Death In A Cheap Hotel

by Mike Dennis

The banging on the door damn sure wasn't the guy in the next room looking to borrow a cup of sugar. I'd heard this sharp thud before. It was cops.

Danny and I shoved our heaters under one of the twin-bed mattresses. Fortunately, the money was still in the trunk of the car, buried under the spare tire. We both made a quick check around the shabby room. Nothing but low-grade furniture and a dim overhead light competing with the neon sign right outside the window. Now if they'd only stay away from the beds.

I pulled the door open. It was Robinson. I heard he just made lieutenant, and his horsey grin told me he was pretty satisfied with himself. He had his partner with him. The partner chomped the smoldering stub of a black cigar between two rows of yellow teeth. They elbowed their way around me into the room, not bothering to show their badges.

“Evening, boys,” he said. “Don't suppose you know anything about the De La Cruz robbery?”

I answered for both of us. “No, lieutenant. We sure don't.” We remained standing.

He strolled over by the rusted sink, examining it, drain and all. Then he opened the mirrored cabinet right above it, inspecting our shaving cream can. “Funny,” he said. “We, uh, we got a witness who said it was two punks look just like you pulled that job. Then we check the neighborhood, and what do you know? There's two punks match the description that got a room in this here fleabag.”

We shrugged. I said, “We don't know nothing about any robbery, lieutenant. We been here all night.”

Robinson came over to me, real close, right in my face. I saw his complexion was

smooth, milky-like. I guess I never noticed it because he was such a hardass himself, built thickset and low to the ground, kind of like Mike Tyson. He wore his snap-brim hat pulled down so low, it seemed like a shadow always hung over his face. You just don't associate that kind of guy with smooth skin, especially if he's a cop.

“You been here all night and I been on Mars,” he snarled. “I know you two. The Willis brothers. I busted you both before. You don't think I remember ‘cause it was so long ago. Like ten, twelve years? You were high school punks then. Some kind of second-story rap. You both went away for a few months, as I recall.”

He pulled a pack of Camels out of his breast pocket. He shook one loose and fired it up, throwing the dead match on the floor. It wasn't alone down there. I glimpsed the partner pulling back the drape of his suit jacket to reveal his holstered .38. His look tipped me that he was itching to put it into action.

Danny spoke up. “Look, lieutenant, we done nothing wrong. Like my brother said, we been—”

Robinson swung an arm around, swatting Danny with the back of his thick hand. Hard. Danny went down from the blow. I saw blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

“Now I'm gonna ask you only once,” Robinson said, as he turned back to face me. “Where's the money from the De La Cruz job?”

“Lieutenant,” I said, “you can beat us up all you want, but we ain't got no money.” I hoped he hadn't made our car down on the street.

He took a deep drag off his cigarette. The smoke trailed off behind him toward his partner.

“You punks got a little careless, you know. We got a gunshot victim, critical condition. This's a serious crime here.” He put his cigarette between his lips, then started counting off on his fingers: “Armed robbery, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, use of a firearm during the commission of a felony...I could think up a few more. You're lookin' at twenty-five to life, pardner. And not in no juvie, either. I'm talkin' about the hardest of the hard joints upstate.” He pulled the Camel out of his mouth, then said through a nasty leer, “And I don't have to tell you what's waitin' for you if the victim dies.” He flicked his lengthening ash onto the bare wood floor.

I hate to admit it, but that crack hit home. I didn't show it, of course, but a jolt of fear attacked my spine.

“Now of course, we can take you downtown and get the witness to ID you, or...” He puffed on his cigarette for effect. “...or you can just tell us where the money is right now.”

So that was it. The big man in blue, protecting innocent citizens from us desperate criminals. Just out for the dough, out to grab what he can.

Neither me or Danny said anything right there, so Robinson growled to his partner, “Okay, let's tear this place apart.” And they spread out around the room, searching everywhere.

“Hey!” I said. “You can't do that, lieutenant. You got no warrant!”

