Hot Sheets (39 page)

"OK, I'll stay
here and have some fun," the nympho smiled, kneeling behind Belinda
and parting the woman's buttocks, exposing her sperm-drenched anal
ring. "I'll see you later."

"Give her arse
a good finger-fuck while I'm gone!" he laughed, leaving the room
and making his way down the hall to the lift.

Entering the foyer, the doorbell ringing incessantly, Mike
wondered where Goldie had got to. Probably frigging herself off in
her bed, he mused, opening the main doors. "May I help you?" he
asked the pretty blonde standing on the step.
May I fuck you?

"Yes, I've
come to see Belinda," the young woman replied, her sky-blue eyes
looking past Mike into the foyer.

"Belinda? She
left some time ago, I'm afraid."

"I didn't see
her," she frowned, leaning to one side in an effort to look into
the building. "I've been sitting in my car outside, and no one's
left the hotel."

"She left by
the back door."

"Oh, well...
haven't I seen you in the local paper?"

"Yes, I was on
trial for murder."

"Murder?"

"I bumped my
ex-wife off."

"Your... er,
may I come in?"

"Yes, of
course."

Opening the
doors wider, Mike eyed the girl's shapely legs as she walked into
the foyer. She was ripe for a fucking! he thought, guessing her to
be in her late teens. Tight, wet, hot... definitely ripe for a
damned good double screwing!

"This isn't a
hotel," Mike said, closing the doors. "I don't have any rooms, if
that's what you want."

"No, I..."

"As I said,
Belinda's gone so..."

"I just wanted
to... are you sure Belinda left?"

"Well, unless
it was an apparition, I saw her leave about ten minutes ago."

"But, she
couldn't have left."

"It must have
been an apparition, then. A ghost, even."

"What?"

"If you think
she's still here, you're welcome to have a look round. Mind you,
it'll take you some time to search every room. Why do you think
she's here? What's all this about?"

"She told me
to wait for her. I can't think why she'd leave by the back door
when she knew I was..."

"What has she
told you about this place, about me?"

"Well, nothing
really."

"Nothing?"

"She said that
you'd... well, that you'd done things to her."

"What sort of
things?"

"Bad
things."

"Would you
like me to do bad things to you?"

"No, of course
not!"

"You're an
attractive little tart. I wouldn't mind getting my tongue up your
juicy cunt!" Mike laughed, squeezing her firm breasts through her
tight blouse.

"Get off me!"
the girl cried, dashing across the foyer and opening the doors.
"Belinda was right about you! I'm going to come back with the
police!"

Shaking his
head as she fled the building, Mike wished that he'd been able to
control his base desires. "I suppose I shouldn't have squeezed her
tits!" he sighed as Dave emerged from the kitchen.

"Whose tits?"
the young man asked, wiping his hands on a clean tea towel.

"No one's.
How's it going?"

"We now have
eight clients booked in for tonight, I've prepared the vegetables
and I'm just about to..."

"Eight?
Christ, that's sixteen hundred pounds!"

"Things are
looking up, Mike. By the way, Paul's constructing some kind of sex
machine in his room."

"Great!
Where's that horny little tart, Goldie?"

"In the
kitchen helping me."

"And the
colonel?"

"Resting in
his room after Cecilia sucked him off. She's in the cupboard, doing
something with the vacuum cleaner."

"God, she's
insatiable! And Nancy, where's she?"

"She went out
to buy a new toaster."

"A new
toaster?"

"The old
one... well, the toast tasted of used condoms. There's still no hot
water."

"Fuck the hot
water! OK, things are all under control. Shit, there's the
doorbell! Right, I'll see you later. Remind me to take the money
for the toaster out of your earnings."

"Will do."

Opening the
door, Mike frowned as Dickwipe pushed past him into the building.
The inspector didn't look at all happy, he observed. So, what was
it this time? An alleged rape? The relentless search for WPC
Widegroin? Or had Belinda's young friend rushed to Pox Green police
station to squawk on his lewd behaviour?

"Mr Hunt,"
Dickwipe began pensively, "I'm not a happy man."

"Aren't you?"
Mike smiled, closing the doors. "Perhaps your sex life needs
spicing up."

