In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) (27 page)

Their room was on the second floor of a motel in the less prestigious part of town. To face facts, the place was a bit of a dump located on the outskirts of the Historic District. Not quite the hourly rental status, but close enough. The rooms were situated with each of their doors opening to the outside elements. This particular room had a lovely view of a nearby industrial installation.

Some birthday this had turned out to be.

At least he felt clean. Mo had thoughtfully allowed him use of the bathroom first due to the fact that his slime-covered state from crawling around at the strip club exceeded hers. Ross had showered and changed into baggy jeans and t-shirt hastily purchased from a truck stop they’d passed along the state highway before deciding to turn around and head back to the city. The t-shirt read:
Bubbaland
—presumably the truck stop's name. They should’ve purchased something to eat while they were there. But neither he nor Mo had been thinking clearly at the time. All she'd gotten was tuna...and that was for the cat.

Ross started down the metal walkway in the direction of the elevators. This place was a far cry from the penthouse suite he had in that four-star hotel, but their stay would only be one night. And surely the place wasn’t totally barbaric. There must be an ice dispenser, he thought, glancing down at the plastic ice bucket that had been provided in the room. This little item seemed to indicate there would be ice somewhere in this hellhole. And where there was ice there had to be a snack machine. Not a great source of nutrition but acceptable given his famished state. When he reached the elevator doors, Ross noted a sign indicating the direction of the “refreshments” around the next walkway corner.

Ross rounded the corner. There they were. The ice dispenser and the snack machines stood against the wall. However, he also saw three young men loitering around the machine dressed in futuristic military uniforms, complete with plastic laser guns strapped to their belts. Obviously, they were part of that ridiculous film convention.

The first skinny, redheaded nerd held a pile of assorted snack packages in front of him.

“I want peanuts,” said the nerd with the curly black hair and glasses, taking a pack off the top of the pile.

Nerd number three, a slightly pudgy guy with
stringyhair
didn’t speak. He nabbed the three top packages, leaving the redhead with a candy bar.

The three looked up, spotting Ross. Avoiding the group was impossible. Brilliant. What he didn’t need right now was fan recognition.

“Hey
ya
,” the redhead said. “You
lookin
' for some munchies too?”

“Yeah munchies,” Ross said in his best American accent as he walked to the machine. He examined its contents, keeping his back to the nerds.

The black-haired nerd moved beside the machine. “Are you here for the movie convention too?” He pushed the glasses up his nose.

Ross nodded, trying to keep his face turned downward. “I was there today.”

“Dude. Great make-up. You look exactly like that Stephen Dagger character,” Curly said.

“Thanks.” The jeans and t-shirt did not in any way resemble any of the wardrobe items from
SpyMatrix
. Classic. Even in a t-shirt from
Bubbaland
he looked like Stephen Dagger.

“Although the hair isn’t exactly right. You need more of a curl over your forehead.”

“I appreciate the tip,” Ross replied, eyes on the machine.

“I suppose the big gun is in your room,” the redhead remarked.

“Yeah.”

“Too bad. I bet it’s great.”

Ross turned back toward them. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe we’ll see you at the convention tomorrow.”

Ross nodded.

Each nerd held up a hand with a ‘v’ between their fingers. “Live long and prosper.”

Ross tried to return the gesture. “Go with the force.”

The nerds snickered and ambled down the hallway before they turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

 Examining his
munchy
choices, Ross considered the relative nutritional merits of peanuts versus crackers covered with some sort of cheesy substance. “Wow,” he muttered as he spotted the package of condoms offered on the last row.

“Y'all
gonna
be there all night?” A male voice said behind him in a southern drawl.

Fab
. “I shan’t be a moment.” Forcing his eyes away from the condoms, Ross considered the ‘food’ choices. Perhaps a bag of crisps —
er
, potato chips. Potatoes were a vegetable. Oh Lord, Mo’s illogic had turned contagious.

“Huh?”

“What I’d really like is some greasy bangers and mash,” Ross mumbled to himself, still staring into the machine.

“What did you say to me? Did you say you want to bang me?”

Ross turned to see a familiar figure with a t-shirt that proclaimed “DeWayne does it better”. Ross didn’t want to think about what
it
the shirt referenced. Another encounter with North Carolina DeWayne was bad enough. Savannah must be the smallest big town on earth.

“I was talking about food. I most certainly did not say I wanted to bang you.”

“It’s you.” DeWayne obviously recognized Ross in return. “The famous super spy that likes to insult folks.”

“I don’t insult anyone.”

DeWayne looked back as if to check whether his wife had witnessed the conversation. “If you were talking about food then what was that about banging.”

“I’m speaking the Queen’s English, my dear man.”

“Queen. That’s a gay guy,
aint
it? Are you
sayin
' I’m gay?”

“Your mental acuity is astonishing.”

