The Last Innocent Man

“I want you to register for the room,” the trick was saying. “I’ll pull around and park.”

“I don’t…”

“There’s nothing to it,” he said, smiling and handing her a roll of bills.

Darlene took the money and slid out of the front seat. The trick drove toward the rear parking lot, away from the motel office. An old man in a plaid shirt was squinting at a used paperback through a pair of thick-lensed, wire-rim glasses. He looked up when Darlene entered.

“I’d like a room,” she said.

The old man slid a registration card across the desk without comment. She took a pen from a plastic holder on the desk and filled in the squares for name and address using her own name and the address of the North Precinct. It would be good evidence when the case came to court.

“Thirty-five bucks in advance,” the clerk said. He was looking at her breasts without the slightest attempt at concealment.

“How come you didn’t ask me how long I’m staying?” Darlene said as she laid down the money. The old man cocked an eyebrow at her, shook his head slowly, and took the money without answering.

“Second floor on the street side,” he said, handing her the key. The old man was reading again by the time the office door swung closed.

The office was separate from the motel rooms. Darlene crossed the parking lot and walked up the stairs past an ice machine. Her heels clanged on each metal stair and stopped when she reached the concrete landing that ran the length of the second floor on the outside of the building. Her trick was nowhere in sight. She paused outside the door of the motel room and looked down the length of the landing. She thought she saw someone standing in the shadows at the other end, but she wasn’t sure. She was starting to feel nervous again. This guy could be a freak. She decided to keep her hand on her gun. She could do it by simply putting her hand in her purse. She’d have to keep some distance between them.

She opened the door and flipped on the light. The combined odor of cleaning fluids and stale air assailed her. Where was the air-conditioning unit? Motel rooms always depressed her. They were so sterile and so impersonal. She often thought that hell must be a series of motel rooms where people sat, alone and unconnected.

There was a queen-size bed covered by a faded yellow bedspread. Two pillows were tucked under the spread and two cheap, natural-wood-colored end tables with matching lamps flanked the bed. A dresser with a large mirror faced the bed. A color TV perched on one corner of the dresser; a phone, with instructions for dialing out-of-town and local calls, sat on the other. Two sagging Scandinavian chairs were the only other furniture. Darlene sat in the one facing the door and put her hand in her purse. The door opened.

“Hi, Darlene,” the trick said. He was of average height, maybe a little under six feet. His slacks were light brown. The flowered shirt looked expensive. So did his polished shoes. She noticed that he locked the door when he closed it, and she tightened her grip on the revolver.

“Why did you do that?” Darlene asked nervously. The trick grinned.

“I thought we could use a little privacy,” he said. He had been moving toward her, but he stopped when he reached the bed.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off?” he asked quietly. “I want to see those breasts we were talking about.”

Darlene decided everything had gone too far. She had made a mistake and she wanted to get out. Maybe the guy was a freak. Maybe he just wanted her to get nude, then he’d beat off. There’d be no violation of law. Just some sick bastard whose wife didn’t satisfy him. She’d be a laughing-stock. She felt ill. Why hadn’t she followed instructions?

“Look,” she said, “this isn’t a peep show. If you want to have sex, say so, or I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go, Darlene,” he said, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

His voice was husky now. She could almost feel his sexual desire. He was moving again. Almost to her. Darlene made her decision. She was going to end this right now. She would say he propositioned her. She had to. She’d make up a story. The trick would cop a plea anyway. He’d be too embarrassed to go into court for a full-blown trial.

“Forget the money, mister,” she said, standing. “You’ll need it for a lawyer.”

The trick froze.

“What?” he said.

“You heard me. I’m a cop and you’re under arrest.”

FROM THE CORNERof the McDonald’s lot Ortiz watched Darlene climb the stairs. She walked to the door near the far end of the landing and looked around before entering one of the rooms. A few seconds later a blond man walked out of the shadows at the other end of the landing and walked quickly to the door. It was too far to get a good look, but the man was slim and athletic looking. He could see the flowered shirt and tan slacks pretty clearly.