Read Online Lemons 03 Stroke of Genius by Grant Fieldgrove - Free Book Online
Authors: Grant Fieldgrove
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her all over the hotel until she makes her way to her room. That’s the last we ever see of her. It’s like she vanished into thin air.”
“Interesting. What day was this?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake.
“Last Tuesday.”
10.
“Welp, let’s make like a baby and head out, Elise,” I said. “Thank you for your time with this matter, Mr. Adams. I’m sorry that you don’t think there is something a little odd about finding a dead body on the same day as an apparent rape, but I guess that’s why I’m the investigator and you’re the security. Thanks for the room key.” I reached into my pants and grabbed my wallet and removed one of my cards. I handed it to Mr. Adams and said, “Here’s my card, my good man. You call me if you need any help solving this case.” I grabbed Elise’s arm and we busted out the door back into the lobby. My adrenaline was pumping.
“Well, that was interesting,” Elise said to me as we snaked our way through the crowds of people pissing their money away. Normally this many people gathered around me, bumping into me, would drive me insane, making me breath heavily and my vision become tunneled, my legs unsteady, but today I barreled through them with hardly any hesitance. I was on a mission and none of these pathetic, drunken losers with their dreams of hitting it big could stop me.
“It certainly was,” I said. “Come on, let’s get some lunch and talk this one over.”
“Great. I am starving. Need bacon! And French toast.”
“Hey Calvin Coolidge, you were asleep for twelve hours! Breakfast is over.”
“No way, Vegas has tons of buffets that serve all foods at all hours of the days.”
I stopped in my tracks, amidst the gray haze of cigarette smoke and the dank, dour air of booze ridden sweat and broken dreams, to look at my partner, my friend, my love, the mother of my two favorite people on the planet. I looked her straight in the eye, with utter disbelieve, shock, repulsion and mild anger. Of all the things I have gone through in my entire life, of all the ups and all the downs, of all the pain I have been through, the heartache, the tears, none of that compared to the horror of this. I looked at Elise, right into her glossed over, empty stare of last night’s drunken stupor. Time seemed to stop around me. The room seemed quiet and still.
“I’m sorry. Did you just suggest we eat at a…buffet?”
“What? No.”
“You did! You did suggest it! I heard with my own two ears! Do you know what goes on at buffets, Elise? Do you?”
“Um, you can eat until you’re full for fairly cheap?”
“No! That’s not what goes on. I’ll tell ya what goes on! It’s about one step above a potluck! People make this FOOD,” (I actually did air quotes around FOOD. I’m not proud but I had to make my point, here!), “then they set it out in large trays. Then do you know what happens? Do you know, Elise?”
“Um, people eat it?”
“PEOPLE EAT IT! They line up for it like horses at a trough. They breathe on it, they stick their disgusting, unwashed, money-dirtied meat hooks in MY food and shovel pounds of that shit on to their plate, then stick the disgusting used spoon back into the slop for the next mouth-breathing, slack-jawed yokel to have his go at it. And this goes on, all day long at the good old buffet. Sure, it’s only ten bucks for all you can eat, but is it worth it? I THINK NOT!”
“God, you’re such a pussy. We’ll go to a restaurant then.” (The mouth on this woman, nowadays, I swear to god! I tried to clean up my language since the kids have become human sponges, but hers has gotten worse. I first realized there was a problem with the kids when we got a call from the principle a few months ago saying that my little, sweet, adorable Eric kept saying “down with whitey.” Then he called his teacher an ass burglar…He then went on to explain to her exactly what an ass burglar was: he who burgles ass!”
“Interesting. What day was this?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake.
“Last Tuesday.”
10.
“Welp, let’s make like a baby and head out, Elise,” I said. “Thank you for your time with this matter, Mr. Adams. I’m sorry that you don’t think there is something a little odd about finding a dead body on the same day as an apparent rape, but I guess that’s why I’m the investigator and you’re the security. Thanks for the room key.” I reached into my pants and grabbed my wallet and removed one of my cards. I handed it to Mr. Adams and said, “Here’s my card, my good man. You call me if you need any help solving this case.” I grabbed Elise’s arm and we busted out the door back into the lobby. My adrenaline was pumping.
“Well, that was interesting,” Elise said to me as we snaked our way through the crowds of people pissing their money away. Normally this many people gathered around me, bumping into me, would drive me insane, making me breath heavily and my vision become tunneled, my legs unsteady, but today I barreled through them with hardly any hesitance. I was on a mission and none of these pathetic, drunken losers with their dreams of hitting it big could stop me.
“It certainly was,” I said. “Come on, let’s get some lunch and talk this one over.”
“Great. I am starving. Need bacon! And French toast.”
“Hey Calvin Coolidge, you were asleep for twelve hours! Breakfast is over.”
“No way, Vegas has tons of buffets that serve all foods at all hours of the days.”
I stopped in my tracks, amidst the gray haze of cigarette smoke and the dank, dour air of booze ridden sweat and broken dreams, to look at my partner, my friend, my love, the mother of my two favorite people on the planet. I looked her straight in the eye, with utter disbelieve, shock, repulsion and mild anger. Of all the things I have gone through in my entire life, of all the ups and all the downs, of all the pain I have been through, the heartache, the tears, none of that compared to the horror of this. I looked at Elise, right into her glossed over, empty stare of last night’s drunken stupor. Time seemed to stop around me. The room seemed quiet and still.
“I’m sorry. Did you just suggest we eat at a…buffet?”
“What? No.”
“You did! You did suggest it! I heard with my own two ears! Do you know what goes on at buffets, Elise? Do you?”
“Um, you can eat until you’re full for fairly cheap?”
“No! That’s not what goes on. I’ll tell ya what goes on! It’s about one step above a potluck! People make this FOOD,” (I actually did air quotes around FOOD. I’m not proud but I had to make my point, here!), “then they set it out in large trays. Then do you know what happens? Do you know, Elise?”
“Um, people eat it?”
“PEOPLE EAT IT! They line up for it like horses at a trough. They breathe on it, they stick their disgusting, unwashed, money-dirtied meat hooks in MY food and shovel pounds of that shit on to their plate, then stick the disgusting used spoon back into the slop for the next mouth-breathing, slack-jawed yokel to have his go at it. And this goes on, all day long at the good old buffet. Sure, it’s only ten bucks for all you can eat, but is it worth it? I THINK NOT!”
“God, you’re such a pussy. We’ll go to a restaurant then.” (The mouth on this woman, nowadays, I swear to god! I tried to clean up my language since the kids have become human sponges, but hers has gotten worse. I first realized there was a problem with the kids when we got a call from the principle a few months ago saying that my little, sweet, adorable Eric kept saying “down with whitey.” Then he called his teacher an ass burglar…He then went on to explain to her exactly what an ass burglar was: he who burgles ass!”
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