Hot Sheets (33 page)

"And how do
you intend to do that?"

"For a start,
one of my bisexual waitresses will come up here and play with you
for a while."

"You just dare
to allow another woman to touch me again!"

"There's
Goldie, Trudie, Nancy and Cecilia - they're all bisexual,
sex-starved little nymphos. I'm sure that, between them, they'll
extract the truth from you - and a few pints of fanny juice!
They'll rub their dripping pussies over your mouth and..."

"My God,
you're disgusting!"

"Yes, I do
believe I am! You'll enjoy drinking from their hot cunts, Belinda.
I'll go and find Goldie, she'll just love playing with your shaved
pussy."

"Mike, no!
Look, this is ridiculous!"

"Yes, it is.
Just look at you with those fucking great dildos stuffed up your
lust holes and your nipples... yes, it is ridiculous! I'll go and
find Goldie."

"We'll do a
deal."

"A deal?"

"Yes, I'll...
I'll let you in on a secret - I'm not a policewoman."

"Big
deal!"

"I'm a private
detective. I set up my own business several years ago and... well,
even though I say it myself, I've done very well."

"So, why did
you come here?"

"Harold Gloom
hired me. He said that his wife was planning to have him done away
with, and he hired me to nail the killer."

"Harold's in
his room, I'll go and ask him to verify your story."

"No, it's no
good doing that because he'll deny it. No one knows he's hired me,
he wants it to remain a secret."

"Why didn't he
release you when he was up here? He let Wendy go so, surely, if
he'd hired you to track down the assassin, he'd have let you go
rather than fuck you?"

"I told him
not to."

"You told him
to fuck you?"

"No, I told
him not to release me! It would have aroused suspicion and you
would have..."

"I'll go and
have a word with Harold, see what he's got to say about this."

Leaving the
room, Mike pondered on Belinda's latest story. It was the best so
far, he reflected. The policewoman tale was ridiculous, but a
private detective held some credence. Yes, it made sense, he
thought. Harold might well have hired Belinda to stay at the hotel
and discover who the potential murderer was. Deciding not to
mention it to Harold just yet, he took the lift to the ground floor
and wandered into the bar.

"Good morning,
Colonel," he greeted the old man as he sat next to him at the bar.
"I'm sorry if I appeared to be rude the other day, it's just that I
had problems."

"That's all
right, old boy. Everything sorted out now?"

"Er... no, not
exactly. Goldie, would you give me a large vodka, please?"

"Certainly,"
the sex-siren smiled sweetly. "By the way, Cecilia's in the
cupboard under the stairs."

"She's still
there?"

"Yes, she's
asleep."

"By Jove!" the
colonel grunted, knocking back a large scotch. "Asleep in the
cupboard? There are some strange things going on in this
hotel!"

"You can say
that again!" Mike laughed.

"I'll go and
wake her up," Goldie volunteered, passing Mike his drink and
leaving the bar.

"She'll wear
the bloody vacuum cleaner handle out at this rate! I'll have to
have a word with her," Mike sighed. Turning back to the colonel, he
frowned. "What are your long-term plans?"

"Plans? I have
no plans."

"I'm thinking
of..."

"Have you seen
the road blocks?"

"Yes, I
have."

"They're
probably after a South American gangster. Do you know, back
in..."

"Colonel, I'm
thinking of closing the hotel."

"By gad! Where
will I live?"

"You can stay
here, but this won't be a hotel."

"What will it
be?"

"Ah, Cecilia,
I trust you enjoyed your sleep?" Mike smiled as the cleaner floated
into the bar with Goldie, grinning like a Cheshire cat, juice
coursing down her inner thighs.

"Er... I'm
sorry about that. It won't happen again," she grinned
sheepishly.

"Won't it?
Look, I have things to do; I'll talk to you later, Colonel."

Leaving the
bar with his drink, Mike sat at the desk. The more he thought about
closing the hotel, the more the idea appealed to him. There'd be no
need to hold a license for the bar, and drinking hours wouldn't
apply. There was nothing illegal about owning a private bar, he
mused. The till would have to go, of course, the room sixty-nine
clients paying for their drinks before leaving. No fire
inspections, no environmental health problems, no weights and
measures...

