In the Shadow of Angels (3 page)

The Place is the current name of a very sleazy hotel. It is actually called
The Palace,
but the light for the first
a
has been burnt out as long as the sign has been hanging. If you told anyone in Ashwood that you were going to
The Palace,
they wouldn’t know what you were talking about. Everyone called it
The Place
. They also didn’t actually refer to themselves as a hotel. The sign out front simply read,
Clean, convenient hourly room rentals
. Or it had at one time. Now, what it actually said was,
C ean conv ien h ly ro m rent ls
. It had been owned by half a dozen different people over the last decade and each one brought with it a new name. Prior to being called The Place, it was called a number of things, a few of which were
Classy Castle
,
The Paradise Club
and Devin’s personal favorite,
Flop, Drop & Roll
. Invariably, the owners would be arrested for something like drugs, prostitution, money laundering, or tax evasion and it would change hands again. It was the type of place no one would admit to going, yet it always managed to stay in business. Probably because what it did have was a cash only policy and some very lax rules about checking IDs: They didn’t. If you looked at the guest registry, you would see an endless string of John Smiths, with only an occasional celebrity or fictional character mixed in for variety.

It was the type of place where no one ever saw or heard anything and the more they actually did see and hear, the less they remembered seeing and hearing. If you happened to pass another person coming into or out of The Place, you would both stare at the ground as you passed. Later, you would both deny seeing each other there to the grave. Everyone who stayed there had something to lose and were not about to admit to being there. A woman was once stabbed there next to the (now perpetually empty) pool and died before help could arrive. Despite there being at least six other rooms occupied at the time, and no one slept at an hourly flop house, no one responded to her screams for help. Not only that, but when police arrived to question potential witnesses, only a couple of the rooms still had occupants. Not one of them saw the woman or her assailant, or heard anything unusual.

It was a two-story affair of the type that was popular in the sixties. It was built in the shape of a great ‘L’. All of the rooms had exterior doors that faced the pool. There was a black, five-foot, wrought iron fence separating the pool from the rooms and then wrapping around to separate the parking area. The only way in or out was through a little gate by the parking lot that may well have been there to keep things in, instead of out. The paint was red in color at one point, but was since painted over in a much more neutral beige. The beige was peeling back in huge chunks along the front, exposing the faded red in blotches. The overall effect was what one would imagine flesh would look like if acid was poured on it, slowly melting away to show the muscle beneath. It was hard to imagine anyone being
in the mood
in a place like this, but that was the only thing that kept them in business.

Devin saw Jez standing near the gate to the rooms as he pulled up. She waved to him, but didn’t approach. It was customary for the gentleman to secure the accommodations in this sort of place. The check in process went quickly. Devin handed the clerk $100, signed the registry as Leonardo Dicaprio and got his key. Room 213.

Devin made his way to the gate and let Jez through.

“I don’t understand why we had to meet here.” He said.

“It’s our last date. I wanted it to be special.” Jez returned, jokingly.

“I told you, Jez, I can’t see you anymore.”

Jez took a couple of quick steps to get ahead of Devin before they got to the stairs. She walked up slowly, taking exaggerated steps so that her partially exposed ass would bounce in front of him. As they walked, she stopped quickly a couple of times, forcing him to run into her. She was pulling out all the stops tonight.

“I know,” she said, “but we needed somewhere private.”

Theirs was the third door on the second floor landing. They reached it quickly, despite having to step carefully around the weatherworn and cracked concrete of the second floor walkway. Devin unlocked it and let them in. Immediately, Jez started to unzip her dress.

“Now we can play.” She said.

“Come on, Jez, I told you I can’t have sex with you anymore,” Devin said. “Can we please just talk about the pregnancy?”

“We’ll get to that.” She replied, slowly sliding off her dress and throwing it on the floor between them. “But you already brought me to The Place, it seems like your wife is going to think you
did
whether you did or not. You might as well …”

She was trying so hard. She seemed so desperate. Devin could hardly believe that he fell for her before.

“It’s not about my wife knowing, Jez. It’s about me not wanting to. I don’t want to lie to her anymore. I just want things to go back to normal.”

“Well, we won’t have sex then.” Jez said, making her way slowly to where Devin was standing, “We’ll just play a little,” she added, reaching down to his crotch.

In his mind, he told her to stop. In his mind, he protested as she started unzipping his pants. In his mind, he pushed her away as she slowly started to kneel before him. In reality, that first touch to his crotch shut off the part of his brain capable of launching a protest. By the time he knew what was happening, or so he told himself, she was using her mouth like she practiced with the cherry at the bar. Devin thought,
well shit. She’s already sucking me off, I might as well let her finish. I don’t think Beth would give me partial credit.

Finish she did. A messy explosion that got all over her and soiled the dress which she left on the floor between them.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” She said, as she grabbed her dress and went to the bathroom to wipe herself off.

Back in the moment, Devin instantly regretted not stopping her. Although he could scarcely remember how it happened in the first place.

“Can we talk about the pregnancy now?” Devin questioned.

Jez appeared at the bathroom door a moment later. “That? Oh, just give me five-hundred dollars for the abortion and we’ll call it even.”

“But why did we have to come here and…”

Jez cut him off. “Why do any of us do anything?” She asked. “I just wanted to play one last time.”

“God damn it, Jez! This is my life you’re fucking with here.”

“Easy. I’m not going to tell anyone. I mean it. Just give me the money and you’ll never see me again.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Jez laughed. “Well if you really want to write down that you gave me five-hundred bucks, fucked me, then made me promise not to tell, I’ll sure sign it for you!”

