Chapter 5

Lincoln Steele said goodbye to Captain Wilks and hung up. Wilks was returning home, had two hours to catch his plane. There was nothing more he could do there. He had no jurisdiction and the local police chief was no help. Less than no help. When questioned by Wilks, he had smiled politely and seemed to listen, but Wilks knew from experience he was being stonewalled. Calling the FBI had crossed his mind, but other than not filing the missing person report, what did the police chief do wrong? It didn’t matter. Steele would be more effective than the FBI. Steele wasn’t constrained by the rules of law, not when he was seeking justice.

Steele strapped his ankle gun on and remained sitting on the side of the bed in his motel room with his forearms planted on his thighs and hands clasped. Head down. He had hoped Wilks would have a lead for him. Anything. But no one spoke to Wilks, or maybe no one knew anything. In such a small town, how could no one know anything?

The police chief was not forthright with Wilks. Steele trusted his friend’s instincts. They were almost as good as his. The police chief didn’t file a missing person report, so the police chief was a person of interest to Steele. But the police chief was no dummy.

Steele jumped to his feet. But his brother was!

Steele flung the door open and rushed outside. He crashed into the chambermaid. With a screech, she flew backwards onto her back. The front of the wide hoop dress popped up when the back was sandwiched between her and the ground. Nothing under it was hidden from Steele. Her meaty brown thighs, curly pubic hair that, with her legs spread and knees pointed outward, showed the dark pink gash, and the white cream oozing out clinging to the pubic hairs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steele said as he bent over with a hand held out.

“My fault, Mastuh. I should have looked where I was going.”

Steele had slipped up. Instead of taking her hand, he slapped her face. Not hard. But a slap nonetheless.

“Damn right!” he said. “What were you doing out here? Spying on me again?”

“No, Mastuh. I was checking to see if you need anything.”

“Like what?”

The chambermaid remained on the floor, not even pushing her dress down. It stood up so high that Steele had to move to the side to see her face.

“Anything you want, Mastuh.”

“And where did you just come from?”

“Another room, Mastuh.”

“That guest needed your services?”

“Yes, Mastuh.”

“And you came to me without even washing your cunt.”

The chambermaid’s eyes widened and her legs snapped shut. She slapped the front of her dress down with both hands. It bulged out to the sides. Steele spun around and stormed away, leaving her lying there, fretting.

He entered the bar. The two men inside stopped talking. The bartender eyed him. Jake, sitting on the same barstool he had the other time, smiled and waved.

“Come on in,” Jake said. “This place is like a morgue. No one to talk to.”

The bartender crossed his arms and stood up straighter. “Well, thanks a lot.”

Jake leaned over the bar and patted the bartender’s forearm. “Willy, I didn’t mean nothing. I just meant there’s no one else here.”

Jake patted the stool next to him. Steele left that one vacant and took the next one.

“Draft beer?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah. Anything cold.”

The bartender placed a full glass in front of him. Steele gulped a quarter of it down and swiped the back of his hand across his lips.

Steele looked at Jake. “What’s with that chambermaid?”

“Molly? Have you had her ass?”

“I knocked her on her ass.”

“What she do to get a beating?”

“Just now. I came out of my room and there she was. I crashed into her. Literally knocked her on her ass.”

Jake burst out laughing. “Hope you didn’t hurt that ass. She has one hell of an ass.”

“She always seems to be spying on me,” Steele said.

“She’s not spying. Just being available. You really should try her ass.”

Steele took another drink. This time slowly while he gathered his thoughts. “What’s with the ‘mastuh this’ and ‘mastuh that’?”

“She’s a good nigger. Trained like they were on the plantations.”

“Jake!” the bartender said.

Jake spun his barstool toward him. “Linc here’s okay.” He turned back to Steele. “Aren’t you, buddy?”

Steele shrugged and drained his beer. He turned to the bartender. “I’ll have another. Give Jake one, too.”

The two chatted through five more beers and a few bourbons. All of which Steele bought. The bartender sometimes chimed in, but mostly he wiped glasses with a bar rag or moved bottles around. Always staying in hearing distance.

“So how do I try out the chambermaid?” Steele asked.

“Dial room service.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“And it’ll show up on my bill?”

Jake laughed. “Does the TV in your room show up on your bill? It comes with the room.”

“What if I want someone else?”

“Molly’s the only one at the inn.”

The bartender slapped both hands on the bar counter and leaned over it, nose to nose with Jake. “You’re drunk. Watch your mouth.”

Jake spun on his barstool, losing his balance. Steele caught him by the arm as he was toppling over.

“The hell I am,” Jake said. “What’s with you anyway? Linc here wants some nigger pussy.” He turned to Steele and winked. “Or some fine ass.”

