Hot Sheets (22 page)

Switching the
video recorder on, his cock twitching, desperate for a hot wet
mouth, Mike cursed as the phone rang. "Every time I want to watch
the bloody sex show some bastard interrupts me," he growled as
Belinda emerged from the bar. "Good afternoon, Stokepot Towers," he
answered irritably as his ex-wife leaned on the desk, trying to
peer at the monitor.

"Mr Hunt, this
is Gill from weights and measures."

"Oh, the right
little bastard! What do you want, apart from a good going
over?"

"I've just had
the lab report back. It's really good news! I'm delighted to inform
you that there was only eighteen per cent alcohol in the whisky
sample."

"Delighted?
Oh, does that mean that I'm..."

"That means
that I can now exercise my authority and become an evil fucking
bastard - and have you closed down. Bloody good, isn't it?"

"It's bloody
marvellous! Never have I had such good news!"

"It's at times
like this that I really love my job."

"Tell me, Mr
Gill, are you married?"

"Married? Good
God, no woman in her right mind would marry an evil bloody bastard
like me!"

"Shame, I was
going to blackmail you."

"You can't
blackmail me, Mr Hunt, I'm always one jump ahead."

"The next time
I see you, I'm going to..."

"I'm also
extremely pleased to inform you that you'll be receiving a court
summons in due course. Have a good day, Mr Hunt. Or, should I say,
have a bad one!"

Banging the phone down, Mike was about to get rid of his
ex-wife to focus on the obscenities going on in room sixty-nine
when he noticed a light flashing on the switchboard. Room four, he
mused, pressing a button and lifting the receiver to listen
in.
I wonder who she's phoning on her very
private line
.

"Yes,
Inspector, I'm in room four," Miss Widegroin whispered excitedly.
"This is a private line so I can talk freely about Operation
Harlot."

"Don't talk
too freely, WPC, you can't trust these wide-boy bloody hoteliers.
OK, keep your eyes and ears open. Get to know Hunt, gain his
confidence and try to discover more about this room sixty-nine
business."

"OK,
Inspector."

"This could be
a big one, WPC Widegroin, so don't blow your cover. If it's true,
and he is running a brothel, try and get in as one of his girls.
And remember, at the first sign of trouble, press your alarm button
and we'll be there like a shot."

"Yes, sir.
I'll keep you posted."

"Don't use the
post, it'll take too long - ring me."

"That's a big
ten-four, sir."

"Well done,
you're doing a good job. This could put you in line for promotion,
WPC."

Replacing the
receiver, his heart racing, his face pale, Mike looked up at
Belinda. Smirking as if she knew what was going on, she swung round
on her heels and flounced across the foyer to the stairs. "Bloody
hell," Mike gasped, holding his hand to his mouth. "They're fucking
well onto me!" At least he was in the know, he consoled himself,
wondering whether or not to shag WPC bloody Widegroin.

The evening
approaching, Mike checked the dining room. There were four tables
laid - one each for the two Smiths, one for someone calling himself
Jones, and another for a client who'd refused to give his name.
Trudie and Goldie were preparing themselves in their rooms and
Cecilia was manning reception in her scanty slag-bag outfit.

Sitting in the bar knocking back vodka, Nancy was eagerly
awaiting her instructions. Mike was holding her back, keeping her
under wraps until he'd scrutinized the clientele and decided which
one was classy enough to get his cock in her delectable cunt. WPC
Widegroin hadn't emerged from her room all day, and he suspected
that she was going to make her move during the evening - start
sniffing around and asking awkward questions. At least he knew what
her game was, he reflected, downing another large vodka.
Forewarned is forearmed
.
But he had to be careful, on constant guard.

Fortunately
Paul and a couple of roughneck, expletive-spouting builders had
worked like Trojans all day and done a damned good job ripping the
staircase out and patching up the ceiling. There was still a
considerable amount of making-good to be done on the third floor
landing where the stairs had been, not least, laying carpet over
the bare boards. And the lift still travelled up to the fourth
floor at the press of a button, which worried him. His only option
was to switch the lift off and stick an out-of-order notice on the
doors, only switching the power on for the clients to get to the
top floor.

