Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) (26 page)

Closing the door behind him, Brogan saw Harold sitting on a tall stool by the side of the desk, talking to the bald clerk, whose name Brogan still didn’t know. The old porter winked at him as he and Marlee walked wordlessly by and headed for the stairs.

Up on the second floor, Brogan led Marlee to his room, then bolted the door behind him. When he turned around, she had already switched on the lamp.

Brogan took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the door, then walked over to her. Marlee raised a hand to his chest when he reached her.

“Before we go any further, there’s something we need to discuss.”

He looked at her questioningly. Marlee rubbed her thumb and finger together.

“Oh, yeah. That.” In his drunkenness, Brogan had already forgotten the exact nature of their engagement.

“Now?” he asked.

“’Fraid so, honey. No money down, no panties down. That’s just how it goes,” she said, looking at him sweetly.

The two discussed business briefly, then Brogan reached for his wallet. He took out three crisp five dollar bills and handed them to her. Fifteen dollars was five times the price of the room. Perhaps he could have bargained better, but the time to do that would have been down in the bar.

Marlee quickly inspected the notes, then put them in the back pocket of her jeans. Taking her jacket off, she walked over to the desk in the corner and hung it over the back of the chair. Without any further ado, she sat down and pulled off her boots, followed by her jeans, folding them neatly and placing them on the chair.

There was plenty for Brogan to admire as she walked across to the bed and slid under the covers, her slender legs leading up to a beautifully proportioned ass that wiggled deliciously under her panties.

Brogan stripped down to his t-shirt and shorts, and got in beside her. Marlee snuggled up to him and he pulled her in closer. Sliding a hand under her blouse, he ran it up over the curve of her hip, feeling the firm, soft skin under his touch, then reached up behind her back and unclipped her bra. He cupped his hand over a large, firm breast, a rush of desire flooding his body. Then he dropped both hands down under her panties and kneaded her smooth, round buttocks, a moment later pulling the panties down over her hips.

Marlee grabbed his shorts with both hands and deftly tugged them down. Rolling over, suddenly she was on top of him. Reaching down, she grabbed him and guided him between her legs.

“Should we really be…doing…this…” Brogan’s voice trailed off as he entered her, “…bareback?”

Marlee leaned over and bit his ear. “Don’t worry, honey. I don’t do it this way very often,” she whispered. “Only when I want to have a little fun too.”

Brogan didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Either way, it was too late. He lay on his back staring up at her. Marlee’s thighs flexed as she arched her back, moving her hips in a strong undulating motion. Brogan reached both arms around her as Marlee jerked forward and pressed her palms into his chest, and they got into a lockstep rhythm. The corner of her mouth curled up into a cruel, sensuous grimace, then nothing became more important to either of them than the carnality of the moment.

After months of abstinence, the encounter didn’t last as long as Brogan would have liked. Soon he crested a wave, too tempting, too irresistible to control, and moments later came plunging down the far side, months of accumulated tension dissolving deep within him.

As he exhaled, he could feel small hard knots in the muscles of his chest open up that hadn’t relaxed in a long while. Moments later, without being able to help himself, the soporific mixture of liquor and sex sent him drifting off into a warm, fuzzy sleep.

When he woke again, the light was off and Marlee was no longer beside him. Over near the window, he could make out a shadowy figure. He leaned across the bed and found the light switch.

Marlee sat at the chair by the desk, zipping up the side of one of the heeled ankle boots she had worn that evening.

She smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you, honey. You looked so peaceful.”

Woozily, Brogan scanned the room quickly and checked nothing had been disturbed. “You’re leaving already? I thought you were going to sing to me all night.”

“Maybe next time, sweetie. I’d better run. It’s early still.”

Meaning there is still time for her to find another john downstairs before the evening is done,
Brogan thought, furious with himself for falling asleep. It would make what he intended to do next more awkward.

He managed to locate his shorts under the blankets and groggily got out of the bed. “Hold on, don’t go yet. There’s something I need to run by you.”

Marlee looked at him impatiently. “What is it?” There was a cold edge to her voice. For the first time that evening, the mask had slipped.

