Hot Sheets (23 page)

"Save it for
later. Christ, look at the carpet! Use a tissue, woman! OK, put an
out- of-order-notice on the lift doors. Oh, and make sure the
clients are all right. I'm going down to the basement to turn the
lift's master switch off."

The lift out
of action, Mike wondered what else he'd forgotten to do. Christ,
I'm becoming a nervous wreck, he thought, grabbing his vodka from
the reception desk and ambling into the bar. WPC Widegroin was
leaning on the bar talking to Paul, no doubt trying to glean
information out of the alcohol-ridden young man. But Paul wouldn't
spill the beans, he was sure, as he sat next to Nancy.

"So, we're all
ready," he smiled, eyeing her short skirt, her inner thighs, as he
recalled her incredible orgasm, the torrents of girl juice pouring
from her rubicund pussy hole. "Two clients are here already."

"Mike, that
woman," she whispered, leaning forward and holding her hand to her
mouth. "She's been asking a lot of questions about the hotel. Do
you know who she is?"

"Yes, she's a
policewoman."

"A
police..."

"It's OK,
don't worry. Everything's under control, as always at Stokepot
Towers."

"I hope you're
right! The last thing I want is to be busted for..."

"Mind if I
join you?" WPC Widegroin smiled sweetly as she approached, her blue
eyes reflecting her evil intent.

"No, no not at all," Mike smiled, slipping off the stool and
inviting her to sit down.
Shit, talk about
getting herself behind enemy lines
. "Nancy,
this is Miss Widegroin."

"Hi, Nancy -
I'm Wendy. Are you staying here?"

"No, just
passing. I've known Mike for ten years and I thought I'd pop in for
a drink."

"Oh, I
see."

"Look, I'll
leave you ladies to have a chat," Mike said, hearing someone enter
the foyer. "I'll be back in a while."

Emerging from
the bar, he grinned, gazing at a middle-aged man talking to
Cecilia. Another punter, he assumed, moving towards the desk. "Good
evening," he greeted the good-looking man. "Mr Smith, I
presume?"

"Yes, good
evening. I'm not too early, am I?"

"No, not at
all, sir. Er... shall we get the financial side of the evening out
of the way?"

"Oh, yes, two
hundred pounds," the man replied, pulling a wad of notes from his
jacket pocket.

"Thank you
very much," Mike grinned, trying not to grab the money as the man
passed it to him. "Cecilia, are the girls in the dining room,
yet?"

"Yes, they
are."

"Good. Would
you show Mr Smith to his table, please?"

"Certainly -
this way, sir."

Rubbing his
hands together jubilantly, Mike wandered into the kitchen to check
up on Dave. The steaks sizzling, the fresh veg prepared and cooked,
ready to be heated in the microwave, he couldn't believe that his
incompetent chef had actually got his act together. Even the sweets
trolley was commendable - trifle, gateau, fresh fruit salad, cheese
and biscuits...

"What's come
over you, Dave?" Mike asked. "I can hardly believe that you haven't
set fire to the steaks and burned the veg."

"All under
control!" the young man beamed proudly.

"Three punters
are here so..."

"Right,
there's a choice of wines in the fridge and there's minestrone soup
or melon for starters, so I'm ready when the girls are."

"Well done,
Dave! I can't believe that you haven't fucked up, I really can't!
OK, I'm going back to the bar to check up on things."

Walking
through the foyer, Mike wondered whether or not it was wise to
return to the bar where, no doubt, Wendy Widegroin was pumping
Nancy and Paul for information. Before too long, Paul would be
unconscious on the floor - but Nancy might inadvertently let
something slip, and it wouldn't be her knickers!

"Mr Hunt!"
Miss Chaste cried as she hobbled down the stairs. "Mr Hunt, my room
doesn't work and I've locked my key in the lift, what shall I
do?"

"You've locked
your key in the lift?"

"Oh, have I?
Thank goodness for that, I thought I'd locked it in my room! The
problem is that the lift doesn't work, so I won't be able to get my
key."

"What? What
are you talking about, Miss Chaste? Have you been in the sun?"

"In the Sun?
Oh, no, I read the Mail."

