bar, taking a bite. The jeep started easily despite its age and she was back on 90 heading south toward butte. She pulled into the motel just outside of the city and remembered that she paid for gas she never got.
The last week in this hotel had been painful enough but knew she had to be there for a while longer. Until she could determine what, if anything, this Grimes guy was up to. There was definitely something about him that didn’t sit right and she was determined to find out what it was. There were leads she wanted to follow up on, but with the long day and the heavy rain outside, tomorrow would prove to be her only option. Just too tired. Marie walked up the exterior stairs to her room on the second floor and walked into her hotel room. It was small but clean, and at $40 dollars a night she was able to keep the difference in the per diem from the department. There were empty pizza boxes on the floor and papers strewn about. She walked over them all and turned the shower on. As she stared into the mirror she could see the lines of age beginning to show their true depth as the rain washed away any makeup she put on this morning. Turning forty wasn’t easy and this job was all she had. Sacrifice after sacrifice for her work left her with no husband, no children, and the prospects fading as fast as her beauty. After a long, hot shower, she put a towel on and walked toward the bed. She found what was left of the Snickers bar next to her keys and devoured it. Can’t do pizza again, she thought. The bed was stiff but her eyes were heavy. Her arms stretched across the bed as the sleep began to overtake her and her hand brushed against some papers. She opened her eyes and looked to see a map she had been working on. There was a pattern forming of the complaints. The logging company was obviously moving south and she had marked all of the homes in the logging company’s presumed area of operation. She noticed one small home that she hadn’t checked yet. Better check that one tomorrow, she thought as the map dropped by her side and she faded into slumber. Her dreams were of her childhood in the rural areas outside of Paris. Her father would come home from his bakery smelling of the most amazing confections. Her mother who slaved in the kitchen had prepared the greatest meals for them and a smile went across her face as she moved deeper and deeper into sleep.
…
The attendant of the gas station watched the woman leave and thought to himself a particular set of horrible scenarios. The man made another deposit into the spittoon and left the register. He only got about one customer a day on this road, and selling gas and Slim Jims wasn’t his main profession. He walked behind the counter and opened the door to the back office and storage area. There was an old dilapidated cot with dirty sheets and pillow along the back wall of the office. All along the walls were pictures of naked women in compromising poses. There were other pictures on the wall in the darker areas of the office where the small light in the room could not reach; pictures of men, women, and families enjoying the happiest parts of their lives. Most of them looked like the stock photos from department stores that sold frames, but these were not. The rest of the room contained a large assortment of shoes and trinkets that were not his. He would never purchase any of these items, as he was not the type of man to take pleasure from the things that most would. His pleasure was in causing chaos. Disrupting the natural order of things. He didn’t even remember how he got to this place and he didn’t much care. He sat in the seat of the office and spit onto the floor. No point in pretending civility. Along the walls were books of ancient literature, Plato, Socrates. Every novel of Hemingway was also among them. The attendant was not a stupid man. He liked to think that he was above what society deemed normal, he had transcended into something more visceral; an
The last week in this hotel had been painful enough but knew she had to be there for a while longer. Until she could determine what, if anything, this Grimes guy was up to. There was definitely something about him that didn’t sit right and she was determined to find out what it was. There were leads she wanted to follow up on, but with the long day and the heavy rain outside, tomorrow would prove to be her only option. Just too tired. Marie walked up the exterior stairs to her room on the second floor and walked into her hotel room. It was small but clean, and at $40 dollars a night she was able to keep the difference in the per diem from the department. There were empty pizza boxes on the floor and papers strewn about. She walked over them all and turned the shower on. As she stared into the mirror she could see the lines of age beginning to show their true depth as the rain washed away any makeup she put on this morning. Turning forty wasn’t easy and this job was all she had. Sacrifice after sacrifice for her work left her with no husband, no children, and the prospects fading as fast as her beauty. After a long, hot shower, she put a towel on and walked toward the bed. She found what was left of the Snickers bar next to her keys and devoured it. Can’t do pizza again, she thought. The bed was stiff but her eyes were heavy. Her arms stretched across the bed as the sleep began to overtake her and her hand brushed against some papers. She opened her eyes and looked to see a map she had been working on. There was a pattern forming of the complaints. The logging company was obviously moving south and she had marked all of the homes in the logging company’s presumed area of operation. She noticed one small home that she hadn’t checked yet. Better check that one tomorrow, she thought as the map dropped by her side and she faded into slumber. Her dreams were of her childhood in the rural areas outside of Paris. Her father would come home from his bakery smelling of the most amazing confections. Her mother who slaved in the kitchen had prepared the greatest meals for them and a smile went across her face as she moved deeper and deeper into sleep.
…
The attendant of the gas station watched the woman leave and thought to himself a particular set of horrible scenarios. The man made another deposit into the spittoon and left the register. He only got about one customer a day on this road, and selling gas and Slim Jims wasn’t his main profession. He walked behind the counter and opened the door to the back office and storage area. There was an old dilapidated cot with dirty sheets and pillow along the back wall of the office. All along the walls were pictures of naked women in compromising poses. There were other pictures on the wall in the darker areas of the office where the small light in the room could not reach; pictures of men, women, and families enjoying the happiest parts of their lives. Most of them looked like the stock photos from department stores that sold frames, but these were not. The rest of the room contained a large assortment of shoes and trinkets that were not his. He would never purchase any of these items, as he was not the type of man to take pleasure from the things that most would. His pleasure was in causing chaos. Disrupting the natural order of things. He didn’t even remember how he got to this place and he didn’t much care. He sat in the seat of the office and spit onto the floor. No point in pretending civility. Along the walls were books of ancient literature, Plato, Socrates. Every novel of Hemingway was also among them. The attendant was not a stupid man. He liked to think that he was above what society deemed normal, he had transcended into something more visceral; an
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