Page 18 of Cruel Dreams

I do what she says and shut up.

The Black Cat Motel is pay-by-the-hour and located on the outskirts of the city. That’s a nice way of saying it’s in the slums. It’s not far from Fischer Boulevard, and the hookers who demand a higher price can afford the hourly fee instead of giving blowjobs in the backseats of cars or using the gas station’s public restroom across the street.

The lobby reeks of the sweet scent of pot. At least, that’s what I think it is. A dirty plastic plant sits next to the check-in desk.

A prostitute and a businessman pass us on their way out the door. She’s clutching a room key, and he keeps patting her ass telling her to hurry. He shoots Nathalie a look out of the corners of his eyes, but even if he did well, I doubt he could afford her while she was on Ash’s payroll.

Huxley pays Ash’s prices. I wonder where he says his money goes.

“He wants two this time, huh?” the front desk woman asks, curling her upper lip as she studies Nathalie. “You dye your hair?”

“Wig. He wants to play,” Nathalie says, rolling her eyes like they’re sharing a joke.

“Blech.” She hands over a key attached to a piece of maroon plastic, the number in gold rubbed off leaving only the outline behind. “I wish you’d kill that fat fuck in his sleep. We’d all be a lot better off.”

Nathalie winks and jiggles the key. “We got something else planned. Keep an eye on the news.”

The woman grins. “I’ll send him your way.”

“Thanks, but no need. I’ll text him. Have a good night.”

“You too. Be careful.”

I follow Nathalie down the cracked sidewalk, weeds poking through the gashes in the cement. The sun set hours ago, but it’s still sticky and warm and the crickets chirping add to the eerie atmosphere surrounding the derelict building. Old, rusted cars are parked in front of some of the rooms. A TV glow lights up one window, and screaming—not the good kind—from another room echoes across the parking lot.

I don’t see Douglas, but he’s patched into the camera’s audio feed and he’ll hear if things go south.

Nathalie unlocks a door and flicks on an old lamp, the cream shade stained and dusty. The room smells like pee and stale cigarette smoke, and I wrinkle my nose. The carpet is a crusty burnt orange and the dark brown paneling on the wall leeches what little light there is. A dingy floral dark green, orange, and brown bedspread covers a king bed and matches heavy drapes hanging in front of a large window that looks out to the back of the U-shaped building.

“Why does he want to meet you here?” I ask, grossed out. I don’t dare to touch anything.

“He likes to feel sleazy,” she says, placing her bag on top of a cheap dresser. She pulls out a burner phone I didn’t know she had and quickly sends a text. She shoves it back into her purse without waiting for a response.

“I don’t think he has to try that hard,” I say, and she laughs.

“You better find a place to hide. He’ll be here in five.”

“Right.”

The only placetohide is a tiny closet across from the bathroom near the door we just came in. It’s filled with bent wirehangers, an ironing board, its padding ripped, and an iron older than I am. I can’t picture anyone staying here needing to iron anything. Maybe killing someone, its solid weight turning it into the perfect weapon.

I wish the photos Zane had a chance to take of Nathalie and Huxley would have worked, but he doesn’t want her implicated. I don’t want her to sacrifice her safety either, but whenever we talk about what we’re going to do once all this goes down, she pouts and runs off in a temper tantrum. Sometimes I think she likes this life and that she’s actually proud men will pay thousands of dollars to have sex with her.

Someone knocks on the door and I quickly dart into the closet. Through the crack, I watch Nathalie let Huxley inside. He speaks, and his voice is just as sleazy as the room. My skin crawls.

“God, you look fabulous.”

“You say that to all the girls.” She’s amused and a little sarcastic.

“There’s only been you.” He sounds sincere, the lying piece of shit.

They walk past the closet without giving it a second glance. Praying the hinges don’t squeak, I nudge the door open a little more and twist ever so slightly allowing everyone to hear their voices more clearly. The device is equipped with one-way communication only, and no one can tell me anything. All Zane would say is to be careful, and I don’t need the reminder.

“What are you going to do without me?” Nathalie asks. They were quiet for a second. Maybe they were kissing.

“I’m still hoping I can convince you to give me some sugar every once in a while.”

“Hux, I took a chance meeting you tonight. Zane’s fucking chauffeur wants to drive me everywhere. I asked him to drop me at a club downtown then I had to run out the back and grab a taxiwithout him seeing me. Do you know what a pain in the ass that was? If he finds out, he’ll tell Zane I gave him the slip and then what am I supposed to do?”

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