Brogan walked across to the closet and pulled out his pack. He dragged it to the side of the bed and reached for the zipper.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Marlee asked, sidling over to the door.

“Wait! There’s something in this for you,” he called out to her. He needed to say something to keep her in the room.

Grudgingly, she came back over and stood by the bed. If there was anyone in Two Jacks who might know where the three perps were, it would be Marlee.

From a hidden compartment at the back of the pack, Brogan pulled out a photograph; the ringleader, the one with the twisted smile. Before leaving Metro, he’d had it blown up and cropped so it no longer looked like it had been taken high above in the skies by a drone.

He handed it to Marlee. “You ever see this guy around?”

She took the photo, examining it carefully. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him sharply. “What are you doing messing with a guy like this?”

“So you know him?”

“Maybe. You mentioned there was something in it for me?”

Brogan drew in his breath. He felt a rush of excitement, and the room no longer felt cold. “You help me find him, I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, trying to keep both his gaze and voice steady.

Marlee stared back at him. “What do you want with him, I said?”

“Just a guy I met a couple of months back. He told me to look him up if I was ever up this way. I haven’t seen him around, and I’ve checked out most of the town.”

Marlee gave him a look. She didn’t believe a word of his story. “He’s a hunter and trapper. Of all sorts of prey. He comes and goes. Don’t worry, he’ll be back. He lives here.”

A sense of anticipation coursed through Brogan’s veins. John Cole had brought him to the right place after all. Now all he needed to do was to be patient. “What’s his name?”

The hooker looked at him sharply again. “You’re looking for a guy and you don’t even know his name?”

Brogan cursed his drunkenness. “I’ve forgotten it. Guess I’ve just met too many people on my travels.”

The hooker looked at him slyly. “Because that’s half the chase right there, if I give you that.”

“Come on, Marlee. I can show this photo to half a dozen people in this town who’ll know who he is.”

“You really want to do that?” The girl was smart enough to have figured out Brogan wanted to keep this on the down low. She knew how to play it too. “Maybe I ought to go find him. Let him know a man named Frank Brogan is looking for him,” she mused. “Seems only fair.”

Brogan felt his temper rising, furious now at both himself and Marlee.

“I’m only kidding,” Marlee said, laughing at him before he could react. “Look, sweetie, how about you leave this with me. I’ll let you know the moment he hits town.”

“I don’t need your help,” Brogan said testily.

“Trust me, you’re only going to run into trouble trying to find him,” Marlee said, looking at him earnestly. “Why don’t you sit back and relax, and I’ll take you right to him.”

Brogan considered Marlee’s proposal. If he turned her down, she could easily go and warn the perps about him. He knew that her threat had been no joke. His name wouldn’t mean anything to the men, but he’d lose the element of surprise. It was better to keep her on his side. It was the price to pay for finally getting some news on the men.

“Okay,” he said. “So long as he doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Sure. You’re looking to surprise your long lost buddy, right?”

“Right. Don’t worry, I’ll make it well worth your while, so you’re not even tempted to spoil things for me.”

Marlee arched an eyebrow. “Like…?”

“Like…thirty dollars.”

The eyebrow un-arched right away, replaced by the down curl of her lip. “Don’t be so cheap, Frank. Sixty dollars sounds about right.”

“Sixty dollars? The guy doesn’t mean that much to me. Forty dollars, not a cent more.”

“Fifty and we have a deal. For that price, you can surprise the hell out of him.”

Brogan stared at her a moment, then sighed. “Marlee, you strike a hard bargain. Deal. But cash on delivery. Not a penny beforehand.”

“Of course.” Marlee headed for the door. Brogan followed her and let her out. In the doorway, she turned around and looked back at him. “Don’t worry, Frank. I’ll deliver. Just remember our deal. Sit back and take it easy. As soon as he’s back, I’ll let you know, alright?”

Brogan nodded. “I’ll keep my side of the deal, you keep yours.”

The pretty little hooker ran a hand up the side of his bare waist. “And maybe we can do tonight all over again,” she smiled at him, her mask firmly in place again. “It was fun.”

“Sure. Let’s do that.”

