Play Dead (Part 28)
I’m Fixin’ To Play Dead (Part 28)
After I made the decision to get a little much needed rest before I went to Leon’s room to retrieve my stolen money, I entwined myself around my money belt and placed my pistol under my pillow. Just before I went to sleep I was rejoicing and my spirits had risen because I had found Leon, but as I lapsed into unconsciousness I felt a fleeting thought of deep uneasiness, similar to dread, creeping over me.
I awoke with a start. Feeling for my money belt and pistol, I found them both intact. Sunshine was streaming through the window. I looked over at Red’s rumpled bed to see that it was empty. I sat up in a panic and called out, “Red! are you here?” The room was silent. I leapt out of bed and grabbed my watch and saw that it was 11:00 o’clock! I could hardly believe it—I had been asleep for about six hours.
When I raced into the bathroom, I found it to be empty, but there was a note taped to the mirror. It read: “Gone to eat and to play blackjack.” It was signed, “Red.”
The note compelled me to calm down a little, but I immediately became a wreck again when I noticed the notepad with Leon’s room number was gone from the bedside stand, but I did remember that his room was 2012. After a 10 second shower I threw my clothes on and my stuff into my bag, grabbed the ice bucket and headed down to the 20th floor with a plan in mind.
When I got to Leon’s floor, I walked into the alcove that housed the soft drink and ice machine, placed my empty bucket under the chute, pressed the red button and watched the ice cubes tumble into it. When it was full, I peeked around the corner and looked down the hall where I spied a maid’s cart down there, about two doors away from Leon’s room.
I quickly slipped out of my trousers and shoes, rolled them up into a tight ball around my pistol and stuffed them under my arm. Down the hallway I went wearing nothing except my T-shirt and boxer shorts. When I arrived at room 2012, I stopped and called out in panic to the maid, “Hey, Miss, I need some help out here!”
It took a moment, but eventually a bright face emerged from the room she was cleaning. I knew immediately from her accent that she was Jamaican. Her eyes dropped and she said, “Mon, you lose your trousers?”
“No,” I replied, “I went out to get some ice and I left my key inside and now I’m stuck out here in my drawers! Can you please open the door for me?”
“No problem, mon,” she said as she pulled her passkey from her apron pocket and slipped the thin piece of plastic into the slot in the door. The lock clicked, she pushed the door ajar and said, “There you go, mon.”
I thanked her out loud and silently thanked the Lord that my plan had worked. As soon as I was inside I closed the door behind me and heard it click back to a locked position. The drapes were closed and it was pitch dark in the room. Before I did anything I put my pants and shoes back on and secured my pistol in my waistband.
The first thing I became aware of was a bad smell in the room, which I couldn’t identify right off, but I knew it was bad.
Standing perfectly still in the dark, I inhaled deeply and searched my mind for a hint of what the dreaded odor represented.
My mind took me back to a time when my Uncle Virgil had shot a deer from the rear deck of his trailer. Within a matter of minutes he had hung the carcass from the limb of a big oak tree and proceeded to butcher it. I remember sitting on the deck and how a breeze had blown the sweet, hot and sickly scent into my nostrils. It was the same scent that I was smelling right now—the smell of fresh hot blood!
Passing through the room like a rustle in the grass, I reached the bathroom door, felt along the wall, found a light switch and flipped it on. I peered out into the room and saw the outline of two double beds, similar to mine and Red’s room. I needed more light.
The offensive smell grew stronger when I walked between the beds and turned on the lamp.
I staggered back in horror when the light flooded the room and I looked down on the floor and saw my old friend and robber Leon’s pasty face. His body and his bed were covered with blood. I sank down on the edge of the other bed, shocked, dazed and confused. It was hard to bring myself to believe that Leon was actually lying there dead on the hotel room carpet.
It took me a moment to recover, and when I did, I began to search the room for the old Oleg Cassini suitcase full of my money, formerly 600,000 dollars worth. Racing around, I threw open drawers, looked in the closet and was on my knees looking underneath the beds when I was further shocked when I heard a weak voice whisper, “It ain’t fixing to be here no more, Sonny Boy!”