"The Mail?
Look, I haven't got the time to play psychotic games - tell me what
it is you want."

"My key's
locked in and the lift doesn't work."

"What you're
saying is that you've locked your key in your room, is that
right?"

"Yes, that's
what I said in the first place."

"Right, take
the skeleton key."

"Is it
dead?"

"Dead? Jesus
Christ!" Mike exclaimed, thrusting his hand into his trouser
pocket. "Go and open your door with my key, get your key, and then
bring my key back to me."

"It all sounds
rather confusing!"

"It couldn't
be simpler. Go and get your key."

"How shall I
do that?"

"Do what?"

"Get to my
room and..."

"With the key
I've just given you."

"But the lift
doesn't work."

"Use the
bloody stairs!"

"Oh, yes, yes
of course."

Rubbing his
forehead as the old woman scurried across the foyer, Mike knew the
time had come to take a gamble - get rid of the old fogies and pray
that room sixty-nine would replace the lost income. There was no
way he could put up with Miss Chaste and the bucking colonel for a
day longer - they were driving him nuts! Grabbing the letter opener
as Miss Chaste tottered down the stairs again, he contemplated
murder.

"I've done it,
Mr Hunt!" she cried triumphantly.

"Thank God for
that! Give me the skeleton key and then go and take a rest in your
room for a year or... an hour or two."

"The skeleton
key?"

"Yes, the key
I gave you just now."

"Just now? Oh,
that key!"

"Yes, that
key."

"Now, where
did I put it? Let me see, I unlocked my door and went inside, and
then I put my bag and the key on the bed and... and then what did I
do?"

Shove a vibrator up your
...

"Oh, yes, I
couldn't find the key."

"Which
key?"

"My key.
That's right, I locked my key in..."

"Where's my
key, Miss Chaste?"

"Oh dear, have
you lost yours, too?"

"No, of course
I haven't, you senile old... I gave it to you!"

"When?"

"Just now,
before you went up stairs to your room."

"To my
room?"

"Yes, to your
room. Look, let's start again - where's your key?"

"I've told you
twice, it's in my room."

"What? Look,
you had two keys, my key and your key."

"Did I?"

"You know damn
well... where are the keys now?"

"Well, mine's
in my room."

"Bloody
hell!"

"Oh, Mr Hunt!
I really do think you should stop swearing."

"I'll really
swear in a minute! Where the hell's my key?"

"I don't know.
Where did you leave it?"

"Where did I
leave it? Miss Chaste, can we please..."

"Your key's on
my bed."

"Ah, at last!
Right, it's quite simple, go and get my key."

"You know what
I'm going to say, don't you?"

"I have a
pretty good idea, Miss Chaste."

"A
ladder!"

"Where?"

"You'll need a
ladder to climb up to my window and get your key."

"God, there
must be an easier way to..."

"Oh, there is,
Mr Hunt. Why don't you use my key to get into my room?"

"Because your
key's locked in your..."

"But I have my
key here - look, in my bag."

"Miss Chaste,
are you deliberately trying to... OK, go to your room and get my
key and then, please, leave me in peace! Good God, your key, their
key, my key, our key, his key, her fucking key..."

"Oh, Mr
Hunt!"

"I'm coming to
the boil, Miss Chaste! Five, four, three, two..."

"I'm going,
I'm going!"

Fearing that he was close to a nervous breakdown, Mike looked
up to the ceiling and clasped his hands together as the old woman
climbed the stairs.
Oh, God, I'll do
anything, anything! Please, just get rid of these fucking... sorry,
I mean, these problems, and I promise I'll never have anal
intercourse again. Well, I'll cut down, say, four times a week.
And, if you get rid of that old bat, I'll give up drinking. No,
I'll halve my alcohol intake - almost halve it! The old bat's had a
good innings, hasn't she, God? Take her, please! Yes, tonight -
take her tonight and I'll also cut down on wanking - just a
bit
.

The lights suddenly going out, Mike looked around the foyer in
puzzlement. Checking the monitor, he realized that the power supply
to the hotel was off.
They can't have cut
me off!
The man from the electricity board
had been happy enough to charge his tool with the girls rather than
cut off the supply, so what had happened? Besides, he would have
had to pull out the company fuse in the understairs cupboard, and
he hadn't seen him come back. The vibrator won't work, he suddenly
realized as Dave peered round the kitchen door to inform him that
the power was off.

