by Dave Daren
“Are you done?” the captive reporter asked in a hopeful voice.
“Anthony and Ben are wrapping up a few things,” I said vaguely. “But you and I are free to return to the city.”
“Oh, good,” Brenda replied happily as she struggled to free herself from the couch and ottoman.
“Let me help you to the car,” Gulia offered.
Between the two of us, we somehow managed to get Brenda back on her good foot and helped her hobble across the room, through the door, and over the slick tile floor in the foyer. Gulia opened the front door and helped guide Brenda down the stairs while I sprinted to the Viper I was standing by the driver’s side when I remembered that Brenda had claimed the fob from the floor of the car. I looked up and saw her triumphant smile before she pulled the fob from her pocket and tossed it in my direction.
I managed to catch the key before it hit the ground, and I had both doors opened by the time Brenda arrived at the car. I thanked Gulia again as I helped Brenda into the passenger seat, and then I jogged around the car while Gulia retreated to the steps.
With more care than I had shown on the drive out, I eased the car around the fountain and back down the long driveway. The headlights picked out ghostly shapes beneath the trees, but they flickered by so quickly I wasn’t sure if they were Febbo men or mere shadows. I stopped for a moment when we reached the road, and I thought about turning the car around and heading back towards the meeting. But my client didn’t want me there, and I still had a long drive back to Brooklyn with a woman I had sucked into this mess. With a sigh, I turned onto the road and started back towards the LIE.
Chapter 25
I was tired and the bourbon only made it worse. I could feel my eyelids start to droop and my focus disappear and I knew there was no way I could make it all the way back to the city without caffeine. A lot of caffeine.
Brenda hadn’t said a word since we’d left the Febbo estate, and even as I turned off the highway in search of a twenty-four hour diner, she remained quiet. I spotted a gas station with a trucker’s diner, lit up like a Hollywood premier even at this hour, and joined the two other cars in the left hand turn lane.
“You hungry?” I asked as I waited for the light to change.
“Just tired,” she said with a yawn. “And my ankle is starting to throb again. I think the Tylenol must be wearing off.”
“I need caffeine if we’re going to make it back to Brooklyn alive,” I replied as the light finally changed and I pointed the noisy car towards the gas station and diner.
“We should stop for the night,” Brenda suggested. “That way I won’t have to worry about you destroying the car, and we can share notes on what we learned tonight.”
“You don’t really expect me to tell you what was said in those meetings, do you?” I asked in surprise.
“It’s worth a shot,” she said. “Especially since I still didn’t get my interview.”
I pulled into a spot near the diner’s door and saw several heads inside swivel to look at the car. But I didn’t turn the engine off right away, and I felt Brenda’s eyes on me.
“Sleep does sound good,” I finally said. “I haven’t gotten a lot of it recently, and I’m not sure there’s enough caffeine to get me back to Brooklyn.”
Brenda made a sympathetic noise and then rolled down her window. She stuck her head out, past her shoulders, and looked around.
“There’s a Motel 6 on the other side of the road, just a bit further down,” she said.
“Let’s see if they have any rooms for tonight,” I replied as I put the two-seater in reverse and eased out of the parking lot.
The Motel 6 was, as promised, just down the road and though the sign was nearly hidden by a mass of vines, the motel itself looked clean and well-tended. There was even the smell of fresh paint in the air as we climbed out of the car and walked towards the blinking sign that said office. The sign in the next window promised that there were still rooms available and I heard myself sigh in relief when I saw that.
A door chime sounded as we entered a narrow lobby, filled with racks of brochures for local sites, snack machines, and a vending machine filled with basic essentials like travel-sized tubes of toothpaste and tiny cans of spray-on deodorant. A long white counter stood just to the left, and behind that was a door with a sign that said ‘Office’.
A moment later, the office door opened and a short woman with a huge bun of gray hair emerged. Her head barely cleared the counter, but she must have had a step stool hidden on the other side. She stepped onto her extra support, and smiled at us as she woke up the computer. It beeped a few seconds later and the woman put on a pair of glasses as she peered at the screen.
“Welcome to Motel 6,” the woman said in a husky voice. “Do you need a room for tonight?”
“Two,” I replied.
She nodded and tapped at the computer for a moment.
“Oh, dear, I only have one room left,” she replied. “But it has two double beds.”
I looked at Brenda, who nodded her assent.
“I guess we’ll take it,” I replied as I dug my wallet out of my pocket.
I passed over my credit card, waited while the computer made a few more noises, then accepted the key from the clerk.
“It’s on the second floor at the back,” she said. “I would just go ahead and pull around to the back lot at the other end and then use the elevator down there. Your room will be two doors down.”
“Thanks,” I replied as I signed the printout.
“The rooms come with soap and shampoo,” she added. “If you need anything else, you can find it in the machine there.”
With another smile, the woman stepped off her stool and retreated to the office.
“Want anything from the machine?” I asked.
“Do they have any Tylenol or something?” Brenda asked as she stumped over to the machine.
I followed behind her and did a quick scan of the contents.
“Aspirin,” I announced.
