THUGLIT Issue Fifteen by Colon Angel & See Tom & Cooper Patrick & Friend Timothy & Sweeny Liam & Lessig Hugh & Rouleau Bryan Paul & Murphy Steven

Author:Colon, Angel & See, Tom & Cooper, Patrick & Friend, Timothy & Sweeny, Liam & Lessig, Hugh & Rouleau, Bryan Paul & Murphy, Steven [Colon, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Thuglit Publishing
Published: 2014-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

Turnpike

by Bryan Paul Rouleau

Before the interstate opened in '93, the only connection between the cities was a stretch of dark windswept turnpike littered with sad single-story motels bragging about free HBO. Places with names like Metroside, Motor Inn, Pacific Motel. Weedy parking lots without painted lines. Flickering signs without all the letters. A stray cat slinking in the shadows of a dumpster. A whore screaming in room 112.

These were places for used-up men. Men stuck between the cities. Men at the ends of their ropes. Men with business prospects to the south and expectant bosses to the north. Men with wives, kids, and floppy-eared dogs. Men who just got out of prison. Men on the run, men on the hunt, men on the dole, men on dope. Men with their dicks in their hands. Men with guns in their mouths.

I found a suicide once. I wished he'd have stopped at some other motel. They made it a crime scene, so I didn't have to clean it up right away. When it was time to get it cleaned, I had the day off. On the turnpike, we called that good luck.

I was working at the Comfort Lodge in those days. The owner was a nervous Bangladeshi man who called himself Sal because he was trying to assimilate. He wore collared flannel shirts buttoned-up to his throat and maintained an ambitious potbelly. I was one of his housekeepers.

I changed the sheets, sprayed window cleaner on the surfaces, took out the little garbage bags and their shallow deposits of crumpled paper and gum wrappers and toothpicks and used condoms. You can tell a lot by the contents of the trash can and the order in which those items appear.

The guy in Room 140 had a chocolate shake and burger with no pickles for dinner. Then he came back to the room, threw out the receipt, and jerked off. Before bed he smoked his last Pall Mall, chucked the box, and fell asleep with the television tuned to an episode of Twin Peaks. I knew that last part because I kept walking by his room all night and it was blaring.

I'm a housekeeper by trade, but I'm an investigator at heart. I like to know things. It gives me the advantage. And when you're a 37-year-old man still working in housekeeping, you need advantages. I wanted my own motel on the turnpike, someday. This was my ambition.

One thing I knew that gave me an advantage was that Sal was in debt. He owed money to some shady people. At least monthly he'd get a visit. His creditors sent over this guy named Benny. Sal's moustache would droop whenever this guy came in. I always thought Benny was just a real friendly gentleman.

"Donald, buddy," he'd say when he saw me. He had a big, firm hand and he used all of it. Put it on my shoulder, like he was about to confide in me, like he was about to tell me how he fucks his wife.