My Ugly Suitcase

I still wondered why Vinnie hadn't found the money. He either didn't have enough time to look properly or was just even dumber than me. It didn't really matter. All that counted was that I still had the money, my life and my Corolla. I soon let the mighty four-cylinder hum to life and hurl the car down the street with a gentle push. Remembering the movies, I checked the rear mirror, making sure nobody followed me. I briefly thought about the two corpses lying in my bedroom. I decided they would be Vinnie's problem. It was his house, and now it was his mess.

I knew exactly where I wanted to get away from, but sadly, I had no idea where I wanted to get away to. I decided to drive around aimlessly until I lost interest and stay wherever that was.

South. I wanted to go south. I had always hated the cold, and it had gotten worse as I got older. I briefly thought about quitting my job, but decided not to bother. I hated my boss almost as much as my previous life in general, including the cold. Maybe this whole weird development was a good thing. I was as good as dead, but this last adventure might be exactly what I needed.

As usual, breakfast was a sad affair. Time and again, the elderly innkeeper lady had assured me this fine establishment had once been some kind of international tourist hotspot. Right then, nothing hinted at it. It was a well-worn hotel, bordering on shabby, overlooking "the lake," which looked like an oversized brownish puddle. The main advantages were that they accepted cash, asked no questions and the thing was as remote as a hotel can be. Paying cash suited me just fine, as I happened to have plenty of it and no qualms about using it. There was no use in keeping the money complete, they wanted me dead anyway. I had hidden most of my cash in a new location in the woods and just had a few thousand on me.

There were only a handful of guests, and I always wondered what they were doing there at all. They were all men, they all looked unhappy and they all left in the morning and returned in the evening. I had no idea what they did in between.

I had no idea what to do with my own time. Somehow, I had imagined being on the run from the mafia would be more exciting, stressful and dangerous. Instead, I ran around the puddle endlessly and was bored the rest of the time. I always looked forward to the meals, not because of the quality, but because they interrupted the boredom.

Still, the hotel made me feel relatively safe, as I could immediately check any newcomer. I knew the guys who currently stayed there and they all seemed harmless. Right then, I was gladly willing to trade boredom for relative safety.

I didn't miss Doris at all. On the contrary, her being removed from my life was like a burden gone from my shoulders. I didn't even feel sorry for the way she died. I briefly pondered if I should feel bad about my uncaring ways, but remembering how she deceived me helped. I checked the news for information about her or somebody who might be Heated Bolt Guy, but surprisingly, nothing appeared. It seemed the mob was somehow able to sweep everything under the rug. I guess it helped that Vinnie owned the house we lived in.

After a few weeks, I hated my new life almost as much as the one I had before Doris' unfortunate demise. Sure, her mood swings had been unbearable, I hated my job and everything had been repetitious as hell. Still, at least something was happening, even if it was just a malfunctioning vending machine. The hotel by the lake began to feel like a prison. Plus, people were starting to ask questions. It was pretty obvious I wasn't a tourist and some, including the innkeeper, were starting to become curious. So far, I had managed to evade their questions, but I felt the pressure rising.

Because of that, I didn't fall into my usual paranoid worrying when some new guests arrived. I was happy to let them divert some of the unwanted attention.

The newcomers were two guys who arrived together, followed shortly by a single woman. The woman could have been attractive, had she made some effort, but she had clearly chosen not to. She wore a hoodie, jeans and sneakers, all of it well-worn and speaking of lacking funds. I pitied her a bit; she was obviously there to hide from something or someone, just like I was.

The guys caught my attention, though. They stared at me very briefly when they arrived, then looked away immediately. It was pretty obvious they were checking me out, but trying to be inconspicuous about it. They flunked. They were either gay or were looking for someone, most probably me. So it had begun, I thought. At least the leaden boredom was about to end, even though whatever excitement was in store likely included my own demise. I briefly wondered if I would meet Doris in hell, and the prospect motivated me to stay alive.

I took action immediately, meaning I went to my room and hid there. Of course, I fumbled around with the damn gun all the time, not really expecting to stand a chance against two trained mafia hitmen. I waited for hours until lunch time, but I could hardly hide and starve in my room.