That was just like Jez, always making sure she came away with something to hold over you.

“Seriously, Jez, we had a good time, but I just need it to be over. If you need any more legal advice, just call me. But this,” Devin motioned to the room, “this has to stop. I have to stop seeing you.”

“I know, honey,” she replied, as patronizingly as possible, “I wasn’t fucking around. I just need the cash and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Alright, then,” Devin said, now going through his wallet, “I’ve got about six-hundred in my wallet. It’s yours.”

Jez emerged from the bathroom. Her face was cleaned up and her dress was back in place. She walked up to Devin and grabbed the money from his hand. She leaned in close and kissed him full on the mouth. Then she moved her head back and started sucking on his ear. She whispered softly, “If you ever leave her, call me. It’s nice to fuck someone you’re not ashamed of sometimes.”

As Jez made her way to the door, all Devin could think about was how right she was. It is nice to fuck someone you’re not ashamed of sometimes. He sincerely hoped that he would never see her again.

Devin made his way into the bathroom to clean himself up and make sure that he hadn’t left any
evidence
on his pants. Before he had a chance to look in the mirror, he heard a scream from outside. It sounded like Jez. He fought the urge to ignore the sound for perhaps a minute, but ultimately found the scream followed by silence too eerie to ignore. He made his way to the door.

Devin looked toward the stairs, but didn’t see Jez. He did see what looked like one of her
come-fuck-me
heels on the landing. He walked up to it, curious. The heel was buried in one of the many cracks in the concrete and snapped in half very near the base. Most of the ‘ladies’ that came to The Place wore
come-fuck-me
heels. Was this Jez’s? He picked it up trying to remember if she had been wearing black shoes. He couldn’t remember, but if her shoe was here, where was she?

Devin’s mind started to piece it together. Her foot was stuck in the landing and she tripped. But where? Did she fall over the railing?

Devin approached the railing cautiously. Looking down, he saw Jez. She was in a heap, leaning against the wrought-iron fence separating the first floor landing from the pool. Instinctively, he ran down the stairs to see if she was all right.

He reached her in seconds. Her eyes were open, but there was nothing behind them.

“Jez. Jez!” He screamed as he tilted her head to look in her eyes. As he moved her head, he knew there was no hope. There was no resistance at all. Her neck was broken.

How? Her head wasn’t even on the ground. It looked almost like she was sitting and leaning against the fence. The fall was only ten feet. How did she break her neck if she didn’t land headfirst? Wouldn’t you land headfirst if you tripped over a railing? His mind raced through dozens of scenarios that couldn’t possibly have worked. Then he hit on one that could have. The only one that could have. She must have tripped over the railing, but her neck hit the wrought-iron fence on the way down. Her body kept going on one side, with her head on the other. Then a snap. The weight of her body pulled her head back to this side.
That has to be a million to one shot
, he thought, but what else could have happened?

He realized he had wasted precious seconds trying to piece it together. He ran back up the stairs to his room and dialed 911.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The female voice answered quickly.

In that moment, a number of things occurred to Devin, which led to a single revelation:
I am so fucked.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The female voice repeated.

Devin steeled himself the same way he did before addressing a jury and when he spoke, it was with a calm and convincing voice, “I’m sorry, my friend is staying in room eleven and I thought you had to dial a 9 before the room number.”

“Do you need help?” The female voice questioned.

Devin laughed as genuinely as he could. “No, no. I’m sorry for the confusion.”

“Okay,” the female voice said, seemingly satisfied. “Please call back if you need assistance.”

Devin hung up the phone, his mind now more slowly taking stock of his situation. Jez was obviously dead. Her fall was, by his own estimation, a million to one shot. The only evidence of a fall was the broken heel. The shoe, which he already carried from the cracked sidewalk to her body and even back to his room to place the 911 call. Jez was pregnant, probably with his child and even if not, she was covered in his semen. He moved the body. At the bar, he said he was going to kill her … meant as a joke between himself and Brent, but the bartender had no way of knowing that. If the police examined her body, there was no way he wouldn’t be convicted of murder.

The truth didn’t matter here. The evidence did. There was no way they were going to believe she tripped. Even if he were to put the shoe back on the landing, the sheer odds of her falling in exactly that way made it unbelievable. Plus, why were his prints all over the shoe if not to place it to make it appear to be an accident? If he wiped off the prints, it would be the same. Why
weren’t
her prints on the shoe unless someone wiped them off to stage an accident? No. The police would never believe she tripped over the railing. Murder conviction for sure. Probably first degree.

Could he call the police and report seeing some unknown, masked assailant attacking her? Any cursory investigation would show only his DNA on the body. With all the evidence pointing to him, it would surely be a murder conviction anyway. This time there would be no question that it would be first degree. Moreover, added counts for hindering and obstruction.

Could he just leave the body and run? He had checked in as Leonardo Dicaprio, which was good, so no one would know he was here, but there was enough fresh
evidence
on her body to put him with her very shortly before her death. Even if he stripped her naked and cleaned her with alcohol swabs, there was still going to be enough
evidence
in her mouth to put her with him in the moments before her death. And even if by some miracle they weren’t able to get usable DNA from her body, there was still a bartender that was going to testify that he saw him with her in the bar that night and that he said, very coldly, ‘
I’m going to have to kill the bitch
.’ Which led, again, to a conviction for murder and definitely in the first degree.