After he had locked the door, Brogan went back over to the bed and got under the covers. The curtains were still undrawn and he stared out of the window into the inky darkness that stretched out in front of him. His lethargy had completely disappeared, and he could feel surges of energy running through his body like electricity.

Everything he had planned these past weeks was coming to a close. Soon he would face the killers of his family, and he contemplated the methods he would use to kill the three men, none of them quick or pleasant. Something in his chest, a choking sensation, got tighter, and he had to clench and unclench his fists by his sides several times to control it.

Gray streaks of dawn were visible in the skies outside his window before Brogan finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

For the next few days, Brogan stuck close to the hotel, waiting to hear news back from Marlee. Thanks to his mishandling of the situation, the girl knew more than she should. Still, his decision to come to an agreement with her and keep her on his side had been the right one. Better she collected from him rather than the other party involved. While he didn’t fully trust her, so long as he kept his side of the bargain, odds were she would keep hers. It was in her interest, after all.

His drunken roll with the pretty hooker had an interesting side effect too. Surprisingly, the encounter helped unlock a certain confused emotion he’d felt ever since coming to the Outzone.

Brogan had known at some point he would be with a woman, albeit not so quickly, nor one like Marlee. Sarah was dead, and a woman’s company was an urge that would eventually have to be satisfied. Yet since being with Marlee, he felt more a sense of relief than guilt for his actions. Finally, his reasons for coming to the Outzone had become ever clearer and within reach. Life was funny like that.

While he waited for word, Brogan got into a new routine to help while away the hours each day. Every morning after breakfast he would play backgammon with Ralph, the desk clerk on the day shift; a stick thin, cadaverous-looking man with hollow cheeks and a pale, unnaturally long face. Ralph wore the same dark pinstripe suit to work each day, and with his thinning black hair whose sides he greased back in long ducktails, he could easily be mistaken for the town’s undertaker.

The clerk had a dry, laconic sense of humor that Brogan appreciated. That first morning when he had come downstairs to see him at reception, Brogan had sauntered over and asked him the best place to get breakfast in town.

“Why that’d be Marty’s, right across the street,” Ralph replied, barely looking up from the book he was reading. “That’s if you like good old-fashioned eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and as much coffee as you can drink.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m as old-fashioned as they come.”

“Watch out for the coffee, though. It’s thick as tar. Make you bug-eyed before you finish your second cup.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Brogan glanced down at the book in the clerk’s hand, an old paperback with the cover half-torn. He could just make out its faded title,
Road Dogs,
by a guy call Leonard somebody or other.

“What you reading there?”

Ralph placed the book on the counter and looked up at Brogan. “It’s a pre-century crime novel by a guy called Elmore Leonard.”

“Any good?”

“It’s got guns, dames, and trouble. Fits right in with all the shit you see around here. So, yeah, it’s pretty good.”

Brogan chuckled. “I’m reading a spy book set in the 1930s. It’s got all the same shit too. Guess some things never change, huh?”

“They sure as heck don’t. Hard to find books in this town. Folk around here aren’t exactly the most educated. I usually get people to pick me up stuff if they’re ever up in Winter’s Edge. They got some good book stores there…used, ya know? Maybe we can do a swap when we’re both finished.”

“Good idea,” Brogan said, kicking himself for mentioning his book. He quickly changed the subject. “You always work the day shift?”

“Yep. Twenty years of schoolin’ will get you that,” Ralph said with a wry smile. “Say fellah, you know how to play backgammon? It’s okay if you don’t, I’ll teach ya, so long as we play for money.”

And that was the mornings taken care of.

Despite what he’d told Marlee about not being a gambler, the sessions with Ralph whetted Brogan’s appetite. This was Two Jacks, after all. It would look strange if a man didn’t partake in a game from time to time, and he took to passing the afternoons in the Quiver’s gaming room, one you entered through a set of double doors from the lounge, where he played no limit Texas Hold'em and seven card stud.

The day players were serious. They drank coffee or sipped slowly from the same whiskey soda for hours, choosing to pit their wits against other equally serious gamblers, a very different breed than the six-two night crowd, more interested in playing craps or roulette and showing off in front of the ladies.