A few days later, I had mostly calmed down again and was desperate enough to look forward to the interaction with the innkeeper and the staff. She was a nice lady, just mind-numbingly boring and a bit fragile.

I was surprised to see her serving lunch and cleaning up the tables. I hadn't expected her to do manual labor at her age.

"George called in sick today, darn it," she muttered.

Just as she was explaining her situation, the pile of plates she held was dangerously tilting towards me, as if it had already decided to follow the call of gravity. I quickly stepped up, stabilizing it.

"That wouldn't have been so bad if Pauline hadn't quit to follow her ex-husband," she continued unperturbed. I was more or less carrying the whole pile by then, which she hardly seemed to notice.

She finally let go of the stack of plates completely, so she could wave her hand about to emphasize her situation.

"It is so difficult to find good workers these days..."

I zoned out, as I already knew the rest of her rant. No work ethics anymore, meaning no one willing to slave for a laughable amount of money. Her staff had explained the situation from their point of view more than once. I just sighed and carried the pile to the kitchen, where Joe the cook seemed to be under heavy pressure. He seemed to think I was some sort of godsend. After years with Doris, this was pleasant.

"Thank god you're helping, Michael. The old witch is slower than my old Yugo when the engine was broken. Take these outside, okay? I really appreciate it."

He pointed at a few plates with what once had been hot food. I just shrugged, took them and carried them outside. Why not? I'd worked as a waiter to earn some bucks many years before, I was bored anyway and to be honest, it felt good to help.

Of course, the two new guys smirked, making crude remarks. The hooded woman, though, looked at me in a strange way. If I hadn't known better, I would have said the look was almost adoring. In any case, she smiled really nicely, and once again, I thought how beautiful she would look if she hadn't tried to hide it.

"You like it here?" the guy asked, inspecting me unabashedly. Would a hitman be that brash? On the other hand, what other reason could anyone have for that question?

"Um, yeah, more or less, yes," I replied as noncommittedly as I could while pretending to be busy with the frugal breakfast buffet.

"Really, what are you doing in this shithole?" He laughed, ignoring the indignant looks the innkeeper lady shot in his direction. I decided he was either no killer, a dumb killer or this was a brilliant way to make me think he wasn't one. "Installation work in the steel plant, like Joe and me?"

"No, not the steel plant. I'm just... ah... enjoying the landscape." So there was a steel plant around, which solved the mystery of why anyone was staying there at all.

He laughed out loud, like it was the best joke he'd ever heard.

"Landscape? There is landscape around?"

I relaxed. The guy was way too loud and obnoxious to be a mafia hitman. That other guy, though, always stared at me way too intensely. I would have to keep an eye on him.

I opened the door to my room and was immediately pulled inside, catching me completely by surprise. My ass was on the bed before I had the chance to grasp what was going on. Two guys in my room. That's what was going on. Looking up into two gun barrels at once, that was another thing going on. And, of course, me feeling like a total idiot for being caught that easily.

I had been watching all the men around me like a hawk, assessing potential threats. I had never even seen those two. Shit. My money was relatively safe in its hiding place in the woods, but my life obviously wasn't. They would want to know where the money was, and for me it seemed like a lose-lose situation. I was as good as dead anyway, all that was left to decide was whether they'd get the money and how painful my death was going to be.

Having nothing to lose, I jumped up and tried to tackle one of them. He easily backhanded me and threw me back onto the bed. Touching him felt like wrestling with a rock and was just as much fun.

"Listen, dude. I don't care one way or another. You either tell us where the money is or I put a bullet between your eyes right away. Those are my orders from Vinnie, and I really don't give a fuck either way."

Tradition probably demanded me denying I had any money, but I knew it would be useless. The gig was up. I felt surprisingly calm.

"Okay, it seems I will soon be dead anyway. The question is just whether Vinnie will be rich afterwards or not. Why would I want to give him the money?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, but his dumbness soon recovered.

"Really, dude, I don't give a shit. You either give us the money or I will off you right now." With that, he calmly grabbed a pillow to put on my face.

