Where There's Smoke (2 page)

Damn, the hall was a beehive of activity tonight. Now, the older gentleman, Barbara’s regular customer, shuffled down the hall toward one of the three rooms the women normally used. He wore a look of avid anticipation on his face, the kind that knows things are about to get better in one’s life. He tapped on the door before using a key card and walked inside. Moments later, he stormed out. Confusion marred his brow. He looked at the numbers on the door and then across the hall. Stepping to the other room, he knocked and waited, his face reddening by the second as he stood looking lost, a child denied his treat. Finally, he stomped toward the bank of elevators. Once the elevator pinged, the two men walked out of Barbara’s room. They’d left the black man with the women.

Vianca breathed a sigh of relief. The black guy hadn’t been lucid. She could work around him, knock him out if necessary, to get Barbara out of there. She debated the wisdom of waiting or leaving now. A strong sense of urgency pumped through her, she’d learned to trust her instincts and shut down the computer. Once she stowed the gear in the trunk of her car, she reentered the hotel through another side entrance and headed to housekeeping on the first floor. Taking off her outer coat, she took the employee elevator to the third floor and entered the housekeeping storage area. Bypassing the hall carts, she opted for the large canvas cart that conveyed soiled laundry to the laundry room below. It took a moment to maneuver the unwieldy beast but she finally took it out and placed it in the hallway near Barbara’s door. Just as she started to the door, the elevator pinged. Ducking around the corner, unseen she heard the conversation between the older gentleman and someone.

“She’s not here. I thought you told me she’d be waiting for me inside.” The deep voice sounded agitated.

“She’s supposed to be here. She took her key in advance and said you’d called and would be late. The only thing she did differently was sit with Shirley in the bar earlier, eating. I’ll check and see if anyone has any idea where she might be.” Footsteps left the area.

Vianca dashed forward. Using the stolen master key, she entered the room. It was dark; she made out the three forms on the bed. Her breath hitched at the sight. A tingling began in her fingertips at the gruesome vision in the room. Two women, naked, pale, with streaks of blood all over their torsos. Their hair fanned out over the pillows, eyes staring straight ahead. Her stomach heaved as she fought past the reality and attempted to see if there was anything she could do.

Finely sculptured naked black male lies face down between them. The room reeked of semen and blood. She gagged and covered her mouth. Refusing to believe the horror, she walked to Barbara, touched her wrist, no pulse. A cocktail of emotions swamped her. Sorrow over seeing the demise of one so young, anger at the casual destruction of the women, pain that she was too late. She should've known, done something to help, intervened in some way.

Thin, precise slice cuts marred Barbara's flesh. Blood seeped everywhere. Only the faces of these women were left untouched. The man’s groan caught her attention.
Gringos,
she spat. They commit the crime and leave someone else to take the blame. Her disdain for them rose swiftly to the surface as she curled her lips. Barbara she couldn’t help, but she'd be damned if she'd let an innocent suffer for the cruelty of the
pinche gringos
. Pulling the man up was a painstaking task and they didn't have much time. He weighed what felt like a ton. Bruises covered his chest. Someone had worked him over. He groaned when she tugged him up. They didn't have time for this. She slapped his face and spoke directly into his ear, “if you want to live, you’ll walk with me out this room right now. I can’t carry you, but I’ll help you escape.”

He gave a slight nod and she nudged him up, they made it to the door when she remembered her cameras. Checking the hall, she assisted him to the cart, pulled down one side and pushed him in. Moving at a sedate pace, she pulled the cart back into housekeeping, trying to catch her breath. The ramifications were settling. She was a witness to a murder. Leaning him up, she pulled off the bloodied shirt he wore and dressed him in the overalls she’d stashed, washed his face and pushed as much water down his throat as possible before smashing a cap over his head.

“Ready?”

His eyes didn’t open; the nod barely there, but she’d take what she could get. Opening the door into the silent hall, they stepped slowly out and around the corner to the employee elevator. He leaned against the wall as she pushed the button, holding her breath until they reached the ground floor.

“Ready?”

“Yeah” he whispered, moving slowly.

