“What’s going on?” Miles asks in a hushed tone. He turns to me. “You don’t think someone is being taken from this hotel, do you?”
Another slam against the wall confirms that it’s not two people fucking on a bed. But lowlife kidnappers wouldn’t be in the heart of a whorehouse trying to abduct women, would they? No. That’s preposterous. They’d get caught in a heartbeat.
I turn my attention to Kimmy and see her staring at the shaking wall, her eyes wide. She obviously didn’t expect whatever is happening.
Another slam, followed by a yell.
Miles pulls his gun, and I do the same. There’s a chance some thug got greedy—maybe he thinks he can get away with it—I don’t know, but now’s as good a time as any to find out.
CHAPTER SIX
“ARE YOU two cops?” Kimmy asks the moment we have our Colt .45 handguns up and ready. “Y-you have to tell me if you’re cops!”
I ignore her inane demands and exit the room. Miles and I take positions on either side of the neighboring door. He nods to me, and I nod back. Before either of us goes kicking anything in, I reach for the handle and find it unlocked. I guess the element of surprise is on our side.
After I open the door, we rush inside. The room is near identical to the last, just flipped around, and we barge into the bedroom with our guns up.
A man with a trucker’s physique—large gut, thick arms, thicker beard—stands over a guy with the exact opposite appearance, to the point he hits androgynous. But his bruises and bloody face are what I notice next.
“What the fuck?” the larger guy asks. He’s topless, but he wears a natural shirt of hair like he’s part grizzly.
“What’s happening here?” Miles demands, never lowering his weapon.
The big guy puts his hands in the air and stumbles back. Is he drunk? One deep inhale tells me he’s drunk. In the middle of the day? The man has hit more lows than one.
“You’ve been drinkin’,” I state. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m not gonna sit down,” he says, his speech more coherent than most drunks’. “I paid good money—hard-earned money—and then what do I go and find? I find me problems and more problems!”
Miles and I exchange perplexed glances. Maybe his speech is understandable, but it sure as fuck isn’t coherent.
“Get out!” he bellows. “I paid, so I’m gonna get my money’s worth!”
The man on the floor attempts to stand, but the larger guy cocks a fist like he’s ready to dole out an ass-whoopin’. A piece of me wants to back out of the room—clearly this isn’t a kidnapping—but another piece of me sees that this isn’t a mutual agreement either. The guy on the floor looks to me and Miles with a silent plea, his shoulder-length hair half-clumped with blood across his face.
Before I make a decision, Miles takes a step forward. “You’re not getting anything,” he says. “You’re leaving. Right now.”
“I paid!”
“You’re gonna pay more in blood if you don’t get out of here.”
“If you lay a hand on me, I’ll call the cops.”
Both Miles and I start laughing. The gut of the guy shakes as he whips his gaze between us. “You laughin’? You think this is funny?”
“Yeah, call the cops,” I say, sarcastic in every regard. “Tell ’em you were trying to fuck some prostitute when two guys thought it got too rough, so they busted in to stop you. I’d love to see the look on their face when you tell ’em what a victim you are.”
It takes a moment for the sluggish gears in this guy’s brain to turn full circle. Realization dawns on him, and he stumbles around to collect his shirt. Miles stays tense and ready the entire time, watching the man’s movements like it’s all an act. I let the guy leave without another word and then tuck my firearm back into my shoulder holster.
Kimmy rushes into the room once the fat guy staggers down the hall.
“Are you okay, Nash?” she asks as she kneels down.
The guy nods. “Yeah…. Yeah, I’m fine now.”
“What happened?”
Nash chuckles as he places a hand over his bruised eye and busted lip. “I think he thought I was… someone different.”
“C’mon, get up. I’ll take you to my room. I’m gonna get a movie.”
“You’re not hurt too bad, are you?” Miles asks as he walks over to help the kid up. “We could hear some stuff from the other room.”
“I’ll be fine.” Nash gives Miles an odd sideways glance. “Are you guys cops?”
“No. We’re just, uh, here for some answers.”
Miles takes most of Nash’s weight on his shoulder and helps the man all the way to Kimmy’s room. Once inside, Miles sets him down and gets the remote for Kimmy, almost like he’s caring for his two siblings. I wait by the door, ready to leave, but I don’t hurry Miles. He can do whatever he damn well pleases.
“You sure you two don’t need anything?” Miles asks.
Both Kimmy and Nash regard him with puzzled expressions and shake their heads. “No,” Kimmy says. “We’ll manage. I’ll take care of Nash from here.”
“Well, be safer in the future.” Miles rubs at his neck before pulling out his wallet. He hands over a stack of cash—I suspect all five hundred he had on his person—before turning away, leaving the two to their movie.
I walk by his side down the hall and toward the stairs. “What was that?” I ask in a low voice. “You think they’ll be useful to us in the future?”
“No,” Miles intones. “I just…. Well, it got me thinking.”
“What about?”
“I tried to be a prostitute once,” he says with a chuckle.
We hit the stairs, and I give him half a smile. “Are you sayin’ you’ve been with other guys than me?”
“No. No, that’s not it. I tried to be a