"Yes, I know
that!" Mike returned irritably. "What do you think I am, fucking
demented?"

"Sorry, I
didn't realize that you knew."

"Of course
I... shit, how the hell do we get the punters up to the fourth
floor with the lift not working?"

"Use the
stairs."

"There are no
fucking stairs!"

"Fuck me,
we're stairless and liftless!"

"You'll be
bloody cockless in a minute! OK, don't panic. Serve the meals and
I'll see what I can do about the power. Candlelight - yes, dinner
by candlelight. Tell the girls to light some candles, and not the
ones stuffed up their cunts! The last thing I need is roast fanny!
I'll ring the electricity board and blow the bastards up."

Sighing as he
looked up the number, Mike wondered if his luck would ever change.
Floods, fires, explosions - and now no electricity! Determined not
to be beaten by the establishment, he punched the telephone buttons
and waited impatiently for a reply.

"If you're
calling about your account, say yes after the tone," the computer
droned in his ear.

"Of course I'm
not calling about my fucking account!" Mike bellowed angrily at the
machine.

"Thank you for
calling accounts, please hold the line."

"I don't want
fucking accounts!"

"Hallo,
accounts - Mandy speaking."

"Right, Mandy,
I want you to tell me why there's no electricity in my hotel!"

"May I have
your name and account number?"

"Screw my
account number! This is Stokepot Towers Hotel. I want to
know..."

"Stokepot
Towers. Right, I'm just getting you up on the screen. OK, is that
Mr Hunt?"

"No, it's the
fucking pope!"

"The name I
have is Hunt, not Pope."

"Of course I'm
Hunt! What's happened to my electricity supply?"

"I'm afraid
your supply has been disconnected, Mr Hunt."

"Well, you'd
better reconnect it - now!"

"Certainly,
sir - we'll reconnect your supply as soon as we've received four
thousand, five hundred and sixty-five pounds, and eighty-two
pence."

"You'll do it
now or I'll come round and rip your wet knickers off and stuff them
right up your..."

"I'm sorry,
sir, abuse will get you nowhere."

"Unless you...
shit, the bitch has hung up!"

Screams of
female orgasm emanating from the dining room, Mike shook his head
despairingly. After their candlelit suppers, the clients would be
eager to get to the fourth floor to enjoy the girls' naked bodies,
but with the lift not working...

"What's
happened to the lights, mate?" Trudie asked, peering round the
dining room door.

"Don't ask!"
Mike groaned as an impeccably dressed, youngish man entered the
building. "Where's Cecilia?"

"Er... beneath
one of the tables giving a client a blow..."

"Yes, yes, all
right! Er... good evening," Mike smiled, turning to greet the new
arrival. "Welcome to Stokepot Towers."

"Good evening,
I booked room sixty-nine. I... I didn't give my name..." the man
grinned sheepishly, taking two hundred pounds from his wallet.

"Of course,
sir! If you care to go through into the dining room, the girls will
attend to you," Mike smiled, grabbing the cash.

Watching the
prurient punter enter the dining room, Mike raised his eyes to the
ceiling. No lift, no lights, no vibrator... "Shit, I'll have
someone's balls for this!" he cursed. Hearing a noise coming from
the understairs cupboard, he hurried across the foyer to
investigate.

"You bastard!"
he stormed, kicking the Electricity Board man's arse as he cowered
by the fuse box. "You fucking bastard!"

"I had to cut
you off, mate. It was that or lose my job!"

"I'll cut you
off unless you reconnect the bloody supply!"

"But..."

"I'll tear
your bollocks off!"

"All right,
all right! But I don't know what I'm going to say to my boss."

"You'll say
that you cut me off. Reconnect the supply and get out of here!"

The lights
coming on, Mike sat at the desk and rested his head in his hands as
the Electricity Board man fled the building. This was the last
straw, he thought, speculating on what the hell would happen next.
The phone ringing, he wondered whether he dare answer it - it was
bound to be trouble!

"Good evening,
Stokepot Towers," he finally replied.