Hot Sheets (40 page)

"Well,
er..."

"Why is that
girl topless?" Dickwipe asked, pointing at Goldie.

"Er... she's
just had a shower."

"Somewhat
unethical to make a phone call with her breasts exposed like that,
isn't it?"

"She is
somewhat unethical, I'm afraid. Do you know, when she was..."

"To the bar,
Mr Hunt!"

"Yes, of
course."

Following the
inspector, Mike decided to down half a bottle of neat vodka. Once
Dickwipe knew that Harold was in the hotel he'd be wise to WPC
Widegroin's whereabouts. There was only one thing to do - get
seriously pissed!

"Miss Chaste!"
Dickwipe gasped. "And you must be Harold Gloom?"

"Er... yes,
that's right," Harold smiled, leaning on the bar as Mike poured a
couple of vodkas.

"Someone's
going to kill him!" Miss Chaste said agitatedly, grabbing the
inspector's arm.

"She's crazy!"
Mike laughed nervously, passing a drink to Harold. "She should be
locked up for good!"

"Who's going
to kill him?" Dickwipe asked the old woman.

"Satan!"

"What?"

"Satan's going
to kill us all!"

"Er... Miss
Chaste, go and sit down over there while I talk to Mr Gloom."

"If you say
so."

"Yes, I do.
Now, Mr Gloom, where have you been of late?"

"Well, here
and there."

"Who
with?"

"No one," the
innocuous man replied, wondering why Mike was making odd facial
expressions at him.

"You've been
alone?"

"Yes."

"Have you been
to Scotland?"

"No,
never."

"Then why did
you phone Mr Hunt and tell him that you were in Scotland with WPC
Wendy Widegroin?"

"I
didn't."

Downing his
drink, Mike knew that the beginning of the end had arrived. He
should have told Harold of the lies he'd told Dickwipe about
Scotland, but it was too late now. What was needed now was a bloody
miracle!

"Mr Hunt,"
Dickwipe began, turning to face Mike. "Did you or did you not tell
me that Harold Gloom rang you from Scotland and informed you that
he was with Wendy Widegroin?"

"Er... did you
not. I mean, I did not."

"Yes, you
did!"

"No, what I
said was that they were desperately in love and that Harold had
phoned to say that they would like to go to Scotland."

"Is that
right, Mr Gloom?"

"Er... yes,
that's right."

"I see. Tell
me, Mr Gloom, where is Miss Widegroin now?"

"Well,
she..."

"She went to
Scotland to wait for you, isn't that right, Harold?" Mike
interrupted, winking at Harold.

"Yes, that's
right, she's waiting for me."

Answering a
call on his personal radio, Dickwipe moved to the window. "Go
ahead," he said without taking his eyes off Mike.

"There's been
a report of a naked woman climbing down a drainpipe at the front of
Stokepot Towers Hotel, Inspector."

"When was
this?"

"She was seen
about ten minutes ago."

"Right, I'm at
the hotel now, I'll investigate."

Cringing, Mike
poured himself another neat vodka as Dickwipe walked towards the
bar. This was the end, he knew. Whoever the escapee, she'd run
straight to Pox Green station and expose him and his wonderfully
debauched, filthy lucred future. Oh, well, he thought ruefully, win
some and lose some. One door closes and a prison cell door
opens.

Counting out
the sixteen-hundred pounds he'd collected from the clients the
previous evening, Mike shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "It could
have been so good!" he sighed. Widegroin had escaped down the
drainpipe, and it was surely only a matter of time before Dickwipe
arrived with his men to arrest him.

"Sixteen-hundred pounds in one evening!" he breathed as Paul
staggered into the bar and flopped onto a sofa. "One thousand,
six-hundred bloody pounds, just like that! It's all coming to an
end, and we'd only just begun!"

"Your ex-wife
wants something to eat," Paul muttered, reclining on the sofa.

"Tell Dave,
not me!" Mike snapped irritably.

"Eggs and
bacon, or something."

"I wonder why
Widegroin didn't release Belinda?"

"And
coffee."

"So Dickwipe
will find her up there, more than likely, adding to my horrendous
predicament."

"God, my head
aches!"

"I suppose
you're pissed, seeing as it's ten in the morning."

"I had a kick
start, that was all."