Behind the
reception desk, Mike winked at Cecilia as he checked the monitor.
"I think we're just about ready," he said excitedly, making a
mental note to fuck the woman at his earliest opportunity, or her
earliest inconvenience, whichever was the sooner.

"Well, I'm
ready!" she grinned, lifting her short skirt and displaying her
shaved pussy lips to his appreciative gaze.

"God, you've
got a beautiful cunt!" Mike praised her unashamedly, focusing on
her distended inner lips, her firm, substantial outer sex hillocks.
"Would you go and ask Paul to fill my glass up with vodka and ice,
please? Oh, and tell him to give you whatever you want, on the
house. In the way of a drink, that is."

Alcoholic
bastard though he was, Paul was proving to be an indispensable
asset. The staircase, cameras, sex rooms - the young barman had
done him proud, Mike reflected. Flicking the camera switch,
bringing the three sex rooms on the fourth floor up on screen, the
scene was set for a night of fruitful lust. The only two problems
he had were the snooping sow and boring Belinda.

Talk of the Devil
. "Ah, Belinda," he
smiled as she came down the stairs and crossed the foyer. "I trust
you enjoyed your evening meal?"
Shame it
didn't kill you
.

"I must admit
that it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, but I'd rather have eaten at
six or seven, instead of five o'clock."

"Ah, that's
because we have a private function on this evening. Normally,
dinner is served between six and eight. Are you going out?"

"Yes, I'm
going to have a look around town," she replied peevishly, trying to
peer at the monitor. "Shall we have a drink and a chat when I get
back?"

I can't think of anything I'd hate more
. "Yes, yes of course," Mike smiled, wishing he'd told her he
was fully booked when she'd phoned. "Don't hurry back."

Hovering in
the foyer as his ex-wife left, Mike was beginning to feel nervy.
Praying that Dave wouldn't fuck-up, that the meals would be up to
standard, he checked his watch - five-thirty. There was plenty of
time yet, he pondered, wondering why he was becoming panicky.

"Ah, Mr Hunt,"
Inspector Dickwipe grinned as he appeared through the swing doors.
"Mrs Gloom rang us - apparently her husband hasn't
materialized."

"Oh, er,
hasn't he?" Mike smiled sheepishly. "He's probably still taking a
walk."

"He went out
for a walk yesterday morning, Mr Hunt - I very much doubt that he's
still walking."

"He might be
training for the marathon."

"Were it not
for the fact that the marathon's finished, I might have seriously
considered your suggestion. There's something afoot, I can sense
it. I have a feeling about this whole business - call it
intuition."

"Intuition."

"What?"

"You said call
it intuition, so I did."

"Yes, very
droll."

"By the way,
why was the identity parade called off?" Mike asked.

"There have
been new developments concerning Operation Flasher. Er... there's
no need to concern yourself with that. When did you last see Mr
Gloom?"

When he was wanking in the bath with a pair of silk panties
tied round his cock
. "Yesterday morning,
just before he went out."

"Was he acting
in a suspicious manner?"

"No, not at
all. Should he have been?"

"You tell me,
Mr Hunt - you tell me. By the way, there's been a spate of thieving
recently. Several video cameras have been stolen from the local
supermarket by a thief."

"By a thief?
Good God, is there no honour left?"

"There's also
been a mindless act of vandalism committed at the Salt Spray hotel
by a mindless vandal. The control panel in the lift has been ripped
out and several ashtrays and glasses have been stolen."

"Well, thank
you for letting me know. I'll have to keep my eyes open for
thieving thieves and mindless vandals."

"The strange
thing is that a member of your staff was seen lurking in the Salt
Spray Hotel. Also, the very same member of your staff was seen
acting in a most suspicious manner in the supermarket."

"Really?"

"Yes, really.
What with Harold Gloom's disappearance and the other mysterious
incidents, I'm putting two and two together."

"And coming up
with five?"

"Four-and-a-half, Mr Hunt."

"Do you
suspect Mr Gloom?"

"I don't
suspect anyone - yet. There's another thing which intrigues
me."

