Andrew Vachss: The Weight

From there, we drove straight through, taking turns behind the wheel. About five in the morning, we found a motel somewhere in Maryland, just a few miles off the highway. I wanted to be sharp when we hit New York.

The kid behind the counter looked all fresh-scrubbed and neat, but his eyes were the kind you see in a porno store. He told me that checkout was eleven, so if we stayed past six hours we’d be charged for another whole night. Looking at Lynda all the time, like he knew something.

“We have an excellent room, sir. You and your wife’ll be in 321.”

“I don’t want that one,” I said.

The clerk’s skin turned blotchy. “The only other vacancies are on the first floor, sir. It’s much noisier there, especially in the morning.”

“Three, two, one, that sounds like a countdown. Got to be an unlucky number.”

“I’m sure you-”

“Give us another room.”

His skin went pinto again. I covered my mouth like I was yawning, handed over my credit card. The jerkoff artist was still going on about “incidentals” as we walked away.

The room reminded me of the front-desk kid: looked all neat, but you could feel dirt no maid would ever get out.

“Sugar, come here. Did you ever see anything like this?”

She was standing in the tiny little bathroom, pointing at the toilet. The seat was down, covered with a thin film of clear plastic, stretched tight. A yellow tag said it was “Sanitized for Your Protection.”

Actually, I had seen that kind of thing before. Never thought twice about it. But with Lynda being so amazed, I kind of looked at it different.

“You’re saying you don’t believe the sign?” I asked her.

“Do you?”

“I… guess not. But it’s a good thing they put that big sticker on, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Uh, well, if you were, I don’t know, drunk or something, you might… I mean, if that sticker wasn’t there, that plastic, you might not even notice it was there.”

“You’re so cute,” Lynda said. She made a little motion with her finger. I moved my face close to hers. She kissed me. “Now get out,” she told me.

I knew she wasn’t going to be quick, so I flopped down on the bed.

Next thing I remember was Lynda, smelling like thick flowers, straddling me, pushing down on my shoulders.

Woke me out of a nasty dream. That night clerk was in a little closet, door closed behind him, watching a man and woman go at it on a TV monitor. The feed from the camera he’s got hidden in 321.

“It’s all yours,” Lynda whispered.

When I came out of the shower, Lynda was lying facedown on the bed, dead to the world. She was wearing a sweatsuit, with socks on her feet. I could see the bedspread in the corner, where she must have thrown it. One of my T-shirts was between her face and the pillow.

There was a T-shirt over my pillow, too.

We were back on I-95 by six the next night. I turned the rental in at Newark Airport. Lynda waited on a bench around the corner.

That’s the same reason we took the PATH train to Penn Station. Lynda did the best she could, but I was still loaded like a pack mule when I checked into the nearest hotel I could find.

The girl at the front desk worked real hard to convince me, doing her job even when she saw I’d walked in with all that luggage. So I told her, “Yeah, I sure could use some help getting all this into my room.”

“Suite,” she said.

I almost said something stupid until I realized what she meant.

The bellman helped me get all our stuff into the room. Suite, I mean-it was like another little apartment. No point being cheap with that credit card now.

I sat there waiting. It wasn’t long before my cell phone made a noise. I didn’t bother picking up the call, just went by the door and opened it a crack. Lynda already knew what room I was in-I had texted her the number. She came down the hall like she owned the joint.

I locked the door. Lynda was strolling around the place, checking it out. “Very nice,” she said.

“Don’t get used to it,” I told her.

I ordered for two from Room Service, letting the girl who took the order hear me ask Lynda what kind of dressing she wanted on her salad.

I let the guy who brought the food up get a good look at Lynda while he was working me for a tip, describing each dish as he pulled off the metal tops like he was doing a magic trick.

“They really give you the tips off credit cards?” I asked him, looking at the leather-covered bill he’d handed me with a little flourish.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head.

“Guys like you and me, we know how things work, right?” I told him, shifting my eyes over to where Lynda was posing in her high-class-hooker outfit. I handed him a pair of twenties.

“Yes, sir !” he said. “When you want the tray picked up, just call Room Service. I’ll make sure-”

“Uh, I’m gonna be kind of busy, pal. I’ll just leave it outside when we’re done, how’s that?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir. Why don’t I leave the serving cart right here? That way, you can just push it outside whenever you wish.”

The hotel had entrances on two different blocks. The front desk was on the fancy-street side. I just walked down the stairs to the fifth floor, rang for the elevator, and stepped off to my right. Nobody paid any attention. People who want to be noticed make sure they hang out in the front lobby; it’s all set up for that, with couches and a little bar and everything.

The subway was perfect. Like in any bad neighborhood, nobody sees nothing.

“You got the-?”

“I got it all.”

“How far away are you?”

“Too far to walk. But on the subway, maybe forty-five minutes.”

“So I’ll see you soon, Jerome?”

“That was my plan, too. Only I have to stop by the office first.”

“This place is completely-”

“Maybe for you. Not for me.”

I hoped Solly was thinking about all those security cameras in his condo that he’d told me about.

“What say I meet you at the office, then? I can make it all… suitable. We can have a drink there, talk things over?”

“I’m on my way.”

I watched the alley for almost an hour. No sign of Solly. So he’d been in his office all the time, just like I figured.

Okay.

I played blackjack on the door. When I heard the heavy clunk of the deadbolt, I stepped into the darkness.

A soft light came on. Solly, behind his desk.

“Sugar!” he said, standing up.

I came around the desk so he could give me a hug. Then I sat down across from him in the guest chair. It wasn’t a partners desk.

“So?”

I took out Albie’s little blue book. Slid it across the desk like I was dealing out a card.

Solly scooped it up while it was still moving. Took a quick look. “You never miss, Sugar,” he said. “This is perfect.”

“There’s more.”

“You mean…?”

“Show me the tape first.”

“Tape? What tape?”

“I know you’ve got me on video, coming here. Time and date stamped, all that. So I figure maybe Solly’s got his office miked, too. Like you’re always saying…”

He smiled like he was proud of me for being such a good listener.

“You didn’t get what I said about making the place suitable? Or you didn’t believe it? Eh, macht nit . Go over to the bookcase on your left. The one with the thick pillars for sides.”