Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“He’s this way,” she says heading over to the nearest stairs.
“Been here before?”
“No, but I can read the signs.” She points at a directory next to the steps.
I laugh softly. “You know, Webb, if you didn’t look so goddamn good riding my cock, I might begin to think it was a mistake.”
She grimaces, but says nothing.
We reach the second floor, walk around the balcony, and reach room 110. It’s quiet inside and when I knock, nobody answers. She peeks at the windows, trying to see in past the blinds, but they’re closed tight.
“Should we come back?” she asks, looking around awkwardly.
I hold up the key. “We were given this for a reason.”
“Last time we barged in somewhere Cowan sent us, some old lady nearly shotgunned us to death.”
“We’ll announce ourselves this time.” I bang on the door harder. “Hey! Rodrick! Tony Cowan sent us, we’re coming in. Please don’t shoot me in the face.” I swipe the card, turn and handle, and push Blair gently out of the way as I open it up.
I fully expect to get blasted in the chest but nothing happens.
“That’s a good start,” Blair says quietly and I’m almost touched by the relief in her voice, like she cares whether I get murdered in cold blood.
I step forward into the hotel room. The stench hits me in the face and I cover my mouth. It’s not overpowering, but it’s a noticeably stale, ugly smell, like body odor and old fast food. The lights are off and the place is dark, and it takes me a second to find a switch.
It’s covered in trash. Cigarettes float in water glasses, empty bags from McDonald’s cover the bureaus and the floor, and beer bottles are scattered all over. For a second, I think it’s empty, until I spot the body lying in bed.
He’s not moving. The sheets are wrapped around his skinny frame and he’s slumped to the side, his eyes closed.
“Oh, shit,” Blair says, grabbing my wrist. “Is he dead?”
“Stay here.” I step inside gingerly and Blair doesn’t listen. She follows, staying close at least. “Look.” I point at the nightstand where a used needle sits next to a long rubber tube, the sort of gear a junkie keeps nearby at all times.
The body in the bed is definitely alive. He’s breathing, though shallow, and he looks completely zonked out. He’s wearing shorts and a tank top, his arm studded with track marks and tattoos. His eyes are sunken, his cheeks a mess of stubble, and I can almost see a handsome man beneath the strung-out wreck of a human he’s become.
I stand there staring at him and curse.
“Cowan,” I say through my teeth. “This has got to be a fucking joke.”
“This is probably why he sent us,” Blair says, getting closer. I feel her body more acutely than I should and thoughts of the night before drift through my mind. “He’s too high to get himself to the hotel.”
“What are we supposed to do with an addict for a lead?”
“Cowan did say he wanted to make this as realistic as possible.”
“Still.” I reach down and nudge the guy. “Hey, you. Wake up.”
Nothing. No movement.
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s breathing.” I shake him harder. “Asshole. Wake up.”
The guy grumbles something and rolls onto his back. I shake him again, slap him a bit, and finally he starts to come to, groaning. He blinks at the light, wincing away from it, and slowly focuses on me.
“Let me guess,” he says and his voice is surprisingly strong and melodic. It’s low and laced with tones, the sort of voice made to read books or to run a radio station. It’s strange, coming out of a sunken face like that. “Cowan sent you.”
“That’s right,” I say. “We’re the producers.”
“About time. Hand me my kit, please. I’d like to top myself off before we leave.”
“Absolutely not,” Blair says, horrified, but I move toward the nightstand. “Baptist!”
I hesitate, looking between them. Rodrick seems still somewhat high, but like he’s already coming down, and Blair has her hands over her mouth like she can’t believe I’d consider giving the guy drugs. But she doesn’t like what happens when a person goes through withdrawal.
I’ve seen it before. The shaking, the sweating, the vomiting and crying. It’s a nightmare and a hell, and junkies will do absolutely anything to avoid going through that mess. Which means it doesn’t matter if I give him the kit now or he freaks out and steals it later—he’s getting high.
“We can’t mess around right now. One more dose then we’ll get him straight.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not getting straight,” Rodrick says and chuckles to himself.
I ignore him and hand over the kit. He takes it and prepares his next shot with surprising dexterity for a guy that looks like he’s on the verge of starving to death. Blair stares in disgust before storming out.