Hot, Hard & Howling - OpenDrive

Hot, Hard & Howling
Chapter Six
“The deadbeat hasn’t paid me in two weeks. You pay his bill and you’re in.” The
smelly, old clerk gave Trent a sideways grin accented with one gold tooth and two or
three empty spaces where teeth may have once lived.
It was nearly two a.m. and he’d finally traced Crey to this slimy hotel. Maybe he’d
get lucky and catch the Sorcerer asleep. He tossed a couple twenties on the counter. “I
seem to be making regular contributions to your retirement, old man.”
The clerk snickered, brushed his greasy gray hair out of his face and took a swig out
of an unlabeled bottle. “Retirement. Sure.” He tucked the bottle into his back pocket
and fished a key out of a shoebox on the counter. “I’ll be moving to Jamaica or
someplace sunny, I suppose.” He snickered again, his frail body shaking from the effort.
“With my young, purty girlfriend.” He was out-and out-laughing, completely amused
by his own sad fantasy. “You make me smile, Nicholas.”
“Glad to be of service.” They made their way along the strip of rooms. The singlestory
building sat roadside, just outside of town. The peeling paint and the dirty
windows turned away most law-abiding customers. It was a hangout for prostitutes
and thugs. Not that there was a lot of them in the small mountain community, but there
were enough.
The old man stopped at the next-to-last door and nodded toward the room on the
end. “I know you ain’t no regular cop, Nicholas, but you’s a good’un.” He handed Trent
the key to the room. “I also knows this one is vermin.” He started walking back toward
the tiny office. “You won’t mind dropping off the key on your way out, would ya?” He
didn’t look back or wait for a response.
Trent wondered idly what kind of “cop” the clerk thought he was. Vigilante? Fed?
Didn’t know. He looked at the door to that room and no longer cared.
Trent sniffed the air. The entire motel reeked of wet carpet and body odor. From
outside, he couldn’t pick out a particular scent if he had to. He leaned against the door,
listening for movement in the room. Nothing.
He put the key in and turned it, trying to make as little noise as possible. The lock
clicked loudly when the bolt withdrew, the door popping opened slightly. He grimaced
at the racket. Trent stood still for an instant, straining to hear, feel or sense if he’d
awakened Crey. He’d rather have blasted in, fangs showing. He waited a full minute.
Still nothing.
He shoved the door all the way open. The bare bulb above the door partially
illuminated the room. The bed was a mess, sheets hanging off on the floor. Towels were
piled up next to the white plastic stand that held a decades-old television. Empty drink
bottles and food cartons littered the tiny basin around the sink.
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