Chapter Text
The Midnight Motel
5th November
10.23PM
He lay in bed, and watched as the rivulets of sweat fought their way through the matted hair on his broad chest to pool in the curve of his abdomen and curl down the sides of his shorts, wetting the flimsy material. He reached for the glass of whiskey on the bedside locker but it was with a shaky hand he brought it to his dry lips. The sour taste enveloped his senses as the strong aroma rammed into his flared nostrils and the burning sensation trailed a spicy path down his throat.
A neon sign outside the window spelt the motels name with some letters remaining dark , flashed through the dirty thin curtains adding a strange orange tint to the rooms' shadows that were evenly sliced by the slowly moving fan on the ceiling. He finished the rest of his drink and peeled himself off the damp sheets. With one hand, he placed the heavy glass on the night stand and with the other he pushed the body off his feet and onto the floor.
The dull thud did nothing to move him towards the nausea he knew he should be feeling; instead he stood and gathered his clothes from the floor. He dressed slowly and meticulously, carefully fastened every button with care. In the bathroom he glanced at the tarnished mirror that hung over the dirt- blackened sink. From his back pocket he pulled a comb whose teeth had seen better days and began to fix his unruly hair. He wet the comb under the running cold water and combed all his hair away from his face.
Finally happy with the result he stepped back into the bedroom, and slipped the comb back into his pocket. It wasn't the worst hotel he had booked into, he was depressed to admit, but the en suite was a nice touch. He glanced down at the body and let his eyes wander over the soft feminine curves he had admired so much earlier. Now they did nothing for him, cold to the touch and unmoving, he looked away in disgust wondering if he should cover it with a sheet.
He stepped over her, he grabbed her fake fur pink coat and rummaged through her pockets. The bundle of money she had asked for up front was tucked neatly into an inside breast pocket so he pulled it free and shoved it into his own pocket. More searching brought him a business card for the bar she worked at but he tossed it to the floor and watched as it fluttered to her chest and landed on her breast. He smiled at the image as he reached for the door and walked out of the room locking it behind him.
He buttoned up his long trench coat, flipped the collar up to protect his neck and nodded briefly at the fat receptionist whose sole concentration was absorbed in the small black and white portable television. He remembered thinking how the receptionist looked like Telly Savalas as he was signing the check in book, but the sight of the prostitute he'd picked up in Crazy Eights bar, kneading her own breasts as she licked her lips quickly dissolved the thoughts.
Now as he sauntered by, there was no such distraction and he couldn't help but think of Kojak working behind the reception at the sleazy motel. The picture made him smile again cushioning him from the blast of cold wet winter air that met him on the street. His hands found their way deep into his pockets as he walked down the street and disappeared effortlessly into the crowd.