Wait, that didn't make sense. The movie scripts said he would be willing to talk about this.

"Wait, wait. You don't want the money..." The rest was muffled by the pillow. Damn, he really didn't care. He just had to shoot me and would be done. Fuck, why had Vinnie sent these idiots? They were too dumb for even simple logic.

I felt slight pressure on the other side of the pillow and knew it was the gun pressed down into it. Shit, I really was going to die. I unsuccessfully tried to convince myself that this was okay and my life was shit anyway. Now that it was about to happen, the thought of dying suddenly didn't seem all that desirable anymore. They say that your life flashes before your eyes in the moment of death, and I really had no desire to see that shit once again.

I faintly heard what sounded like two muffled shots and thought 'That's it. I have been shot in the head.' It seemed Vinnie's idiots weren't the only ones struggling with logic. The guy's weight seemed to fall off me sideways, which confused me even more. I still didn't dare to touch that pillow until it was yanked from my face.

The woman with the hoodie. What the fuck was she doing there? Why was she holding a gun with a silencer? Why did each of the guys have precisely one brand new hole in his head? How were we going to clean the bed and the carpet? Why did she suddenly look so damn hot and professional?

"What?" was my brilliant summation of all those questions.

"What what?" she countered. I had the feeling she was enjoying this and was willing to continue for a while.

"I mean..." Again, my eloquence was probably dazzling her.

"Good to know." She was unable to hide her grin completely.

"What?"

"You already said that, Einstein."

"What's going on here?" Ah, finally, a full sentence.

"A valid question. They are dead and you are alive. You have any opinion about that?"

How could she be joking in such a situation?

"I have. It would be unfortunate if it was the other way around."

"See? That's why I'm here."

"Have you done anything like this before?"

"You mean saving clueless morons?"

I had to laugh, which seemed a bit inappropriate, given the serious circumstances. I felt the tickling of the adrenaline leaving and my muscles slowly relaxing.

"No, I mean kill two guys who were about to execute an eloquent, innocent man."

Now it was her turn to laugh.

"My dear, you are neither eloquent nor innocent."

"That may be, but still, why did you save me?"

"It's my job," she said and produced an official looking badge. The most noticeable features were three big letters F, B and I. Wow, the government had saved me? Why bother? Did they need a vending machine technician for some secret government job?

"Why is saving me your job?"

"I asked myself the same question over and over. Why couldn't I have learned to be something useful? Like plumber. Or wood carver. Pilot. Teacher. Whatever. I wouldn't have to kill idiots to save other idiots."

I had to laugh again.

"No, I mean, why save me in particular?"

"Oh, I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you afterwards. That wouldn't make any sense, right?"

"Probably not, and I'd rather avoid dying today."

"Okay, buddy, you need to help me. We need to clean up this mess."

"How? I mean, this is gruesome. That's their brains on the walls."

"Don't overthink it. It's just matter that's in the wrong place. We just need to move it to a more appropriate location, like a nice cozy landfill."

"Okay, tell me what to do," I answered, wondering why a government agent had to clean up such a mess. Shouldn't they just call someone who took care of it?

"You have this ugly old Corolla, right?"

"Hey, how is that possible?"

She just laughed and understood what I was talking about. Nobody ever noticed my car.

"I'm a mutant, I can see invisible cars."

"And invisible guys, it seems."

"Oh, you're far from invisible, believe me. You just don't notice how the women around you are watching you. You're very good looking, yet not conceited. I like that in a guy, okay?"

Seriously? Doris had convinced me that I was overall rather mediocre.

"Umm," I started, not knowing how to deal with a compliment from an attractive woman. "Yes, I have this old Corolla. What do we need to do?"

"We need plastic wrap, brushes and detergent. We need to steal a set of bed linens from the room service to replace these."

"Okay, let's go." It felt good to have something to do after weeks of waiting.

We placed the 'Do not disturb' sign on the door and off we went off on a surprisingly fun shopping trip.

"Why exactly am I the one scrubbing their brains from the wall?" I enquired.

"Because it's been put on the wall to save your life."

"True, but you put it there."

