Chapter Seven

SOMEONE BANGED—HARD—on his motel room door. Trey looked over, almost expecting to see the door crack under the force of the blows. The room was dark, the curtains pulled tight against the feeble Seattle light. The room reeked of smoke, and a layer of it hung near the ceiling.

All around him was chaos. Clothes on every available surface, crumpled on the floor. Trey couldn’t care less. He’d stolen most of the stuff from various tricks over the past few weeks—Diesel jeans, Valentino sneakers, Dolce & Gabbana briefs and shirts. Trey felt like the guys he’d swiped this stuff from were no worse off. They could afford to buy replacements, no problem.

Why shouldn’t I have nice things too? Fair is fair.

Anyway, Trey looked better in any of them than those guys, so, in a perfect world, they did indeed belong to him.

Among the junk in the room, there were lots of other things, like watches, phones, portable hard drives, earbuds, cuff links, framed family pictures, books, CDs, and DVDs (mostly porn). Trey didn’t even want all of this stuff, but it was always a kick to take it, to walk out with a hundred or a thousand dollars’ worth of stuff secreted on his person. He’d smile at the trick and kiss him, knowing he’d never be back and what he was taking, imagining them searching for the missing stuff long after he was gone.

And who knew? A stolen portable hard drive could yield all sorts of useful information.

There was one loud bam against the door, and then it was quiet for a second. Then a woman’s voice.

“Open this damn door now.”

Trey pulled the covers up to his shoulders. He had to get out of here. The bedclothes smelled like body odor and beer.

“You can either open the door, man, or I’ll use my key and come on in. As a reminder, drugs on the premises aren’t tolerated.”

That statement caught his attention. It was Laurie Gilbert, the manager of this rundown hovel Trey was temporarily calling home. She was a slob with bad teeth and probably less than a high school education. But she had one thing he didn’t have—the ability to boot him out of this fine home.

He hadn’t paid for his room for going on two weeks now.

Sighing, Trey swung his legs out of bed and threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He ran fingers through his hair to tame it a bit. “I’m coming. I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

He opened the door. Laurie stood there in the twilight, scratching her neck. She wore black stretch pants and some sort of floral-print tunic blouse. If she had one ounce of any natural fiber, Trey would have been surprised. Her short gray hair stood up in spikes. Her face looked worn, yet a smattering of acne graced her forehead. She smiled, and he noted again how the gap between her front teeth was big enough to accommodate a cigarette.

He wanted to laugh at her, hold his gut and simply let the laughter rip, all the while pointing an accusing finger at her for daring to exist with such poor taste and lack of discernment.

“Laurie.” He cocked his head and turned on his most winning smile. “What a nice surprise. You look beautiful tonight.” He winked. “Please tell me this is a social call.” He raised his eyebrows. “Even a booty call, maybe?”

She eyed him through slits, her lips narrowing. “Please. Spare me.”

Trey put a hand to his chest, as though offended. He nearly batted his eyelashes in innocence, but hey, too much was too much. “What can I do for you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can pay for your room. I’ve been patient, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Trey nodded. “Of course, Ms. Gilbert. I had every intention of stopping by your office tomorrow with the money. I just had a check direct deposited to my bank and wanted to be sure it cleared before paying you. I sincerely apologize for the delay.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Sort of a variation on the ‘check is in the mail’ bit, huh?”

“Laurie!” Trey scolded. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Come on, pal. I don’t have time for this shit.” She looked away because Trey continued to give her his best smile. She looked back at him and sighed deeply. “Okay. Tomorrow, you said?”

Eagerly, Trey nodded.

“If the payment for two weeks is on my desk tomorrow, we’ll call it good.” She leaned in close enough that he could smell the cigarettes and vodka on her breath. And something else? Curry? He tried not to wrinkle his nose and lean back.

“Thanks, doll. I promise you I’ll make good. I appreciate your understanding.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Now, don’t be like that.”

“Charm isn’t the currency that works for me. Cash is. I see some tomorrow and we’re good. If not, I’ll have your stuff removed and change the lock. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Before she could say any more, he closed the door in her face.

And went back to the bed, where he lifted his laptop up. He had several new messages on Adam4Adam, and one of them could just be the key to his financial woes. Once upon a time, a wise person had told him that diversifying an investment portfolio was a wise move, if you wanted to see good, consistent returns on your investment. While having this writer, Connor, on the hook was a very good thing, it was important to keep many fires burning to maximize what may or may not pan out.