“I’ll take two of those packages,” she sighed as she started to pull out her wallet.
“I’ve got it,” I said as I inserted a five.
I ended up with the aspirin, a pair of toothbrushes, a small tube of toothpaste, a razor and a can of the extra dry deodorant. From the other vending machines, I added two bottled waters and a couple of bags of old bay spiced potato chips. Armed with our purchases, we made our way back to the Viper and pulled around the building to the recommended lot. I parked as close as I could get to the back door, then helped Brenda hobble inside. The smell of fresh paint was even stronger in the elevator lobby and I hoped we wouldn’t have to spend the night sniffing paint fumes.
The smell faded as we stepped onto the second floor, and by the time we reached our room, it had been replaced with a trace of bleach and orange air freshener. I opened the door and looked around quickly before helping Brenda over to the bed closest to the door. The room wasn’t bad, although it was basic. There were the promised beds, an old TV that definitely didn’t qualify as a flat screen on top of a faux wooden cabinet, and a tiny bathroom that looked like it had been borrowed from a cruise ship. But it looked cleaned and our tiny collection of supplies looked right at home on the pint-sized countertop.
When I ambled back into the bedroom, Brenda was sitting up against the headboard as she flipped through the limited selection of channels and sipped from one of the bottles. I spotted the empty aspirin packages on the nightstand between the beds, alongside an open bag of chips.
“We must be a sorry sight,” she chuckled as I sat down on the edge of my bed. “If I look half as bad as you, I’m surprised the clerk even let us have a room.”
I laughed, then studied my companion for a moment. Her auburn hair had started to frizz a bit, and her large round eyes were half-closed. The smudges under her eyes looked a little darker than usual though the pouty lips looked as inviting as ever.
“You have blood on your shirt,” she added and I glance
d down.
I spotted the dark red stains and realized they must have come from the two men in the parking garage. That felt like an eternity ago and it was hard to believe that it had only been just a few short hours since we had fled Brooklyn.
“You’re right,” I replied. “About the clerk.”
Brenda chuckled again, then patted the bed next to her.
“I could really use some company right now,” she said. “It’s been a weird night, even for me.”
“Even for you?” I asked.
“I’m the crime reporter,” she reminded me. “I’ve seen and done lots of strange things.”
“Like?” I prompted as I moved to her bed.
“I once went to a strip club at two in the morning after someone called to report a body in the bathroom,” she replied. “Turned out to be a politician who had OD’d on coke.”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “Not as enticing as ‘Headless Body in Topless Bar’.”
“They sell t-shirts with that headline, you know,” she laughed. “If the Post ever goes under, that’s like the one thing they’ll be famous for.”
“I should get one of those t-shirts,” I mused.
“You’re still tense,” she noted. “You’re practically vibrating.”
“You’re not the only one who had a weird day,” I replied.
Her hands found my shoulders and she started to massage the muscles, gently at first, then more deeply as the knots slowly uncoiled. I’ve never been a big fan of massages, probably because I always hear my mother’s voice describing Heinrich’s large, powerful hands after a day trip to the local spa once, but what Brenda did felt delicious. It reached the point where my muscles were so relaxed that I was actually slumped forward over my knees and moaning quietly.
“I guess that means you like it,” she said.
“Definitely,” I replied.
Her hands started to ease lower, from my shoulders down my spine, and one hand eased its way under my shirt. I should have protested, but it felt so good. I hadn’t even released how much tension I still carried from the attack until my muscles started to uncoil.
“This is great,” I said. “But I feel like I should do something for you.”
“There is one thing better than a massage,” she whispered in my ear. “And it will help us both sleep better.”
“Are you sure?” I asked as I peered over my shoulder at her.
Her face was only inches from mine as she pressed into me, and I could see the gold specks in her eyes and smell the coconut shampoo she used.
“As long as you promise not to twist my other ankle, I’ll be fine,” she assured me.
I felt myself smile in response to her own grin, and then her hand found its way past the top of my pants and slithered towards my erection. I swung around and rolled her gently onto the bed. Our lips met as I rubbed against her, and the auburn haired reported moaned into my mouth. I could taste the lingering pepper from her burrito, but beneath that was something that reminded me of hibiscus and caramel.
Somehow, we made it out of clothes, a gymnastic feat that might have left a few buttons on the floor if either of us had any to leave behind. As it was, the bottom hem of her t-shirt started to unravel in the hasty need to remove it, but that was the last thing I registered about clothing that night. I sank into her glory for hours, and then, as promised, I slept deeply and soundly for the first time in ages.
I woke up when a ray of sunshine slipped past the curtains and landed on my eyelids. I tried to bury my face in the pillow but finally gave up when the call of nature became too hard to ignore. I rolled off the edge of the bed as quietly as I could, then headed into the bathroom cubicle for some relief.
After I was done, I peeked around the corner and saw that Brenda was still asleep with her back turned towards the window and her head hidden beneath the coverlet. It seemed like a good time to get cleaned up and ready for the drive back to Brooklyn, so I retreated into the bathroom and enjoyed a long, hot shower. The razor was just good enough to handle my morning needs, and though the towels were rough, they managed to dry my skin when I was finally done. Satisfied that I was at least presentable, I returned to the room to hunt for my clothes.
