nearly crawling out of his skin. His days may have been filled with thoughts of survival, but his nights were reserved for something else entirely: payback.
The slamming of a car door jolted Randy out of his sleep, but hung over as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to move without a knife being driven through his skull. He lay there, staring at the dingy ceiling, watching the fan blades rotate lazily overhead. Tiny pale dust particles drifted through the air, caught in a beam of sunlight that sliced the room in half. An odor of onions and sweat permeated the air mixing with a distinct note of decay.
The motel was a hovel built before Randy was even a blip on the radar, and it showed in the tattered orange carpeting, the harvest gold patterned curtains and the olive green woven blankets crumpled on the bed. How the place still managed to do business would have been a mystery to him had he not witnessed the steady traffic of prostitutes and dealers slinking around the property day and night. Located just off the highway, it was a hot spot for less than honest business dealings.
Scratching his fingers through his hair, Randy managed to pull himself up to sitting. He was still a little out of sorts, not fully awake yet and maybe a slight bit in denial about where he stood in life at the moment. So when he called out, “Terri! Get me a beer!” and was met with silence, he wanted to run his fist through the wall.
So he did.
Plaster rained down, coating everything around it in a fine layer of powder. And wasn’t that genius. His head pounded in protest of the sudden movement and the spike of anger, and Randy decided to ram another hole in the wall, because it felt good to let off a little steam.
Only two things could make him feel better right now, and since Terri wasn’t available, he would need a drink to chase away the pulsing pain filling his head and clogging his thought process.
Beer bottles littered every surface of the room. Clusters congregated on top of the ancient console TV, on the fold-out tray beside the bed, and on the floor. Three empty cases sat at the foot of the recliner. He needed to go for a beer run, but he would have to take the itch off now if he hoped to be functional behind the wheel.
The last thing Randy needed was to get the attention of the cops.
Picking up bottles, Randy gave each one a shake. Gathering the few that sloshed, he downed the last of their stale contents and licked his lips with a grimace. Warm and flat had never been his style.
“How the mighty have fallen,” he muttered, tossing the last bottle back on the floor. The green glass shattered, the shards bouncing and finally settling where they glittered cheerily in the muted amber light.
Brilliant. Now he would have to wear shoes twenty-four seven because it wasn’t like a place this classy provided maid service.
Thankfully, there was a liquor store not more than a block away, and Randy had just enough cash left in his wallet to purchase a bottle of Jack.
***
After drinking half the bottle of newly acquired whiskey, he showered then settled into the easy chair to take in a little mindless programming and begin plotting his next course of action.
It had been a few days since he had called Terri at the club. Despite her heightened fear and overly cautious behavior, he had managed to follow her home unnoticed that night.
He was still a little ticked that she had sold their house. He had worked hard for it, after all. Obviously she hadn’t appreciated his efforts if she would just go and sell it the minute he was out of the picture. He wondered what she did with the money from the sale. Women liked to shop, he knew that much, so she probably blew it all on dresses and shoes.
Judging by the house she lived in now, she must have put a small portion of the profit there, as well, but not a lot. It was too small and plain to have cost much.
For just a moment Randy entertained the idea that she might have saved the