"Life
intrigues me!"

"It would.
We've received a complaint from an elderly lady. Apparently, a man
fitting your description was offensive and abusive in the extreme
when she was here looking for a friend."

"Fitting my
description? I haven't been abusive to anyone! Well, not really
abusive."

"Not really
abusive?"

"Well, I have
been known to shout and swear at my staff, but only when I've been
driven to it by despair, exasperation."

"You never
swear at guests or visitors?"

"Never,
guide's honour!"

"Guides...
we've also heard from Miss Knickerlace again. She's now claiming
that one of her girls, who stayed in this very hotel, was accosted
by another man fitting your description."

"There are two
men fitting my description?"

"More than
two, by my reckoning."

"Good God! So,
you're saying that a girl was taken advantage of in this very
hotel?"

"Yes, this
very hotel. It would appear that your hotel is the hub of the
complaints and allegations."

"Well, I
really don't know what to say, Inspector. Apart from categorically
stating my complete and utter innocence. Girls sexually abused in
my fine hotel? I really can't believe it!"

"What are you
trying to do, Mr Hunt?"

"What am I
trying to do? I'm simply trying to survive in an impossible
situation."

"There's more
going on here than meets the eye, far more. I have some detecting
to do, I'll be in touch - goodbye."

"Goodbye,
Inspector - and mind how you go."

What with
Dickwipe sniffing around and WPC Widegroin installed in the hotel,
the net was closing in, Mike thought gloomily. The new business
venture was barely off the ground and news was already spreading
like fanny juice poring down a prostitute's inner thighs! How the
hell Knickerlace had learned of the girl's so-called sexual abuse
he had no idea. But that was the least of his problems. The
important thing was to ensure that the evening ran smoothly - and
what better way to begin than by locking WPC Widegroin in her
room?

"Ah, Cecilia,
there you are," Mike smiled as the enigmatic Mrs Mop emerged from
the bar with the drinks. "I'm going upstairs to imprison a bitch.
If the guests arrive, show them into the dining room. The girls
will be down soon, they can take it from there."

"OK, Mike,"
Cecilia sang, sipping her drink. "I've just met Nancy, she seems
quite excited."

"So am I! This
evening's going to go very well, I can feel it in my juices. Right,
I'll see you in a minute."

Creeping upstairs, Mike realized that he couldn't lock WPC
Widegroin's door from the outside. "Shit!" he cursed under his
breath as the undercover beauty emerged from her room dressed in a
very short skirt and loose fitting blouse. "Oh, good
evening!"
No bra!

"Good
evening," she smiled. "I'm going down to the bar for a while."

"Oh, right. Is
everything to your satisfaction?" Mike asked, eyeing her long
nipples, blatantly displayed as her blouse fell open.

"Yes, fine,
thank you. Er... I'm into buildingology and I was wondering..."

"Buildingology?"

"Yes, I'm very
interested in old buildings. Do you mind if I take a wander around
the hotel later?"

"Be my guest,
Miss Widegroin. You've seen the ground floor so take a look around
the first, second and third floors if you wish."

"Thank you, I
will. Victorian?"

"Who is?"

"The building,
is it Victorian?"

"Oh, yes,
yes."

"There should
be four floors, then. A Victorian building of this style should
have at least..."

"Edwardian, my
mistake."

"Oh, right.
Well, I'll take a look round later."

Things were
hotting up! Mike mused, watching the woman descend the stairs. But
she'd never discover the fourth floor - would she? "Shit, the
lift!" he murmured, dashing down to reception. "Cecilia, has anyone
arrived yet?"

"Yes, Mr Smith
and Mr Jones, they're in the dining room."

"Good! Have
they paid?"

"Yes, two
hundred each. The money's on the shelf beneath the desk."

"Excellent!
Christ, we've taken four hundred smackers in a few minutes!" he
chuckled excitedly, grabbing the wads of notes and stuffing them
into his jacket pocket.

"Mike, I
really need to come, d' you mind if I nip into the cupboard
and..."

"Good God,
no!"

"But I'm
oozing, it's running down my legs!"