CHAPTER ONE
Arnold Blane rubbed sleep from his eyes in the motel office and shuddered. He remembered
the night before and the sounds of destructive fighting that came from the unit he had
rented to a slim, unshaven man with bleary eyes and heavy eyebrows. The man`s dingy white
T-shirt was soiled with sweat and dirt. A skull and bones tattoo grinned evilly from his
right forearm. He signed in as John Smith. The man didn`t mention the woman, but Arnold
saw her get out of the dusty, dented Ford pickup and go into Unit One. Arnold`s eyes
fastened on the curves of her ass and tits. He shook off the vision.
A few minutes later, in his one-room living quarters behind the motel office, Arnold lay
on the bunk bed and gritted his teeth as shouting and banging erupted from the rented
unit. He couldn`t make it all out, but words such as "bastard and bitch" were
clear enough. The words didn`t worry him. It was the heavy slamming noises.
He was tempted to intervene, but the guy had mean eyes. Besides, Arnold knew all women
were sluts and deserved whatever they got. His father, before he died, often reminded
Arnold, in bitter tones, about how his mother had given in to her unholy desires and run
away with "that traveling man."
"You were only four years old. God will punish her and all the sinful women,"
his father said many times.
The largest bang of all from the room was followed by quiet. Arnold fell asleep while
waiting for the next noise to shatter the night`s silence.
When he awoke he stretched, tossed his dirty clothes in the washing machine in the
corner, put on a pair of faded jeans and a Chicago Cubs T-shirt. He prepared his last bit
of coffee on the hot plate and savored the aroma. His pleasure was spoiled when he
remembered the night before. He sipped at the coffee, set the remainder aside for later,
and walked through the office to the outside. The pickup was gone.
The sun cast shadows across the once busy highway that ran past the motel. A morning dove
sat on a leaning utility pole and talked to the world. The door to Unit One was partially
open. Arnold hurried to the unit and separated the front-window curtains. He turned. Two
ugly dents marred the light blue wall to the left of the door. Three days before he`d put
on two coats to cover the smoke-coated gray. Fortunately he had some of the blue paint
left. He could patch the dents and paint over them. One of the dresser drawers had been
pulled out and lay below a dent in the wall. Two empty pint whiskey bottles were on the
floor near the foot of the bed. Cigarette butts were scattered about on the carpet. The
ashtray was against the side wall to his left, beneath a smaller dent.
A groan from the bed startled him. Strands of brown hair spread from the back of a
woman`s head and partially covered her shoulders. She lay flat on her stomach. It wasn`t
the first time a woman had been left behind. Used to happen once in a while before the
interstate bypassed the motel.
Damn it, she was going to pay for the damage before he`d let her go. If she was alive. He
stood beside the bed, afraid to touch her. A bruise, dark in the middle and ugly yellow on
the sides, marked her left shoulder.
The faded blue blanket had been thrown against the wall. She was partially covered by the
sheet. The sheet rose and fell gently. She was alive. He sucked air into his lungs and
pulled the sheet down to the end of the bed and stared. She was naked. He studied the
details of her curved buttocks, the indention between them, and the hair below. He`d seen
pictures of naked women in magazines but, although he was affected by them, he never
before felt such a powerful swelling of his lungs, or the instant rush of blood to his
loins.
Her head turned. Her eyes remained closed. The skin around her left eye was as black as
coal dust. She stretched her arms away from her body and turned on her side. Her body!
There it was in full view. The breasts were full and rounded, with brown ovals topped by
nipples bigger than his. Her chest flattened a little as she rolled to her back and
stretched her arms and legs. Her legs spread, revealing the mound between them and the
short hairs there. Dim bikini lines were visible on her chest and around her crotch.
She opened her eyes, stared blankly at the ceiling, turned and stared at the ash tray on
the floor. She groaned. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. She rolled off the
bed and took two steps toward the bathroom before she spewed vomit on the carpet, the
carpet Arnold had spend an entire afternoon cleaning.
She stumbled into the bathroom. Arnold stopped breathing as he stepped around the puke.
He watched as she dry-heaved into the stool. She straightened, washed her hands and
splashed water on her face. She turned toward the doorway. Her eyes opened wide with fear.
She faced Arnold, her hands on her hips, her breasts rising and falling with every
breath.
"Who the hell are you? Where`s Snake?"
Arnold stared at her tits. Odor waved over him. It was more that just vomit. More like
rotting fish.
"So, wrinkle your nose, I don`t care. Where the hell is Snake?"
"Who`s Snake?"
"He`s the guy I came here with."
"He signed in as John Smith," Arnold said.
The woman sneered and said, "Imagine that, John Smith. Where is he?"
"He`s gone I guess."
She glared at Arnold. "What do you mean, you guess?"
"The pickup is gone."
Her left breast brushed against Arnold`s bare arm as she pushed past him and skirted the
puke. She stood near the bed and examined the room. She looked under the bed and around
it.
"The bastard took my clothes, can you believe that? He took my clothes ... and my
purse. Have you seen my purse?"
Arnold shook his head and backed away. He guessed she was about twenty years old. He had
to get a grip on himself and see to it she cleaned up the mess. It was one of the two
units he had cleaned up enough to rent.
