Page 84 of Sexy as Sin
“What else do you have to do?” the big bloke asked. “Got a party to go to? Two hookers waiting in the back room with a pile of coke? You took a twenty for one call. Quit being such an asshole.”
“I could kick your ass right on out of here,” the weasel said.
“Yeah, right,” Beardie said. “I’m paid up for the week. You want my key back? Try to take it. She’s scared, man. Talk to the guy.”
“I’m going to,” the weasel said. “Back off.” At last, he said, “Hello?” into the phone, then listened for a few seconds and said, “Yeah? He better do it, then. I don’t have all night to babysit her.” He slammed the phone down, told Willow, “Hang on,” and headed into the back office, coming out again with a Styrofoam cup of pale brown liquid in one hand and a pink blanket that had definitely seen better days trailing behind him, and thrust both at Willow. “Here. You don’t get to keep the blanket.”
Driving hurt like hell. Brett didn’t care. He pulled up into a loading zone outside the hotel, got the crutches—he hadn’t trusted the cane in the wet, and his leg felt like it was about to buckle under him—and headed through rain that had turned to sleet, then into the lobby of one of the sorriest fleabag hotels he’d ever seen.
She was sitting beside a big, bearded guy, across the lobby, in a chair of the type people tossed in Dumpsters and other people fished out. Her feet were on the seat, her arms were wrapped around herself, and a pink blanket covered her lower body. Brett headed across to her as fast as the crutches would work, and she stood up like a jack-in-the-box.
“Hi,” she said, coming across to meet him. “Sorry. I got lost. Your leg’s bad.” She was making a business of folding the grubby blanket, which looked like it carried the germs of a thousand communicable diseases. The edges were brown. Her hair was soaked and messy, her curls were springing up all around her pale face, her nose was red, and she was limping. And he’d never been gladder to see anyone.
“I heard,” he said, and looked at the guy who’d come with her. Big. Tough. “Who are you?”
The guy jerked his chin up and said, “Jim Dvorak. Who areyou?She’s cold, man. She got lost. Give her a damn break.”
What the hell? Willow said, “It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Brett pulled out his wallet, extracted a twenty, held it out, and said, “Thanks for your help.” Rafe had promised money, and debts had to be paid.
“Excuseme?” Somebody else was charging over, a ratty-looking guy whom Brett hated on sight. “I don’tthinkso. Who gave her the blanket? Who gave her the coffee? She used the bathroom, too.Mybathroom, back in the office, even though I told her it was off limits, and nobody said anything about the bathroom.”
Willow said, “You only let me use it because I told you I’d take a wee on the floor if you didn’t. And your toilet’s disgusting. Don’t pay him anything, Brett.”
The guy with the beard—Jim—said, “I don’t want your damn money. I don’t take money for sitting with somebody who’s cold and scared and lost.” He told Willow, “You can do better.”
The counter guy said, “I was promised twenty bucks.Withoutthe bathroom.”
“She paid you twenty bucks,” Jim shot back.
“For thephone,”the ratty guy said.
Willow put her hands over her ears and screamed. It was so unexpected and so loud, it just about knocked Brett over. Everybody stopped talking, and Willow snatched the twenty from Brett’s hand, gave it to Rat Boy, thrust the blanket at him, and said, “There. We’re done. Clean your bathroom. You’re going to spread polio.” She yanked her wallet out of her coat pocket with trembling fingers, extracted everything in it, U.S. and Australian currency alike, and stuffed it into Jim’s hand. “This isn’t a payoff,” she told him. “It’s a thank-you. You were kind. I appreciate it. Buy yourself a beer.”
He held the money out away from his body. “I don’t drink. And I don’t panhandle.”
Willow put a hand on his arm. “Please. Take it. I was pretty shaken up. I appreciated your help, and you waiting with me.”
Brett told Rat Boy, “Go away.” He added, when the guy bristled, “Or I’ll take back the twenty.”
“Want to try?” Rat Boy said.
“Yeah,” Jim said. “We both want to try.”
Rat Boy made the prudent decision to withdraw. He muttered something under his breath as he went. Probably “Assholes.”
Since Brett was feeling like an asshole, he didn’t argue. Instead, he focused on Jim. Desert camo fatigues. Khaki jacket. Worn leather boots that had probably been issued on the same day as the rest of his gear. He said, “I owe you one. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jim still looked wary, and he still hadn’t put Willow’s money away.
“Do you need a job?” Brett asked. “If you do, I might be able to hook you up.”
Jim stared at him. “Hell, yeah, I need a job.”
“You don’t drink. Can you pass a drug test?”
Jim’s beard bristled, and he breathed in through his mouth and said, “Yeah. A hundred sixty- eight days sober. One day at a time.”