Vianca stopped him and looked around. Then they moved at a turtle’s pace to the door. The entire time her mind screamed to hurry, to run. The car sat where she left it, but there was another one pulling out nearby. Seconds felt like hours as they waited in the shadows for the car to leave. The couple said the longest goodbye in history. A part of her wanted to scream, “goodnight already”. Nerves taut, she pushed away from the wall and duck-walked with her passenger. The back seat had been prepared for Barbara, so she pushed him in, closed the door. Checking her surroundings, she leisurely walked to the driver’s side, and within seconds pulled out the lot.

Once they’d driven off, the reality of her actions settled. As a strategist, she didn’t generally do impulse or rash actions. The few acquaintances she had considered her anal and refused to co-consult with her. None of them would believe a strange man lay on the backseat of her car. His fine ass body notwithstanding, he could’ve been anyone, an assassin, thief, or rapist. Strange thing about thoughts when left unattended, they increase in their tenacity. Layers of worse case scenarios trounced through her head as she headed to the cabin to wait for Fernando, her cousin and partner.

First thing after they’d arrived at their destination, she guided the stranger into the spare bedroom, handcuffed one of his wrists and peeled off the too small jumpsuit. A gasp of appreciation escaped as she marveled over his muscular, mahogany-colored body. A wide, sculpted muscular chest with pebbled nipples tapered to a delectable ass and thick thighs. Even asleep, the length and girth of his penis was impressive. Moisture pooled in her mouth as her eyes repeatedly looked below.

Above the neck, his chiseled features reminded her of pictures of Black Kings she’d seen in high school during Black History month. Simply put, the man was sexy and handsome. A quick glance to his resting hand showed no tan lines on any fingers, of course that didn’t mean anything these days. Regrettably, she’d backed out the room after one last look at the total package. This man took time with his grooming.

His close-cropped beard outlined his jaw, his hair was neatly trimmed, and his nails filed low. Classy, laid back, thorough. She wasn’t accustomed to that. Most of the men in her small circle didn’t see her as a woman and rarely cleaned up so nicely.

With certainty, she knew he’d be the same way with a lover. Her fingertips grazed her breast. The thought his hands squeezing, licking and sucking her mounds sent a jolt of pleasure through her. Work took her all over the country and she specialized in the art of one-night stands. Since most of the men she met worked similar hours, friends with benefits were a necessary standard. With a quick nod in his direction, she decided this man would definitely be her friend.

Chapter 2

Smoke fought through the fog. He needed to get home. Pops wanted to show him a car he worked on. He tried to run; ropes pulled him back, pulled him down into the fire. He was on fire, it burned and burned him. He choked on the pain. Pops stood to the side, a sad smile on his face. “Fight, boy, fight.” Smoke tried to tell him it hurt but his lips couldn't move. He sank into the hot flames.

Smoke rolled over and groaned. Pain slashed through him, someone replaced his head for a ball in their baseball practice. He lay motionless until the sharp pounding abated. His mouth, dry and gritty, felt and tasted like sand. Little by little, his senses returned on board. The quiet in the room, punctuated by his breaths, was a distant hum. He couldn’t place the sound; it hurt to stretch his acoustic abilities. A musty, unused smell rose, tickling his nostrils. Not an unclean smell, more an unused smell. Wherever he was hadn’t been used in a while. Why was that? The thought flitted through his mind on the crest of an urgent need. He needed to relieve himself. Now.

Rolling to the side of the bed, he tried to sit up. Shards of pain shot through him, cutting off his breath. His eyes watered as bile crawled up his throat. He tried to hold his aching head and bruised sides when he noticed he only had use of one of his hands. The other was handcuffed to the bed rail. He jerked. Waves of blinding pain throbbed through him. His breath caught again. Remaining still, he tried to remember what happened to him. Vague memories of a car, a dark room, voices, pain, light and then a honeyed voice challenging him to live. He'd followed the thread of that voice, commanded himself to move, even now he remembered the excruciating pain, but she'd helped him. Coaxed him with her words.