Right, the videos, he thought, deciding to place an advert for
the pornographic movies in a men's mag.
I'll need another machine to make copies
. "Bloody hell!" he gasped, pressing the eject button to
discover that the tape had gone. "Where the hell... Ah, Trudie,
have you taken the tape out of the machine?" he asked as the girl
emerged from the lift.

"No,
mate."

"Go and ask
Goldie whether she took it."

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched the buxom brunette
mince into the bar, Mike didn't recall removing the tape
himself.
Some bastard's nicked it!
As Dave staggered in through the main doors
lugging several bulging carrier bags, he leapt up and asked him
whether he'd taken it.

"No, not me,"
Dave replied, dumping the bags on the floor. "Christ, that lot
weighs a ton!"

"How much have
you spent?"

"Er... not a
lot. So, what's happening? I see that the cops have set up road
blocks."

"Bloody
philistines! Dave, I'm going to close the hotel."

"Close it?
But..."

"I'm not going
to explain now, suffice to say that you'll stay on as the chef,
cooking for the room sixty-nine punters."

"Oh,
right."

"The more I
think about it, the more I realize that it's a fucking marvellous,
brilliant, ingenious plan. No Gill, no tax man, no environmental...
OK, put the food away and we'll all sit in the bar and discuss the
future of Stokepot Towers."

"Will do."

It was an
ingenious plan - somewhat illegal, but bloody ingenious! Feeling
elated, Mike made the decision to close the hotel there and then.
Leaping to his feet as Nancy wafted in, he closed and locked the
main doors. One door closes, and another one opens. Five years at
Stokepot Towers, and within seconds, the hotel was history.

"A new era, a new chapter!" he grinned, punching the air with
his fist. "I've won! I've beaten the system, the establishment, the
officious bastards!"
Whoops, better not
speak too soon
.

"A new era?"
Nancy echoed, wondering what had got into her unpredictable
boss.

"I'll explain
everything shortly," he smiled, gazing into her dark, sparkling
eyes. "Go and wait in the bar, we're having a meeting."

"I'm just
going up to my room, I'll be with you in a minute."

"OK, Nancy.
Ah, Paul, where the hell have you been?" Mike asked as the young
man wandered downstairs.

"In my room
constructing some more equipment," he smiled, seemingly sober for a
change.

"Did you take
the tape from the video recorder?"

"No, I
didn't."

"Shit! OK, I
have a job for you. Take the till out of the bar and put it in my
flat. Remove the drinks tariff, the Over Eighteen sign, the
measures sign and all other notices. It's now a private bar, just
as if it was in someone's lounge. No laws apply, there are no
licensing rules or..."

"Does that
mean that I can have free drinks whenever I want?"

"No, it
fucking does not! Bring all the duty-free stuff up from the
basement and stock the bar up. When Gill comes back, if he comes
back, I'm going to have the time of my life showing him the
duty-free fags and booze! Right, before you get started, go and
wait in the bar. We're going to have a meeting."

There was a
lot to sort out, he reflected. He'd have to officially cease
trading and take his staff off PAYE, and the colonel would have to
cancel his standing order and pay by cash each month. There were to
be no cheques or credit cards, only hard cash. But there was still
the problem of Belinda, he mused, again wondering what to do with
her. And Widegroin!

As Dave left
the kitchen and crossed the foyer, Mike followed him into the bar.
Perched on stools at the bar, the staff were eagerly awaiting his
enlightening speech. Their future in the balance, as well as his,
they could only hope that he was leading them in the right
direction, making the right decision. As Nancy breezed in and
joined the group, Mike stood behind the bar and served a round of
drinks.

"Ok, the plan
is this," he began excitedly. "As from now, the place is closed.
The doors are locked, it's no longer a hotel. No one's to book in
any more ordinary guests. This is now Stokepot Towers Brothel."

"By gad, a
brothel?" the colonel gasped in surprise.

"Yes, Colonel,
a brothel. Do you still want to live here?"

"Damned right
I do, old man! By Jove, fancy living in a brothel!"

"Nancy,
Cecilia, Trudie and Goldie are the... the girls. Dave, you're still
the chef, creating excellent meals for the clients. Paul, you're
the barman, and you'll also be responsible for the video equipment
and..."