"You'll have a
kick start in the bollocks in a minute! Is Harold still in his
room?"

"Yes, he
reckons he's in hiding from the assassin."

"In bloody
hiding! I'm trying to run a brothel, not a sanctuary! I wish he'd
fuck off out of here!"

"I hear Miss
Chaste came back."

"Yes, she did,
the senile old bat. Dickwipe took her away, thank God. Christ, I've
had nothing but bloody problems ever since I started room
sixty-nine!"

"That's life,
Mike."

"Well, it
bloody well shouldn't be! Where's Cecilia, in the cupboard?"

"No, she's
vacuuming her room. Well, she's in her room with the vacuum
cleaner, put it that way. Nancy's helping Trudie and Goldie tidy up
on the top floor after the orgy last night. You should see it,
Mike, there's spunk and cunny juice splattered everywhere! The
walls, the ceilings, the carpets... everything's been well spunked
and juiced."

"There might
be a bloody mess, but what a night! Sixteen-hundred smackers!
Nothing lasts, though. Oh well, I suppose I won't be in prison for
too long. And then... and then what? When I come out, I'll go trout
fishing, spend hours relaxing, listening to music and... and I'll
be broke!"

"Are you going
to let Inspector Arsewipe ruin everything for you?" Paul asked Mike
severely. "Some bloody copper and that daft WPC - are you going to
let them fuck your future?"

"Well,
I..."

"And your
ex-wife?"

"I don't know,
Paul! I just want to go fishing, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't want
to listen to you arsing on about music and fishing, that's not you,
Mike! Where's the man in you? Where's the old Mike who gets things
done? Where's the old Mike who had marvellous, bloody brilliant,
ingenious fucking ideas for the future?"

"Yes, you're
fucking right! I'm determined not to allow Dickwipe to ruin
me!"

"Good, that's
more like it!"

"Paul, if
you're capable, which I very much doubt you are..."

"I'm more than
capable!"

"By the way,
did you make copies of the tape and place the ads?"

"Yes, all
done."

"OK, I want
you to prepare for Prickwipe's raid. He'll probably wait until
tonight when we have clients here. We won't take any bookings for
this evening, I want the top floor empty, as if it's not been used
for years. Belinda... we'll have to hide her somewhere, gag her and
bundle her into the understairs cupboard with a cucumber shoved up
her cunt. Stash all the sex gear in the basement, and make sure
there's no evidence..."

"What about
the wooden spanking frames? It would be a shame to..."

"OK, leave the
frames. No one will know what they're for. I've got it!"

"What?"

"Dress Belinda
and bring her down here. I'll call Dickwipe and tell him that she
burst in here with a gun. He's bound to check up on her, where she
got the gun from and what she was doing with it. Yes, it's a bloody
marvellous, fucking ingenious plan!"

"OK, I'll do
it now."

Leaning on the bar as Paul staggered into the foyer, Mike
grinned. Belinda taken in for questioning, he mused.
Fucking brilliant!
Especially if it came to light that she really was an
assassin! The gun, the letter from Mrs Gloom... Belinda-the-bitch
was done for! Widegroin was the only problem now.

There was
something about WPC Widegroin, Mike reflected. She was extremely
attractive, and a dammed good fuck! But there was more, something
indefinable. He'd thought Princess Christina had something
enigmatic about her, but Wendy radiated a charisma, a sensual
charisma that he liked. She's got spunk, he reflected, pondering on
her undercover operation, her escape down the drainpipe. "Yes,
she's got spunk!"

"Who's got
spunk?" Nancy asked as she breezed into the bar, her jet-black hair
flowing behind her, her pert breasts billowing her white silk
blouse. "Have I missed something exciting?"

"Ah, Nancy!"
Mike beamed. "No, you've not missed anything. We're preparing for a
raid."

"Who are we
going to raid?" the dark beauty asked, perching herself on a
barstool, her parted thighs revealing her knickerless sex lips.

"We're not
raiding anyone, for fuck's sake! The cops are going to raid
us."

"God!"

"He won't
help, I'm afraid. Christ, not after all I've done to women! Talk
about rousing God's wrath! Bloody hell, I've fucked women's
arseholes, shagged their cunts rotten, whipped their bums... you
never know, Satan might... what the fuck am I talking about?"