I knew I was going to lose this mock argument, but it distracted me from wringing out the bloody rag into that bucket once again. She sighed in an aggrieved way that should have reminded me of Doris, but somehow didn't.

"I should have shot you instead. I bet they wouldn't have a problem with removing you from the wall," she countered while finishing packing the guys into plastic wrap. I wondered how we were supposed to carry them out of the room. We had to do it soon, the room service people would ignore our sign at some point.

"True, but they might have shot you afterwards, fake FBI badge or not."

She couldn't suppress her laugh anymore. I decided I liked it when she laughed.

"I guess I can't fool you, right? Pity, that thing is a master forgery and cost me five bucks in the novelty shop."

"You should have spent that on some cheap glasses. Handsome guy, my ass."

"That is for me to decide. I already know you don't particularly like yourself, but I happen to disagree."

That silenced me for a while. Was she serious or just playing with me? A woman like her couldn't really be interested, right? Maybe she just needed my help disposing of those idiots? No, for some reason I trusted her.

A few hours later, the room was spotlessly clean. I guessed it was now the cleanest room in the whole hotel and hoped the room service wouldn't notice. The nameless dream woman and I were busy trying to imitate a cliché crime movie by carrying a corpse wrapped in plastic down the stairs of a cheap hotel late at night.

Of course, I had the upper body side and was failing miserably.

"Hey, he's too heavy. Can't we just slide him down the stairs?"

She seemed to think about it for a few seconds.

"His head will bang on the stairs and wake everybody up."

"I can hold his head up."

"Okay, let's try it."

I found myself in the weird situation of holding the head of a dead guy who had tried to kill me earlier while his body was pulled down the stairs by the beautiful woman who'd saved my life. A few weeks ago, such things weren't a regular part of my life, but I really enjoyed the new me. I could just do without those near-death experiences.

It turned out the average mafia hitman was too big for a Corolla trunk. Somehow, the Toyota dealer had withheld that important piece of consumer advice. We had to fold down the rear seats, but the wrap ripped open while we heaved him around in a most undignified way. His dead eyes watched us working in silent accusation.

"That went well, I think," I summed things up after slamming the hatch shut.

We both had to laugh.

"Yeah, we were pretty smooth. Let's dump him and try to do better with the second one. Practice makes perfect."

At about five in the morning, we both fell into my bed, dead tired. I was even too worn out to be surprised at finding her head on my shoulder. We just fell asleep immediately. That night, I learned that crime can be hard work.

As always these days, when I had nothing else to do, I found myself gawking at her. It didn't matter what she was doing, which was nothing at the time, except exposing her skin to the sun. Well, not quite all of it, sadly, as we were at a hotel pool once again. She had convinced me to move to a better place and since I was sick of the damn lake, the shabby hotel and the repetitious talks with the innkeeper, I didn't put up too much resistance. She seemed pretty unconcerned about everything, and some of that seemed to rub off on me.

Whenever I wasn't too busy enjoying the view, which she never seemed to mind, by the way, I kept asking myself who she was exactly and why she helped me in the first place. Still, I had never dared to voice those concerns. I guess I was afraid of the answers or of chasing her away by asking. To be honest, I enjoyed my time with her too much to rock the boat.

"How come you saved me anyway?" I suddenly blurted out, interrupting my own thoughts about not asking questions.

"If I answer that, will you tell me why they wanted to kill you?"

"I have no idea."

"No idea why I saved you, then."

She smiled sweetly, and again, I had the impression she knew everything about me anyway and was just playing with me. Did she just enjoy toying with me before she killed me? Why did she save me in the hotel room then? Did she want to gain my trust until I told her where I'd hidden the money, which was still in its old hiding place? How could she know about the money, anyway? She would know about it if she was a mafia hitwoman. That made no sense; why kill her colleagues then? Nothing about her made any sense, but she had a wicked sense of humor, was hot as hell and so nice to have around. And, of course, there was that smile.

The sex was good. God, was the sex good with Dani. It always was. Sometimes frantic, sometime slow and loving, sometimes fun and experimental. It was on a level I had never experienced before.