slightly and asked, “Is that room where the old lady got killed still sealed? Did the police say when they
will finally be done with it?” Before Spencer could reply, Detective Miller chimed in. He was still staying at the Villa Motel and had overheard the two men. “We’ll keep it closed until this evening,” he said, looking directly at Terry. “I was just up there doing my final investigation of the room. All Miss Rose’s belongings ad been photographed and numbered by my team. Therefore, the room can be cleaned tonight, and be open for guests again. Maybe some young couples will stay there.” “Detective, you are here early,” said Terry. “Are you staying with us here at the motel?”

  “I was just about to tell you that,” interjected Spencer.

  “Terry, I’d like to ask you something,” said Miller. “Who has lived here at the Villa the longest, out of all the people you know?” There he is, Miller in Columbo mode again, thought Spencer. The detective spoke with that same calculated politeness, all in an effort to nail his target. Spencer really wondered what had come first, the chicken or the egg. Miller had lived somewhat nearby in Long Beach for his entire life, had he?

  Terry could not answer Miller’s question, though. His memory simply was not what it used to be. “I’ll try to remember,” said Terry. “Then I’ll get back to you with an answer.” Terry’s words, made him a bit suspicious, Spencer had to admit.

  Then Yuki came by with a tray of fresh coffee, danish, and croissants. When Terry saw her, he took a paper cup of coffee and grabbed a handful of pastries. He let his dog have a few bites. Then, with his goodies in hand, he and the dog went back home.

  Meanwhile, Spencer patted Yuki’s little buttocks. She giggled, and Miller blinked and said, “Can I borrow a pen?” Without waiting for a reply, he took the pen from the guestbook. He wrote things in his worn notebook, deeply concentrated, and said to no one in particular.

  “Rose had an early son.

  He studied medicine, which I discovered in her notes. Some postcards obviously came from him. He studied at Harvard, but then all traces of him got lost; there was no further evidence of contact. Why, though? Where could he have vanished to?”