• Embed Doc
  • Copy Link
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
 
 MURDER IN CHINA RED
Day OneChapter One
 THE man lay on his stomach. Snoring. Both armsraised above his head wrapped around the pillow. Thehairy, trim body now dressed only in blue boxer shorts.Judy came back out from the bathroom, wrapped herselfin a fluffy gold-trimmed China red hotel robe and sat in achair near the bed. She lit up a cigarette and observedhim. His snoring grew louder. Almost rhythmic. He hadbeen good in bed. One of the best. She should know.Since she'd first experienced sex with two brothers fromBayou Cane at 15 and taken home the dirty ten dollar bill
 
one of them had tucked into her bra, she'd learned how tomake money when she needed it.She exhaled swirls of blue smoke and thought of themen she'd had. Only one had ever made her feel anythingspecial and that one had even been better than this.Chinaman. Well, not better exactly. But Chinaman had asense of humor and this one didn't. Sometimes in bedChinaman made her laugh so much she couldn't perform. Hehad to get her horny all over again. But that wasdifferent. That wasn't business. Besides, Chinaman wassexy; this guy wasn't -- just good in bed. Good in atechnical way -- like most Germans. A little rough, maybe.But that might have been the whiskey. Whatever, it hadn'taffected his performance. She only hoped he'd stay asleep awhile longer; she had a job to do.She checked his shirt pocket. Even the cuffs.Nothing. In the pockets of his neatly pressed suittrousers she found six twenty-dollar bills and two fives;three quarters and a dime; and a set of keys with a roundpiece of plastic attached. Inside the plastic was acondom. The plastic read: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAKGLASS. Male humor. And that was it.She could hear a bellboy passing by in the hallwaywhistling "Summertime." She knew who it was because that's
 
what he always whistled whenever she and a client took aroom. Wasn't that just like a New Yorker. Whistling"Summertime" in the icy grip of winter in mid-townManhattan. Then again maybe he'd come from some spot onthe globe where it really was summertime.Judy put out her cigarette and stared at the man onthe bed. He was lost in the depths of post-sexual slumber.She reflected that she was getting good sex in a perfectlyappointed room of the New York Palace hotel. And gettingpaid for it. Not bad. She'd come a long way from herLouisiana days as the daughter of a dirt-poor sweet potatofarmer.She reached for the suit jacket. Midnight blue.Pinstripe. Silk-and-wool blend. "F. Tripler." Nice. Thebreast pocket was empty. One pocket held a neatly foldedtissue and a comb with a tooth missing. The other held aWaterman pen. She found a glass case in the inside pocket.Reading glasses. When she tried them on the room blurredonly slightly: The gold crowns on the China red wallpaperlooked more like McDonald’s arches.She took the glasses off and then hesitated while theman's snoring stopped then started again. In the pocketwith the glasses was a nearly empty pack of Lucky Strikefilters and a matchbook printed "Cafe Des Artistes" in gold
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...