"There's
nothing wrong with my... I'm not happy with the situation. I've
lost a WPC, I've had Miss Knickerlace making allegations against
you, Mr Gill says that he was set up twice for rape, terrorists
stormed your hotel, Harold Gloom is still missing, Miss Chaste has
done a runner..."

"You're
keeping busy, then? It's best to keep busy, don't you agree?"

"I'm too busy
for my liking, Mr Hunt. The point is that your hotel is at the
centre of a catalogue of complaints and strange events. Why did the
King of Skythuania send his men here to kill you?"

"He doesn't
like me. We fell out over an incident involving his daughter."

"Fell out?
People who fall out don't usually send armed men to..."

"The king was
very upset. It was all a silly misunderstanding. You see, his
daughter came here and..."

"Dirty weekend
breaks, Mr Hunt."

"Where?"

"Here, in your
very hotel."

"She didn't
come here for a dirty weekend break, Inspector! She's a princess,
for goodness sake!"

"For
discerning businessmen. I've seen the advert in Wankers'
Weekly."

Fuck me!
"Ah, that would explain the
strange phone calls I've been having from men who want weird sex.
The phone hasn't stopped ringing. Good God, I've been asked about
whipping, bondage, anal sex, tit caning... disgusting, that's what
it is!"

"You didn't
place the advert, then?"

"Me? Good
grief, no! They've obviously printed the wrong phone number.
There's been a mix-up, a typing error, a..."

"I have a
warrant to search your premises, Mr Hunt. Shall we begin with the
top floor?"

"Er... the
third floor, yes. What are we looking for?"

"Various
things. Will you lead the way?"

"Yes, of
course. There are many things we can look for, Inspector. There are
beds, wash basins, televisions, wardrobes... "

"After you, Mr
Hunt."

Showing
Dickwipe into the lift, Mike prayed that the man wouldn't realize
that there was a fourth floor. This would determine whether or not
Wendy had told him about the sex rooms, he mused, pressing the
third-floor button. If Dickwipe searched the hotel and found
nothing, he might get off his back - at long last!

Leaving the
lift, Mike led the inspector into each room, showing him the beds,
the dressing tables, the facilities, as if innocently conducting a
guided tour. If things went his way and Dickwipe got off his case
he'd turn all the rooms into sex dens, catering for as many as
forty clients each night, he decided. The money would be
incredible, he thought, showing the officer into the third-floor
bathroom.

"Eight
thousand pounds a night!" Mike thought aloud.

"That's a lot
of money for a room!" Dickwipe returned, lifting the toilet seat
and peering into the pan.

"Er... you'll
find nothing of interest down there."

"You never
know, Mr Hunt - you never know."

"Are you happy
with this floor?"

"Yes, let's go
down to the second floor."

"What a good
idea, Inspector. I can see that you're a man of intelligence, of
great integrity, of immense intuition, of terrific..."

"The second
floor, please."

Finally
completing his search, Dickwipe stood in the foyer rubbing his
chin. He wasn't satisfied, Mike could see that, but he hadn't
mentioned the fourth floor. Neither had he taken much interest in
Paul's room, the weird sex machine the barman was constructing.
Perhaps Dickwipe was stupid! Mike mused. Mentally subnormal,
even!

"Did you find
everything in order?" he asked.

"Everything
seems to be in order, but I'm not happy, Mr Hunt."

"Are you
emotionally upset? Perhaps you need therapy."

"I do not need
therapy."

"I'd put it
down to sexual guilt. Inner unhappiness often stems from
sexual..."

"I intend to
survey the outside of the building."

"What, the
bullet holes?"

"No, I want to
familiarize myself with the layout."

"Ah, you have
a criminal mind."

"Certainly
not! I'm a police officer!"

"No, I meant
that you think like a criminal in order to catch criminals."

"Oh, yes, I
see. Well, I'll be in touch. Good day, Mr Hunt."

"Good day,
Inspector."

Fuck and
double fuck, Mike thought as Dickwipe left. He was bound to realize
that there was a fourth floor. After all, any fool only had to
count the windows! Dashing to the desk and grabbing the ringing
phone, he flopped into his chair and pressed the receiver to his
ear.

