Part 8 (1/2)

She tore the price tag off of a new vinyl purse and stowed the brush inside. Then she opened a bottle of acetaminophen 500s, removed the cotton padding, shook three capsules into the palm of her hand, and downed them with a swallow of grape juice. She capped the bottle and tossed it in the purse, then went over and shoved the handgun between the mattresses.

Just then the white van pulled up and parked near the Sands Motel office. The thugs got out and went inside.

Doolin stared at Ashley's picture, tracing the lines of her body with his eyes and imagining himself there in her arms. He would have sold his soul for a copy. ”Oh, I'd remember her,” he said, picturing Ashley as she walked out the door in her see-through nightwear. ”But the truth is, we don't get a lot of visitors out here these days a not since the freeway bypa.s.s anyways.”

The thugs looked at each other. There was no freeway bypa.s.s.

Needles laid a $50 on the counter. ”Take a closer look,” he said. ”She's four or five years older, now.”

Doolin scooped up the money and clutched it tightly in his fist. Then he took another long look at the photo. ”Like I said ... I never seen a”

Beeks s.n.a.t.c.hed the $50, and with one powerful hand he grabbed Doolin by his pajama collar and lifted him off his feet. ”You're a lying sack-of-s.h.i.+t,” he said, his huge face within inches of Doolin's.

Doolin couldn't make a sound. Blood backed up in his veins like a web of tiny stopped-up sewer drains, turning his complexion three shades darker than its usual alcohol-induced rouge.

Needles noticed only one key missing from its hook on the board a number 107. ”Put him down, Beeks,” he said calmly.

Beeks gave Needles a puzzled look and held Doolin even higher. ”What'd you say?”

”I said 'Let the man go.'”

”Brother, I don't get you sometimes,” Beeks said, shaking his head. He gave Doolin a toss that sent him sprawling.

Doolin gasped and wheezed and then climbed to his feet and held onto the counter while the excess blood drained from his head. He looked at Needles through watering eyes and straightened his pajama collar. ”Ahem,” he coughed. ”As I was a”

”Shut up, a.s.shole,” Needles said, ”and thank the good Lord you're still breathing.” He slipped Ashley's picture back into his pocket and glanced at Beeks. ”Let's go,” he said, and they turned and walked out.

Ashley pulled back the shower curtain, turned on the water, and adjusted the cracked-porcelain k.n.o.bs until she arrived at a comfortable temperature. Then she dropped her filthy robe and slipped out of her tattered nightgown and stepped into the tub. She flipped the water flow to the shower head and stood for a while, watching the water circle the drain, letting the soothing warmth flow over her neck and shoulders. She poured a generous dab of body wash into her hand and slowly lathered her aching body. Then she turned up the hot water and as the bathroom fill with steam, she began to cry.

The rain had eased a bit outside Room 107, and the thugs could hear the shower running. Beeks deftly picked the lock then opened the door slightly. Needles used bolt-cutters to dispatch the security chain, and then he and Beeks stepped inside.

Beeks watched the bathroom door while Needles removed something from his pocket and laid it on Ashley's pillow; then the two thugs stepped outside and quietly closed the door.

Chapter 23.

Sandwiches Ashley returned from her shower wrapped in a towel. She sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated the bottle of gin sitting on the night table. She picked it up and unscrewed the cap, but as she raised it to her lips she hesitated.

What the h.e.l.l are you doing? she thought, disgusted with herself. What possible good will getting s.h.i.+t-faced do? You're not a drinker! Aaron needs you sober, you stupid cow!

She stepped into the bathroom and poured the gin down the toilet.

There was a loud knock that sent a chill down her spine. She set the empty gin bottle on the sink, retrieved the .22 from between the mattresses, and stepped cautiously over to peer through the peep-hole. A grotesque fish-eye image of Doolin Mars stared up at her; he appeared to be carrying a tray. She raised her pistol and took a deep breath; then, failing to notice that the security chain had been cut, she opened the door a crack.

Doolin had dressed for the occasion (if a lime-green sweatsuit could be considered dressed). He held up the tray and said proudly, ”I made sandwiches.”

Ashley was struck speechless. She was starving, but she would eat the socks off an NFL lineman after a big game before she'd touch anything from Doolin's tray. ”I a uh ... I-I'm not really hungry,” she said.

”But you said a”

”I lost my appet.i.te.” She started to close the door, but Doolin jammed it with his foot.

”Some men came looking for you tonight, Arlene,” he said, trying to get a look at her through the door.

Ashley froze. ”What? When? What did you tell them?”

Doolin was surprised and hurt by the question. ”Why, I didn't tell them nothin',” he said. ”You should know your secret's safe with me, Miss Arlene.” He withdrew his foot and looked up at her hopefully.

”Goodnight, Doolin,” Ashley said. Then she closed the door and locked it.

As she leaned back against the door, she saw the cut security chain hanging limp next to her ear. ”Oh my G.o.d,” she cried. Then with the gun aimed at the peep-hole, she stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed.

From the driver's seat in the white van, Needles could see Doolin in his green outfit scuttling back to the motel office. He made a call and Souther answered from his office.

”We have our girl,” Needles said.

”Did you make the plant?”

”That's affirmative.”

They ended the call, and Needles drove slowly out of the motel parking lot.

Ashley watched the door for several minutes. Then as she started to lie back on the bed she saw something on her pillow. She bolted upright, eyes wide, and stared at it for a moment, her hand to her throat. Someone had been in her room!

She tried to think rationally, fighting the urge to panic. She set the gun aside, and with trembling hands, picked up the small digital recorder and pressed PLAY.

Souther's recorded voice was tinny and distorted, but recognizable: ”Bravo for following my instructions, Ashley. You were smart not to call the police. Do us all a favor and stay where you are. I've taken care of things at your apartment, and I'll contact you when I'm ready.”

Ashley shook the player, as if to coax more from it. ”What about Aaron?” she cried. ”I want to see my baby!” She shook the player again then heaved it at the wall where it shattered to pieces.