"I spent a whole afternoon last week cleaning up that carpet. Now, damn it, you`re
gonna clean up the mess you made. Get to it before the crap soaks in any more than it
already has."
"Where is this dump?" she said.
"This dump is southwest of Chicago. That used to be an interstate highway out there
until they rerouted it. Come with me. I`ll get you a bucket and rags, then you`re going to
clean up this mess."
Arnold opened the door and stepped into damp air under a darkened sky. Clouds had raced
in from the west. Rain would be welcome. Here it was almost April and it hadn`t rained for
ten days.
"C`mon," he said.
"Where? I`m not going outside without any clothes."
Arnold grabbed her arm and pulled her through the door.
"It`s cold out here," she complained.
"Now, dammit, c`mon. You can duck back in here soon enough. Besides there`s no one
but me around to see you, and my eyes are about worn out. It`s not that cold."
"Yes, master."
"Don`t get smart. I`ll smack your ass."
"You`d like that, wouldn`t you. If I felt better I wouldn`t mind myself, sir, if you
didn`t get too rough."
Arnold stepped back. "I wouldn`t touch you."
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Arnold looked away. "Do you think he`ll come back?"
"Hell no. If he`s gone more than two blocks he couldn`t find his way back. He`s
probably in Indiana by now. Or Iowa, if he went the other way."
Arnold spread his hands. "You`re not leaving until you clean up the mess."
"What`s the name of this place. The whole place looks like shit. Worst motel I ever
seen."
"I`m fixing it up. Used to be real nice until the income stopped. Nobody travels the
old highway any more."
"So, what`s the name? Still has a name, doesn`t it?"
"Westhaven Motel, that`s the name."
She placed her bare feet carefully on the dead grass at the edge of the gravel drive as
they marched to the paint-starved office.
"What`s your name?" Arnold demanded when he handed her a bucket full of rags.
"My name? How about Eva? Yes, Eva. I like that."
"Well, Eva, you`re going to stay here for a couple of days and help me repair the
damage you and your boyfriend caused."
"That creep ain`t, never was my boyfriend."
"Get going. So he wasn`t you`re boyfriend. Whoever he was, he`s left you holding the
bag."
"Yes, sir," she said.
Arnold stayed until she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the carpet. Her round ass
and the slit between her legs burned their way into his mind as he wondered if she`d be
gone when he got back from the shed at the back of his property. It housed his garden
tools and once had been home for as many as fifteen chickens. He eventually ate them all.
He dug at the ground with a stick. It was thawed and wasn`t too wet. Soon he would be able
to till. He drained what little gas there was in the tiller, poured fresh gasoline in the
tank, checked the oil, and pulled repeatedly on the starter rope. After five pulls the
motor sputtered. After four more pulls, the motor burst into irregular noise. It coughed
and sputtered before it settled into a steady rumble. He let it run for a couple of
minutes and turned it off.
He gazed at the half acre of winter-weathered ground that made up his truck garden and
imagined it in its summer splendor. He turned and hurried back to Unit One. The bucket and
rags were there, but no Eva. Arnold raced to the office. His cash register was locked but
it wouldn`t take much to break it open. Not much in there either, but still...
He burst into the room. Eva sat behind the registration desk eating the last of his corn
flakes. An empty milk bottle sat on the table.
"May I help you?" She smiled, stood, and brushed crumbs from her breasts. He
grabbed her arm and slapped her hard on the ass. He rubbed his hand against his jeans in
the same spot where he`d wiped dirt away after he worked in the garden.
"Owee," she said. "Do that again."
"Get your ass back and clean up that room, damn it. You`re not leaving until you
do."
"How am I gonna leave? I checked. You don`t have any women`s clothing that I could
find. Suppose I could wear something of yours. But I might want to stay for awhile if you
promise to spank me when I`m bad."
"All I want is for you to clean up the room, then we`ll worry about getting you on
your way."
She slurped the remaining milk and cereal from the bowl, saluted, said, "Yes,
sir," and left. Arnold followed and closed the motel room door once she was inside.
He returned to the office and sat in the still-warm chair where her ass had caressed the
wood. It took several minutes before his erection, one of several he`d had that morning,
softened.
He spent an hour or so raking off the remains of last year`s garden as he breathed in the
fresh smell of disturbed soil. He piled the debris in a corner near the row of trees that
marked the end of his property. He leaned on the rake. He had hurried through the raking
while denying to himself that he wanted to get back to that naked young woman as soon as
possible. He put the rake away and walked around to the front of the units. He listened
for a few minutes at the door to Unit One. Not a sound from within. Had she swiped some of
his clothes and left?
His hands shook as he opened the door. Light from behind him outlined her legs. She was
on the bed on her back. The light, like a torch, focused on the inside of her firm thighs
and on the folds of her cunt. Arnold pulled his gaze away and looked at the carpet. It was
still moist but was as clean as it had been before she spilled her guts.
He stepped back, returned his gaze to her body, and was slowly closing the door when she
opened her eyes. "Hey, what do you think?"
He forced his gaze away from her crotch to the carpet and said, "You did a good job.
When it dries it`ll be as good as new."
| 