DeWayne stood there with his mouth hanging open for two full seconds before speaking. “I never
woulda
thought you swished that way.” DeWayne smiled. “
Ya
know, I
gotta
admit that it’s
kinda
nice that a big celebrity thinks I’m a cutie. I’m sorry to disappoint
ya
, but I don’t play for that team, if
ya
know what I mean.”

“I’m devastated,”
Ross
said as he tossed some coins into the machine and then punched in his selection. When the bag of crisps fell, he grabbed them from the dispenser. He had just obtained a candy bar for Mo, when one more item in the vending machine caught his eye. He couldn’t resist, so Ross punched in the number for the condoms.

As Ross walked away, DeWayne still had a silly smile on his face.

“I can’t believe Stephen Dagger thinks I’m a cutie. Too bad I can’t tell
Marvelene
.”

That guy was seriously insane. Unfortunately, DeWayne and his
Marvelene
weren’t the worst he and Mo had to cope with.
Gigantor
and his boss loomed as bigger threats to contend with.

When Ross arrived back at the room, Mo was nowhere in sight. She must still be in the bath. After Ross placed the candy on the bedside table, he walked over to the bathroom door to knock on its particleboard surface.

“Are you all right in there?” he asked. He heard a splash. Images of Mo emerging from the bath flashed through his mind, shooting fire through his body.

“Yes. I’ll be out in a minute.”

There were two full sized beds in the room. Looking at them led his mind to wander to some unsavory possibilities. Things he and Mo could do on one of those beds… or maybe both of them. Ross fought to reign in his thoughts. That was the sort of behavior Mo didn’t need after the stress of the day. Some Neanderthal jumping on her the second she left the bathroom would definitely be unwelcome.

Ross sat down on one of the beds. Then it struck him. He’d never even thought of ringing Heather. She at least deserved a warning about
Gigantor
lurking at the hotel, if he wasn’t too late already. And beside that, if he could reach her, she might be able to provide answers to some very pertinent questions.

He picked up the motel room phone and then dialed for an outside line. He punched in Heather’s cell phone number. A pad of paper with the motel logo and a pen lay beside the phone. Ross picked up the pen and doodled.
One ring, two, three, four.
Dammit
the thing had gone to voicemail. He heard a click, then the familiar message in Heather’s sultry voice.

“You know what to do. If you’re anyone I want to speak to, I’ll call you back. If not, I won’t.”

He waited for the beep and then spoke. “Heather, it’s Ross. Don’t go back to the hotel. I don’t know what’s going on, but one of the guys you and Clarence seem to be involved with is there. We need to talk about all this.”

His message was interrupted by a beep, which signaled the end of the allowed recording time. Bloody hell. She wouldn’t even be able to call him back since his cell phone had died and wouldn’t be resurrected without the charger in his hotel room—the four star room.

After a few seconds, Ross dialed out to Heather again. This time she answered.

“It’s Ross.” He scratched the word “Heather” in block letters over and over on the pad.

“Ross? Where are you? This isn’t your cell phone number.”

“Where I am is immaterial.”

“And who are you with?” she demanded. “Are you with that woman? The one that reporter asked me about? The one you were kissing?” She didn’t pause for him to answer. “Don’t bother denying it. Stewart showed me the photo on his digital camera.”

“I’m not denying anything,” Ross started.

 “Ross, how could you?" she sobbed. "Our wedding is only a few weeks away.”

“We are not getting married, Heather.”

The sobbing ended abruptly. “Are you saying you’re breaking our engagement?

“We were never getting married. I didn’t ask you to marry me. I don’t know what you’re playing at or if you’re actually delusional, but we are not now and never were engaged.”

“I think you’ll find that according to the top celebrity wedding planner, the most exclusive caterer, and the most expensive florist in Hollywood, we are engaged. Not to mention, the designer of my $100,000 wedding dress. She’s absolutely certain we
are
engaged and you are paying for my dress.” Heather’s voice had turned surprisingly composed.

"You chose to make those arrangements, not me," he replied, getting irritated. He'd called her to do her a favor, not to get drawn into her insanity again.

Then the sobbing re-commenced. “Ross, Ross,” she cried brokenly. “How could you treat me like this? Don’t you know you’re breaking my heart?”

What heart?

“We’re completely off topic. We need to talk about something serious.” Ross found himself writing the words “wedding planner” and “contact”.

“What could be more serious than a broken engagement? You’re practically leaving me at the altar. I’m going to need compensation.” She didn’t sob now. She ranted. “You owe me
something
for humiliating me like this.”

“What are you talking about? Are you absolutely mad?”

“You owe me the role of Francesca and a share of the profits for the sequel to
SpyMatrix
.”

“There is no sequel to
SpyMatrix
.”

“I know there is. That new film you’ve been talking about is a cover.”

Ross tugged a hand through his hair. “Heather. Listen closely to what I’m saying and try to comprehend. We are not getting married and there is no sequel to
SpyMatrix
. We need to talk about Clarence and his friends.”