Sean LePen checks into a cheap motel along a country road far outside the city. She signs the guest register with a false name, using a false driver’s license and a false passport with the innkeeper who routinely asks for identification.
All the rooms open to a courtyard with a closed pool in its center. When Sean unlocks the wooden door to her room, the mustiness of the interior hits her nose. She sneezes. Shit. I’m allergic to this damn room. But she enters, throws her shoulder bag on the bed and heads to the little bathroom. She runs water in the sink, splashes her face, dries it and her hands. Then, she pulls off her black shoes, her slacks, her blouse, her bra and underwear. She walks to the bed, pulls back the covers, crawls in and sleeps for the first time since she chases Gani down the alley and watches him disappear into darkness.
She dreams her first bullet strikes and kills Gani, cleanly.
In the morning, she wakes later than her usual routine. Sean showers, dresses, takes her rental car into the nearest town, parks the Audi A8 in front of the cafe the innkeeper recommends and enters. Everyone looks at her as she comes in. Then, as she seats herself near the kitchen, everyone stops staring at her. The waitress greets her with the specials.
“Coffee, black,” says Sean.
“Okay, ma’am. I’ll be right back with that.”
Sean nods. The waitress hurries away, comes back quickly with the coffee and a small box filled with sweeteners.
“I won’t need those. Sugar makes me mean.”
The waitress says, “Oh only that white one is real sugar. The others —.”
“Yes, I know,” says Sean, then raises her eyes to the ceiling. She says, “I’ll have two soft-poached eggs, hashed browns, sliced tomatoes.”
“Yes ma’am.” The waitress moves into the kitchen.
Sean sips the coffee; it’s weak. She pours it onto the floor. Again, everyone looks at her. She stands up, walks to the back to locate the restroom. She doesn’t knock; just opens the door to find it’s a single. She closes and locks the door. She checks her Kimber; it’s fully loaded. She chambers a cartridge, re-holsters the weapon. Then she pees, washes her hands, goes back to her table. She steps over the large spreading puddle of coffee water.
“Did you spill your coffee, ma’am?” asks her waitress.
“Yes, seems I did,” says Sean. “It was awful at any rate. What kind of beer do you serve?”
Sean looks at the waitress.
“Bud Lite, Coors Lite, Miller Lite —.”
“Never mind,” says Sean. “I’ll have a glass of water, no ice. Perrier, if you have it.”
“Water with no ice,” repeats Sean.
“And I’d like my food.”
“Oh, of course.” The waitress looks at her other patrons and shrugs her shoulders. Several people look back at her and show her their bewilderment. No one knows who this strange woman is or where she comes from or why she is in their cafe this morning.
The waitress stumbles away from Sean into the kitchen where she begs the cook to hurry the order.
“It’s done,” says the cook.
“Oh, thank God,” says the waitress. She takes the hot plates out to Sean.
Sean looks at the tomatoes on the hot plate. “These ought to be cold.”
The waitress snatches the side plate of tomatoes and disappears into the kitchen, not saying a word. In a flash, she comes back with a cold plate of sliced tomatoes, puts them in front of Sean then returns to the kitchen where she sits down before the large fan.
“What’s with you, Julie?” asks the cook.
“I’ve got a horrid customer,” she responds.
“Here? In Joe’s Place?”
Sean takes the spoon from the rolled paper napkin, cuts around the yolk, places the entire hot egg into her mouth, crushes the capsule so that the liquid gold spills across her tongue. “Hmm,” she says out loud. The couple next to her table stare at her. She stares back. She mumbles around the deliciousness, “Only way to eat one.” Then she winks at the man.
The man surprises his wife in that he winks back, smiles. Sean leans toward the man, ignores his wife, whispers hoarsely, “Where in this shit town can a girl get a great beer?”
The man turns away from Sean and shakes his head as his wife glares at him.
Sean says, “Oh, gonna be like that, hey?” Then she stops. What the hell am I doing? Eat your tomatoes, you ass! She says to the couple, “I’m sorry. I’ve been on the road a few days and I’m plum exhausted. I apologize.”
The woman turns to Sean, smiles, says, “That’s all right honey. You can get a decent beer at Patrick’s on Holly Street; that’s two blocks over that way.” And she points out the window to the west.
