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Chapter Three
Joel
The encounter with Martin afforded me just enough of an edge to try to outrun the impending storm, and just enough paranoia to do what should have already been done. I put the pedal to the metal of that old Ford, but I didn’t go home. I decide to pay Layla—not her real name, of course—a visit.
By the time I park the truck outside the Apricot Inn, darkness has fallen like a veil of mourning. The wind had picked up like the whirring of gears as the clouds amassed over the pavement. The storm brought with it a chill, and though I’ve never minded the cold, it looks like the sky is going to open up at any minute. I hate for my bags of feed to get soaked, but this is a visit that can’t wait.
Two raps on the door to room number seven and there stands Layla in a pink nightie and fuzzy slippers like something you see in a seedy film, the kind they show at the theater next to Danny’s Bar, down off Main Street. Not too popular a venue with the townsfolk, but plenty of backroom deals to be had if one fancied himself the adventurous kind.
A curious pair of eyes peer at me from beneath pink silk and red hair.
“Hey, cowboy,” she whispers seductively.
“Are you alone?” I ask, scanning the room, searching her rosy flesh for any sign of deceit.
“’Course I’m alone,” she tells me as I brush past her, bolting the door behind me. “I was expecting you.”
Her first lie. It won’t be the last. “Good, I can’t stay long.”
She rubs up against me like an alley cat. Her ample chest spills out of her nightie, and she presses it against me gently. “When do you ever?”
“A guy named Ray is going to come by in about an hour. I need you to give him this.” I set the cooler on the floor.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
I take a couple of bills from the man’s wallet and lay it on the nightstand. “For your trouble.”
Then I glance at the door and back at her.
“I don’t understand you, Cowboy.” She trails her fingertips down the front of my shirt. “Why are you always paying me to sleep with your friends, never you?”
“What can I say? I’m a good friend.”
Layla glances at the money on the nightstand. “The best.”
She takes a closer look at the money and rubs the tip of her finger across the corner of the bill. “Your generosity is more than enough compensation, considering that most of the men who visit me are usually ill-mannered creeps with disgusting habits.”
“Don't ever tell anyone I pay your room and board. Tell ‘em you earn it with your... talents,” I say.
Layla flashes a coy smile. “I like my privacy too, Cowboy. That's why I prefer to deal with men like you who want to pay me for being quiet.”
“Right.”
Her eyes wander over my sweaty T-shirt, dirty jeans and cowboy boots. I draw her in by tossing her a crooked grin and then glance out the window again as if to check for Ray. I only see speeding cars driving on the highway, but at least two buildings have views of this motel parking lot and anyone could be watching from those windows. “That guy… Marvin or something…”
“Merle.”
“Sure.” I sweep the curtains closed. “I don’t suppose he’s bothering you anymore.”
“Haven’t seen him,” she says, scrunching her nose. “He just up and disappeared. Like the last guy.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
She eyes me suspiciously, and then winks. “Probably.”