The bartender glared at Steele. Maybe Steele had gone too far. Too many questions would get him into trouble. Not with Jake, but the bartender was suspicious. Steele got off his stool and slapped his hand on the bar to steady himself.

“I think I had enough,” Steele said in a drunken voice. He placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Looks like you did, too. Need me to drive you home?”

“I can drive.”

Jake jumped off the barstool. His legs turned to rubber and he started to fall. Steele grabbed him. The two crashed to the floor.

“Whoa, the room’s spinning,” Jake said.

“What’s your address?”

“Eight fifty-two Meadowbrook.”

Steele got to his feet, leaned over, and snatched Jake’s arm. He pulled but fell on top of him. They rolled onto their backs side by side, giggling.

“Shit, neither one of you can drive,” the bartender said. “I’ll take care of Jake. You better sleep it off in your room.”

Steele patted Jake’s shoulder and stood up on wobbly legs. “I’m going to like it here.”

He waved and started toward the entrance to the lobby. He stopped and looked around. Confused. Then he turned and staggered toward the street entrance, bumping into a chair, grabbing it so as not to fall, continuing to the door.

Once outside and away from the bar’s window, Steele walked normally toward his room. He looked over his shoulder a few times to make sure no one was watching. Even though he had drunk enough in the military to handle his liquor, he felt a slight buzz. Jake was going to have a doozy of a headache. What Steele had learned was that Jake was a talker. And his home address.

A woman screamed from inside Room 12. Steele stopped. A slap and another scream. Steele looked around while listening at the door. The slaps and screams continued. The door locks at the Old South Inn used regular keys, not the card-type ones in modern hotels. Steele took his keyring out of his pocket. Two metal toothpick-like rods were attached to it. With the noises continuing from the other side of the door, Steele inserted the two rods into the lock and jiggled them.

Click.

Steele tightened his fingers on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. Nothing. His hand turned slowly. Quietly. The door opened a crack. He guided it open far enough to peek inside. Molly was naked with her ass facing the door, bent over the foot of the bed, her arms stretched out to the sides, wrists tied to the two posts. A large man with his back to Steele, also naked, raised a hand over his shoulder with a thick belt in his fist. He brought it down.

Smack.

Molly screamed as it stung her back, adding another welt. The man raised his hand. Steele jumped into the room and slammed the door behind him. The man spun around. Molly’s forehead dropped to the mattress. She whimpered.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man shouted.

The man was big. Almost as tall as Steele, and heavier. A tattoo of a large bird with spread wings adorned his chest. A swastika tattoo was on the side of his neck. Steele’s photographic memory transferred the information to the main part of his brain.

“You’re Bubba Lamont.”

The man charged with the hand holding the belt above his shoulder. He swung it at Steele who ducked and jabbed the man in the belly. He doubled over, gasping for air. Steele waited a few feet away.

The man straightened up. “I’m gonna skin you alive.”

He swung the belt again, this time on a horizontal plane. Steele arched his back, leaning away. The belt whooshed past his face. Bubba dropped the belt and lunged with fingers spread like a hawk ready to snatch a mouse. Steele grabbed his arm, turned at the waist, and flipped the man over his hip. Bubba crashed to the floor.

Panting, Bubba looked up at Steele. “What do you want? Who are you?”

“I was walking by and heard the screams.”

“So?”

“So I was curious.”

Bubba studied Steele. “Who the hell are you? How’d you know my name?”

“Saw you on the news.”

Molly looked over her shoulder at Steele, her cheeks shiny with tears. “Mastuh, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m a good slave.”

Steele swatted her ass, hard enough to leave a hand print. Molly yelped.

“Shut up, nigger,” Steele said.

Bubba smirked. “I misjudged you. But when you broke into my room, I thought you were the law.”

“Just a guest here. A friend in the bar told me I should try this nigger’s ass. I was going to my room to call room service. I guess she wouldn’t be any good now.”

“Go ahead, fuck her ass. She’s in the perfect position.” Bubba slapped both hands over his crotch. “Um, mind if I get dressed?”

“Yeah, put your pants on.”

The man turned his back to Steele as he stood up. He snatched his pants off the floor and, with his back to Steele, stepped into them. Steele stooped, lifted his pants leg, and took his gun out. He stood back up and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants at his lower back.

Bubba turned around. “You gonna fuck her ass now?”

“You want me to?”

“Fuck yeah. Real hard. Make it hurt.”

“Get me hard.”

“What! You think I’d do that?”

“I don’t want a blowjob. I’m no fag. Tell me about the little girl.”

Bubba smiled, a large toothy one. “God she was cute. Skinny. Flat as a board. She was so scared she peed her pants. You think this nigger screamed? That little girl screamed so loud when I tore her open. She kept crying for her mommy.”