“There better be some hot water left for me,” Brenda’s muffled voice said from the depths of the coverlet.
“I’m sure there’s plenty,” I laughed as I sorted through the clothing we had tossed around the room.
“I’ve heard that before,” she muttered. “It usually means there’s about two minutes of hot water left.”
“You’ve heard that before, have you?” I teased as I managed to clothe my lower half.
“I have a sister,” she sniffed. “She used to take these epic hour long showers when we were kids, and when I would complain, she’d always tell me that there was plenty of hot water left for me.”
“Didn’t your parents do anything?” I asked.
“My dad didn’t care whether there was any hot water left,” Brenda replied as she slowly emerged from beneath the coverlet and sat up. “But he did dread the water bill. He used to try and impose bans on long showers, but my sister ignored him. And there wasn’t much he could do, really. She’d get in the bathroom, lock the door, and that was it.”
“I’m sure the motel has a much larger water heater,” I assured her.
“Uh-huh,” she said doubtfully.
Her auburn hair was in disarray, her eyes still looked drowsy, and whatever makeup she had worn was long gone. For the first time since I had met her, I felt like I was finally looking at the real Brenda Borowski, not the ingenue she played to get the information she wanted. She was lovely and sensual in a way that only a woman can be, and I loved this version so much more than the schoolgirl look she used on most days.
“We can grab breakfast when you’re ready to go,” I said. “And then head back to the city.”
“What, you’re not going to rush over to your client’s this morning to find out what happened?” she asked.
“Anthony will call if there’s anything I need to know,” I replied.
She absorbed that for a moment, and I could tell that she was debating which response she wanted to give. I stared her down until she finally settled on saying nothing, and after a shake of the head, the reporter slipped gracefully from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and then the shower came on, and I retreated to the unused bed to check my phone for messages and catch up on the morning traffic report from one of the local news stations.
Brenda eventually emerged in a cloud of steam that rolled across the room ahead of her. She was wrapped in one of the towels, and she gave me a smile before she found the clothes I’d left folded on the end of the bed. She retreated to the bathroom once again, though she reappeared a few minutes later.
“Breakfast sounds good,” the reporter announced.
“It looked like the usual array of fast food restaurants when we pulled in last night,” I replied.
“Let’s ask at the desk when we turn in the key,” she said. “Maybe there’s a breakfast place nearby.”
Brenda turned out to be right, as the morning clerk, a teenage boy who looked big enough to be on the local high school team, directed us to his favorite spot for pancakes. It was along the town’s main street, just a couple of miles from the LIE, and was only identified by a large sign with a picture of a pig with a knife in one hoof and a fork in the other, about to dive into a giant stack of pancakes.
The place wasn’t all that large inside, but it was noisy, packed, and smelled like grease and syrup. It was seat yourself, and Brenda and I quickly claimed a booth before the busboy even had a chance to clean the table. Once the busboy had swept away most of the detritus left by the previous breakfast group, our waitress appeared with the ubiquitous glass coffee pot and two mugs.
“This is regular,” she said as she placed the mugs in front of us. “Brewing up some fresh decaf at the moment if you want that.”
“Regula
r is fine for me,” I said as I looked at my companion.
“Do you have hot tea?” the reporter asked.
The waitress, a tired looking woman with graying hair and bright blue eyeshadow, made a disapproving sound.
“I can check,” the waitress said. “But Burt doesn’t always remember to pick up tea bags when he goes to the store.”
Clearly, hot tea was not a popular item around here, and I would guess that ordering it was strongly discouraged. Heck, Burt probably hadn’t bought teabags in years, which meant whatever tea they did serve would be well past its expiration date, if dried tea leaves had one.
“Huh,” Brenda huffed as she glanced at me and saw the smirk I knew I had on my face. “Coffee will be fine, then.”
The waitress nodded in approval, then pointed towards the laminated menus that were propped between a napkin dispenser and a large salt shaker.
“I’ll be back for your order in a jiff,” the waitress announced.
She walked over to another table of recent arrivals while Brenda and I pulled out the menus. There weren’t a lot of options, but the plates emerging from the kitchen were impressive, and I had to admit that event the omelet I saw delivered to the table next to us looked soft, fluffy and a rival to anything that the most expensive places in the city could turn out. I finally settled on the pancakes, which the clerk had so enthusiastically recommended, while Brenda gave in to the view at the table next to us and ordered a cheese and bacon omelet.
“So,” Brenda said after the orders had been placed and silence had descended on our table for several minutes. “What’s your plan for today?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I replied. “And I’ve decided the first thing I need to do is to check and make sure there aren’t any Serbians hanging around my apartment building.”
“Do you really think they’ll come after you?” she asked.
“After last night?” I replied. “I’d say that was a distinct possibility. And I’d say you should take some precautions as well.”
“Don’t worry,” she sighed. “I know how to hide when I need to. Besides, once my editor hears about this, he’ll insist.”