"Hallo," he
answered, praying that it wasn't trouble.

"Mr Hunt, it's
Harold Gloom."

"Harold! Where
are you?"

"In a seedy
backstreet bar full of half-naked girls. Listen, there's been a
development."

"Did you write
to my ex-wife?"

"No, should I
have done? Shaved!"

"I know she
shaves. She began shaving when we were first married and..."

"No, I was
looking at one of the girls. This development, I've discovered the
name of a double agent."

"A double
agent?"

"Miss Chaste,
she's working for the assassin."

"Miss
Chaste?"

"She's on her
way to see you. Look, I'll meet you at the hotel and when she
arrives we'll have it out with her."

"You've got it
all wrong, Harold! Miss Chaste isn't..."

"Oh dear, I'm
being molested by a naked girl! I'll be with you in a few minutes.
What are you doing to my penis, girl? Please, you'll never get it
in there alongside that candle!"

Frowning as he
replaced the receiver, Mike watched Cecilia fall out of the under
stairs cupboard and roll across the foyer clutching the vacuum
cleaner. Gasping, the cleaner handle embedded deep within her cunt,
she was obviously in the grip of a powerful multiple orgasm. This
wasn't on! he thought, shaking his head as the doorbell
sounded.

"Cecilia!" he
snapped, making for the door. "Get up to your room, and take that
bloody vacuum cleaner with you!"

"Oh, oh! Ah,
God, that was heavenly!"

"There's
someone at the bloody door!"

"Yes, yes I'm
just going."

"Coming again,
more likely! Don't stain the bloody carpet!"

Opening the
door as Cecilia dragged the vacuum cleaner upstairs, Mike held his
hand to his head as he gazed at Miss Chaste standing on the step.
Dragging the woman inside, he decided to call Dickwipe and have her
banged up in a secure unit for senile old bags.

"Miss Chaste!"
he bellowed, slamming the door shut. "What on earth are you doing
here?"

"I rang you,"
she quavered. "I told you that I'd be here this morning."

"But you're
supposed to be in the mental home. You can't stay here; this is no
longer a hotel."

"I was sixteen
years old once, Mr Hunt."

"What?"

"Young and
beautiful."

"I suppose we
were all sixteen once. You can't miss out a year, it's not
possible."

"You wouldn't
send me away if I were sixteen now, would you?"

"Well,
I..."

"I've had a
message."

"Who
from?"

"The other
side, Mr Hunt."

"Beyond the
grave? That doesn't surprise me, seeing as you've already got one
foot in the grave!"

"No, a message
from the enemy. I was..."

"Look, go and
sit in the bar," Mike interrupted her as the doorbell rang again.
"I'll come and talk to you in a minute."

Breathing a
sigh of relief as the old woman wandered off, Mike grabbed the door
handle. Cecilia masturbating with the vacuum cleaner handle,
Dickwipe surveying the building, Miss Chaste off her rocker, and
now Harold Gloom going on about double agents! It was all too much!
Opening the door, he grabbed Harold's arm and yanked him into the
foyer.

"Harold, get
in here!" Mike bellowed. "What's all this crap about Miss
Chaste?"

"I met her on
the beach. She told me that she's working for the other side, the
enemy."

"She's gone
off her head, for Christ's sake!"

"No, she told
me that someone's out to kill me. However could she have known that
unless she's an agent?"

"What did she
say, exactly?"

"That I should
be careful because someone was going to have me done away
with."

"She's here,
in the bar. Christ, the bloody doorbell again!" Mike cursed.

"I'll go into
the bar and wait for you."

"Yes, yes all
right!"

Someone
hammering on the door as the phone rang, Mike didn't know which way
to turn. His so-called staff were bloody useless, he reflected,
deciding to answer the door. Dashing out of the kitchen, topless,
Goldie grabbed the phone and sat on the desk as Mike opened the
door.

"Ah, Inspector
Dickwipe!" he smiled. "How did the survey go?"

"I've just
seen a man resembling Harold Gloom's description enter this very
hotel, Mr Hunt!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really.
Who came in here just now?"

"Er... no
one."

"Do you mind
if I check the bar?"