"I don't
know!"

"OK, this is
the plan... shit, there goes the fucking doorbell!"

"I'll get it!"
Dave called from the foyer.

"As I was
saying, Nancy, the plan is to make out that the fourth floor hasn't
been used in years. I'll pretend that I didn't even know it
existed. There are no stairs, the lift won't reach the top floor
without a key, so it's perfectly feasible that I had no knowledge
of a fourth floor."

"But the
policewoman was imprisoned up there, and your ex-wife."

"Yes
but..."

"You'll have
to come up with something better than that, Mike! Dozens of guests
must have stayed on that floor during the last few months alone.
The police have only got to check and..."

"Yes, I
suppose so," Mike sighed. "Sod it, it seemed like such a good idea.
Pour me a large vodka, will you?"

Walking to the window, Mike gazed out to sea. He could always
leave the country. But no, there had to be a way out of the mess,
he mused. The future had been looking so good - to have it ruined
now would be sacrilege. Wondering whether he should open as a hotel
again and forget about his new business venture, he turned as Dave
showed the Reverend Hardick into the bar. The dirty old pervert's
come back for more sex, he thought happily as Dave returned to the
kitchen.
More money!

"Good morning,
Father," Mike smiled as the cleric approached him.

"Good morning.
I was wondering whether it would be possible to..."

"Yes, of
course, Father!" Mike chuckled. "Er... Nancy, would you be good
enough to..."

"No, no it's
not that," Hardick broke in, his face flushing. "I was wondering
whether you'd consider catering for a party of twelve this
weekend?"

"What sort of
party?"

"You know, a
naughty party. There are several other priests, as well as the
bishop, the curate and..."

"Yes, of
course, Father!" Mike enthused. "Normally, at two-hundred pounds
each, which includes a fine evening meal as well as a night of
rampant sex, the cost would be two-thousand, four-hundred pounds.
But I'll do you an all-in discounted price of two grand."

"Fine, fine!"
the priest grinned, toying guiltily with the crucifix hanging from
his neck. "I'll ring you and confirm the details."

"Yes, you do
that, Father. I can assure you that it'll be the night of your
lives!"

"Oh, good!
Well, I'd better be getting back to the church, I'm marrying two
women this afternoon."

"You're
getting married to two women?"

"No, they're
marrying each other. It's against the church... well, I did a deal
with them. A nice little earner, I must say! Er... I mean... well,
I'll be in touch. Thank you very much for your help in this, er...
in this delicate matter."

"Thank you,
Father!"

Watching Nancy
lead the unholy man out of the bar, Mike clapped his hands together
triumphantly. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he breathed. "Two fucking
grand!" But Dickwipe and Widegroin were still playing on his mind,
destroying his jubilation - and his earning potential. Working out
the rough amount of cash he'd collect from half-a-dozen clients
each night, he grinned. "Eight-and-a-half grand a week!" Thumping
the bar with his clenched fist in his rising anger, he turned as
Paul staggered into the bar with Belinda in tow. Dressed in her
ripped clothes, her hands cuffed behind her back, her pert breasts
on display through the opening in her torn blouse, she looked like
a rag doll.

"Fuck me,
Paul!" Mike bellowed.

"No
thanks."

"Not
literally, you fool. Christ, she looks as if she's been... wait a
minute, that's even better," Mike said pensively, rubbing his chin
as he gazed at the woman's nipples. "That's it; I'll tell Dickwipe
that we had to overpower her. Her clothes became shredded during
the struggle she put up when we were trying to grab the gun."

"Dickwipe?"
Belinda echoed, her eyes widening with fear. "Er... Mike, there's
no need to..."

"What's the
matter, Belinda?"

"Nothing, it's
just that..."

"Why is your
stomach churning with fear?"

"It's
not!"

"If you're a
private dick, then you haven't got any problems, have you?"

"No,
but..."

"But what?
Only the guilty need fear the wrath of Dickwipe."

"There's no
need to call the police in, Mike," she laughed nervously. "Surely,
we can resolve this without..."

"Sit over
there, Belinda, on the sofa. I have some serious thinking to do,
some very serious thinking. Nancy, keep your eye on her," Mike
ordered, wandering into the foyer with Paul.