"What about
me?" the colonel barked. "What am I?"

"Er... as yet,
I'm not sure, Colonel."

"Can I be
number one client?"

"Yes, if you
can afford it. OK, so we'll all muck in with the cleaning and
general running of the place. Are there any questions?"

"Money,"
Goldie declared, gazing at her boss suspiciously. "Presumably, we
won't be getting our normal wages? Not that we often did!"

"That's right,
you're all officially unemployed. Don't go signing on, though,
it'll cause problems. I'll work the money out later."

"Will I get
paid?" the colonel asked.

"Er... no,
you'll pay for your room and food as usual. I'll talk to you about
that later. Right, I must notify the Inland Revenue, Customs and
Excise, the fire inspector... Paul, you have your work cut out.
Dave, I think lunch might be an idea. Everyone else, busy
yourselves with cleaning or something."

"What about
me?" the colonel asked. "Shall I busy myself?"

"No, just sit
at the bar and enjoy your drink. The first thing I must do is sort
out a small problem I have on the fourth floor. OK, let's go for
it!"

Taking the
lift to the top floor, Mike felt high with fresh hope and optimism
for the future. But his elation was marred by the prospect of
Dickwipe's raid. There must be a way to discover what the man's
plans were, he thought, gazing out at the road blocks from the top
floor window. Why block the road? Why have armed men in the bushes?
It didn't make sense - unless he'd got it very wrong and Dickwipe's
plan had nothing to do with the hotel. "No," he breathed, turning
and striding purposefully towards room sixty-nine. "The surprise
cop-shop visitor would have been Widegroin - and Prickwipe's
planning a raid!"

Entering the
sex room, he held his head and gasped. Belinda had gone. "The fire
escape! But who..." Dickwipe must have crept up the fire escape and
rescued the woman. But why do that if he was planning to raid the
place?... Harold? Mike pondered. No, he couldn't get to the top
floor without a key for the lift, and he wouldn't have climbed the
fire escape. One thing was for sure, there was no way Belinda could
have escaped without an accomplice.

"Bloody hell,
now I'm really in it!" Mike cursed, agitatedly rubbing his chin.
But all he could do was wait - there was no point in panicking. If
and when the raid took place, he'd have to play it by ear - and
pray! So near, and yet so far, he thought. The potential of the new
business was incredible! There were four clients booked in for that
evening alone. "Eight hundred pounds, cash! Dickwipe can't ruin
it!"

Returning to
reception, he decided not to tell the others that Belinda had done
a runner. What with Widegroin on the loose and the missing video
tape, there was no point in causing them more concern, he mused,
sitting behind the desk and answering the phone.

"Hi, Mike!"
Belinda giggled.

"How the
hell..."

"It doesn't
matter how, the point is, I'm free. OK, my demands are..."

"Demands? You
needn't think you're going to blackmail me, you fanny-shaved
bitch!"

"Call it
blackmail, if you wish, but my demands are..."

Deciding to
bluff the woman, Mike grinned. "Belinda, I know all about you, your
game."

"Game?"

"Yes, I know
everything."

"Don't bluff
me, Mike. Look, you're running a brothel, you held a policewoman
prisoner, not to mention me... living off immoral earnings...
you're in one hell of a mess."

"I'm not in a
mess at all."

"This is the
deal - I'll not back up that policewoman's story, or mention what
you did to me, if you give me half your earnings."

"Half my
earnings? You must be mentally deranged, woman! You need the
services of a psychiatrist!"

"Think about
it, Mike... think about it."

Suddenly
realizing that he'd not gone through Belinda's belongings, searched
her handbag, he changed tack. "I do know all about you, what you're
up to," he said confidently. "I've been to your room and searched
your bag."

"You've been
through my things?"

"Yes, it was
quite a revelation, Belinda."

Chuckling as
she hung up, Mike replaced the receiver and dashed upstairs to her
room. Why he'd not thought of it before, he didn't know. There must
be something in her bag, something incriminating. If she were
innocent, she wouldn't have hung up, he surmised, wondering what
she was really about as he took the skeleton key from his pocket
and entered her room.