And then nothing. Everything else was a blank. Had they failed? Did the men kidnap him again? Was that the reason for the cuffs? His mind, fuzzy as he tried to get his bearings, didn’t provide any answers. What happened to the woman who tried to help him? He prayed she'd been spared. In anger, he yanked on the handcuff. Sweat rolled off his large frame as acute pain sliced through him again. Gritting his teeth against the darkness that threatened, he remained still. For the moment, he was alive and that was a miracle. Moments later, which felt like hours, he opened his eyes. Beige walls, hardwood floors and more beige furniture. He took all this in at a glance before pulling hard on the handcuffs, creating a clanging sound.

Someone walked in. He didn’t look up, the pain too intense. “I need to pee.” Without a word, the person left and returned, handing him a bowl. The door snapped shut. Smoke glared at the plastic bowl in disgust as he released his stream. His stomach growled, loud and demanding. He shook his head, looking for a place to set the heavy bowl. Grinding his teeth and hissing at the discomfort, he rolled to the side and placed it on the floor. Perspiration beaded his forehead at the exertion, his heart raced and his breaths came fast as if he'd just run the forty. Lying back, he stared at the ceiling, hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember what happened after he left with the woman.

His stomach continued to growl as if it were his fault it were empty. Arm under head, he tested his agility and raised his sore knee. The cap was scraped with bits of blood and torn flesh. His chest hurt when he moved his arm. He released it slowly. Deep inhales sent sharp pain through his chest. Yeah, someone worked him over plenty. A glance at his unbruised knuckles and he knew he hadn’t been in a fight; someone had a one-way party on his ass.

Disgusted, he watched the door open. A medium height person, baseball cap pulled low over dark hair, he could’ve been light-complexioned African-American or tanned Caucasian. Smoke couldn’t tell from the angle he lay on the bed. Neither of them spoke. Baseball Cap walked further into the room with a plate of what Smoke hoped was something edible. Since he didn’t smell anything, it must’ve been sandwiches, or chips, or something sweet. Moisture flooded his mouth in anticipation. The plate hit the side table.

His heart raced as it wobbled for a moment. Please don’t let it fall into the bowl he prayed as he sat forward to save his meager rations.

“
Thanks,” he murmured before he lit into the peanut butter sandwiches. The bread was fresh; the peanut butter was so hard it stuck to the roof of his mouth. Like a man in the desert, he stared at the drops of water left in the glass from his aspirins. Choking, he sat forward, hearing the door open he didn’t spare the person a glance as he tried to breathe.

A glass of milk was thrust in front of him. Without a word, he grabbed the glass and chugged the life-saving fluid down his throat. After draining the glass, he glanced around to offer thanks. He was alone in the room again. He placed the glass on the dresser and finished the sandwich. He had to eat.

Hours later, the door crashed open and bounced against the wall. A tall, wild-haired man stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Well, I’ll be damned, Vee, you weren’t kidding. He is naked.”

Smoke tensed at the way the man looked at him. For a moment real panic flushed through his system, he hadn’t felt this type fear since prison. Both fists curled in preparation to take it to another level. No one took anything from him anymore. A piece of cloth hit his chest.

“
Cover yourself up, we need to talk and get moving.” He nodded. “Hurry up, unless you want us to move on and leave you like that.”

Smoke scowled as he grabbed the material with his free hand. The man laughed, shut the door and walked off making smart remarks to this Vee person. Shaking the garment, Smoke realized it was a jumpsuit. He grimaced. His Pops wore this kind when he worked on cars in the backyard of Grandma’s house. Pops always moved around in the big garage out back. He spent more time with his beloved cars than with his family.

Once he’d asked Pops why he spent so much time with the cars. Even though he must’ve been around ten or eleven, he never forgot Pops’ answer. He’d smiled down at him, hand resting on his shoulder. “Cars, unlike people, are predictable.” Smoke smiled at the memory. Predictable, like his partners. If he didn’t contact them soon, there’d be a high body count. Too late to do anything about those already taken down, but if he could stop the war today, he would. After placing one leg in, struggling to breathe, deal with the throbbing pain and getting on the other leg, he was about to give up. Sweat poured from his body as he continued. He’d just zipped the suit up to the waist when the door opened and the man returned. They stared at one another. Smoke breathed hard and couldn't speak.