Thud. Thud. Thud.
That’s what I get for defacing the Do Not Disturb sign. CNN was still on, and DEA agents were escorting El Chapo back to prison. Bad omen. The morning sunlight shone between the hotel curtains like prison bars. At least my dealer was still walking free.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Jesus, Sal. I’m coming,” I whispered, trying to push myself off the mattress. Baggies of meth and a bubble pipe rolled into the ditch created by my elbow. How did I even fall asleep last night? Specks of fake leather peeled from my jacket as I stood up to stretch. Maybe the coat would last longer if I stopped passing out in it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I stepped through the mess of tinfoil and empty Bic lighters scattered across the floor. “Hey,” I said, swinging open the door. “Where were you yesterday?”
The man standing on the other side of the door was not my drug dealer. This guy barely came up to my belly button. “Mr. Andersen checkout was an hour ago and you haven’t paid.”
The defaced Do Not Disturb sign swung from the door knob. “I’m sorry, do you even work here?” I asked. What he was saying didn’t make any sense. “I’m friends with the staff,” I continued. “It’s fine.”
“Please, just collect your things and go,” the man begged. Even if this guy was half my height, I was still probably half his weight. Could I take him? Probably not alone. Where was Sal?
“Please, fuck off,” I said, slamming the door.
Anderson Cooper was on TV, saying something about how El Chapo was going to be isolated from everyone. No guards. No communication. I couldn’t find the remote. I kicked a dirty shirt from the floor but all that was under it was an empty bottle of anti-depressants. My phone rang.
“Hey,” I answered. “Where were you yesterday? I walked all the way to 22nd and you ghosted me.”
“Congratulations,” the robotic voice on the other end said. “You and a friend have been pre-selected for an all inclusive stay at the Marriott in…”
I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It bounced off the wall, landing in my open suitcase. Where was Sal? Where were Mike and Sean and Bill. Hell, even Dave? They all knew the room number. They all knew my phone number. Where was Jerry? Last time I saw him, I still had an apartment.
A square of foil crinkled beneath my shoes. CNN had gone to a commercial break, and I leaned over to pick up the piece of aluminum. There were still a few smudges left. A couple glints of dope. I fished the plastic straw from my jacket pocket and held it to my lips. One of the lighters on the floor still had some fuel in it. Back on TV, some person held a cartoon smiley face in front of their own face. I clicked the lighter on.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
That’s what I get for defacing the Do Not Disturb sign. What time was it? CNN was still on, and they were showing the same footage of El Chapo being escorted to prison. Bad omen. Sunlight stretched over my body as I pushed myself off the edge of the mattress. At least Sal was finally here.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I stepped through the mess of tinfoil and empty Bic lighters scattered across the floor. “Hey,” I said, swinging open the door. “Where were you yesterday?”
Neither of the two men standing on the other side of the door were my drug dealer. They were dressed identical. Blue khakis. Ironed shirt. Holster. Police Badge. I barely came up to either of their belly buttons.
“Sir, you’re going to need to come with us,” one of them said.
Fake leather shook free from my jacket. “Am I being arrested?”
“No,” the other cop said. “You just need to leave the property.”
Just out of their sight were two baggies of meth, a bubbler, several discarded sheets of burnt heroin, and a variety of pills that accounted for each of the primary shapes. I put on my happy face. “Ok. Just give me one minute to pack up.”
“Nope,” officer one stepped through the entryway. “Now.”
I nodded, and in the least suspicious way possible, I turned around to dart back into the room. “Just grabbing my suitcase.” They followed behind, about to turn the corner and come face to face with my entire opium den. In one fluid motion, I swept all the felonies laying on the hotel mattress into my open pack. As their blues suits peeked around the corner, I kicked whatever was closest to my foot under the bed and zipped my suitcase shut.
“Ready,” I muttered, brushing past them and into the hall.
My heart beat faster than it ever had, and I hadn’t even smoked any meth today. None of this made any sense. I was friends with the staff. Right? Where was Sal? Where were Mike and Sean and Bill? The officers followed behind to ensure I made it to the street. Hell, I’d even take Dave. When was the last time I talked to someone I knew? Officer one shut the hotel door behind him. Room 504. The Do Not Disturb sign that I had defaced swung back and forth from the handle.
Please Disturb Me.
Dont know if it was intentional, but "blue khakis" is great, subtle burnt tongue.
That groundhog moment got me, nice touch