“Thank you,” says Sean. She turns back to her tomatoes and devours them, then she eats all the hashed browns. She downs her water next; rises, walks out of the cafe, having left a crisp $20 on the table for Julie.
As she walks out the front door, she hears the man behind her. He says, “But Patrick’s isn’t open now.”
Sean turns, says at full volume, “Well then, I’ll see you there later.”
Later that evening, at Patrick’s, Sean sees the man at the bar. She’s changed her clothes; she’s now in a short dress with a deep neckline. She wears high heeled black shoes and carries a small purse with her more personal Ruger LCP .380 tucked inside. She approaches the man whose wife is nowhere in sight. As she closes in, Sean places her right hand on the man’s left hip, slightly low but not quite on his buttock. He turns sharply, grins when he sees it is the woman from the cafe.
“Well hello,” he says.
“Hello,” whispers Sean.
“I figured you’d be here,” he says.
“I figured you would be here, too.”
“What’ll you have?” he asks.
Sean peruses the draft selection — it’s a fair spread, nothing fancy. She says, “What’re you having?”
The man holds up his tall glass. “A Mick-Lite.”
“Sure,” says Sean. She looks at the selection again, asks the man to order her the stout.
When it arrives, Sean suggests they sit at a corner table. The man says, “No, no — that’s too obvious.” And he blushes as Sean squeezes his hip. She turns full to him as they both stand at the bar. She leans in close, whispers, “What’s wrong with being obvious?”
The man squirms.
Sean says, “Come on; finish your beer. Let’s go somewhere else.” She can tell he’s hard. Got him on the hook. Let’s go. Let’s go. She downs her stout, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smears the foam across the man’s lips, laughs slightly.
He stares at her.
“Let’s go,” says Sean. She takes his left hand and pulls. The man follows.
Together, they walk out of Patrick’s. Sean’s rental Audi is parked to the side of the building. She takes the man around the corner and pushes him up against the brick. She fumbles with his belt and unzips his fly as she hikes up her dress.
“Wait a moment,” says the man. “Not here!”
Sean looks around. It’s a dark place. “Why not?”
“Don’t you have someplace?” he asks.
“Yes, that’s my car.” Sean points to the Audi. “Let’s go.”
The man hesitates, but Sean puts her hand inside his underwear and gives him a rough stroke. He sighs. “Okay, okay — let’s go.”
Sean unlocks the passenger side of her car; the man gets in as he zips up his fly. When Sean is in the driver’s seat, the man reaches over and grabs her shoulder. Sean turns to him, “It’s okay; it’s not far from here.”
He smiles sheepishly, says, “Don’t you even want to know my name?”
Sean laughs out loud, “You haven’t asked me mine.”
She starts the Audi and drives to the motel, parks. They get out and she opens the door to her motel room. “It’s not much,” she says, “but it’s home.”
The man hesitates. “I shouldn’t do this,” he says.
“Yes, you should.” And Sean kisses him full on the lips, drives her tongue deep into his mouth. He tastes of stale Michelob and cheap pretzels. She pushes him backwards to the bed where he sits. She turns, presenting the back zipper to her dress. “Please,” she whispers. He reaches up, unzips the dress which Sean allows to fall from her pale shoulders. She’s not wearing a bra. Her bare back impresses the man who touches it like a child exploring a forbidden toy. Sean turns so that he may touch her small but full breasts. As he does, she unbuttons his shirt. He stands up, moves close to her. He unbuckles his belt again, unzips his fly, kicks out of his slacks. Sean removes his underwear. He pulls her closer, turns her around and pushes her down onto the mattress. He’s in her quickly now, moving with her. He doesn’t say a word, just thrusts until he moans once. Sean squints as she comes to an orgasm. Then she’s up, looking for her own slacks and a tee-shirt from her shoulder bag. She puts her clothes on rapidly, puts a comb through her hair.
Sean turns to the man who still lies stretched naked on the bed. “I’ll drive you back to Patrick’s, if you like. Or you can walk.”
“What’s your name?” he asks.
Sean says, “None of your business.”
2014 Copyright by R. Jack Winter
all rights reserved