He was across the room when I said that, but with a catlike move, on me in a split second, shoving me against the wall. He grabbed my balls in his right hand and squeezed, hard. “Here's my warrant, dipshit! Now keep your mouth shut and stay out of our way!”

The partner nosed around in the dresser drawers, while Robinson started feeling the pillow on one of the beds. I felt lines of sweat start to roll out under my arms. It was just a matter of moments before they found our weapons.

I edged over toward the other bed. Quickly, I slipped both hands under the mattress and came out with the pieces. I tossed one to Danny, and by the time they saw what we were doing, we were firing.

Both of them went down. Robinson's shirt was stained with a widening splotch of blood near his collarbone. He groaned and cursed, reaching under his jacket for his pistol. I went up to him and put one into his temple. He slumped to the floor as his final breath left him.

Danny took care of the partner. Then, without saying a word to each other, we headed for the door.

Now, I have to say right here that those cops had it coming. I mean, it was either

them or us! This wasn't no case of criminal scum gunning down brave police officers in the line of duty. Don't kid yourself. If we'd've turned the dough over to those two, they'd've let us have it right then and there. And we'd be just a couple more street crooks who got what was coming to them. No, this was a matter of one pair of thieves protecting themselves against another pair of thieves. We had no other selection. It was clear-cut self-defense!

Okay, so we were careful not to step in any of the blood that flowed across the floor, as we moved into the hallway. No one was around. They'd heard the shots, all right, but they'd all heard plenty of shots before. It was the kind of place where people like that lived. And they all knew not to stick their heads out the door.

The fire escape was down at the end of the hall. That's how we got out of the hotel earlier to pull the job. We descended the two floors to the alley and out into the street, guns in our waistbands, under our shirts.

Danny grabbed my arm and started to run, pulling me behind him. “C'mon!” he cried. “We gotta get out of here!”

I put on the brakes, yanking him back to me. “Whoa, Danny, slow down.” I got him to stand still for a second. “Look around you, man. There's people out here walking around, cars driving by, just another night, right? You want to give ‘em any reason to think otherwise? You want ‘em to remember two guys running their asses off down the street? Right near the hotel where two cops got killed?”

He calmed down a little. “Y-yeah, man. I guess you're right. W-we gotta be cool.”

“Right. Be cool. Now we're going to walk to the car and we're gonna get the hell out of town. Right now. Got it?”

Our car was parked down at the end of the block, but as we headed for it, cop cars converged on the scene from every direction, sirens screaming. The first one squealed to a stop right in front of our hotel, while two uniforms jumped out. They ran inside, obviously answering the 911 report of gunfire in one of the rooms.

The other cops were following suit when Danny cried, “That does it. I'm gettin' out of here!“ He broke free of my grip, then bolted down the street toward our car. He knocked over two women in his path, and right away they began shrieking and howling. Several of the cops noticed the commotion and saw Danny running. They took off on foot after him, hollering for him to stop. I had no choice but to follow him.

We made it to the car. Danny had the keys, so he dove into the driver's seat, then quickly opened the passenger door. By the time I piled in the car, he'd started it, ramming the cars in front of us and behind us, to get us out of the tight parallel parking spot. The cops were nearly on us, and I saw others back by the hotel leaping into their cruisers. Finally, we were out of the space, speeding around the corner onto a side street, tires squealing.

I turned to look out the rear window, and Danny was so focused on getting away as fast as possible, so panicky, that he never saw the stalled gasoline truck just around the corner. Our car slammed into the truck's rear end at full speed, igniting the gasoline, and sending big flames up into the black sky. In an eyeblink, both vehicles became an inferno. The dashboard pinned me to the seat, leaving me totally unable to move. I looked over and saw Danny, barely conscious, chest crushed by the steering column. Flames rose all around us inside the car. The heat was unbearable. He looked at me, while holding out his hand. I took it. It felt soft and runny. Neither of us could speak.

Over Danny's shoulder, through the broiling blaze, I could faintly see that the De La Cruz money had been blown out of the trunk, fluttering down to the street in pieces, some of them aflame.

Me and Danny, we never had much in life, and we sure made some big blunders. But at least we died rich.