The Best Punch I Ever Threw: Part 8

Posted: March 15, 2011 in Nonfiction

When somebody pounded on our door, It Changed Things. Things quit being fun. The town had been ominous, but never actually threatening. The hotel looked like a trap, and that was funny, but watching it go off wasn’t.

They pounded on the door again.

I had to do something, I just had to. This night was out of hand, I wasn’t willing to give up anymore of it. We didn’t know anybody here. And these people weren’t asking for us. They were just pounding at our door.

I felt a scowl groove into my head, and I started to get up. Mike motioned for me to stay put.

Again they pounded at the door.

A dude banging on your door is no big deal. I know that. All things being equal, this is nothing, and I’m overreacting. But All Things Are Not Equal. This place is terrifying. And brazenly so. It basks in an ambiance that’s only suitable for truckers and whores at it’s highest end. Anything short of the actual Boogeyman isn’t welcome into it’s depths.

They pounded at the door again, but less enthusiastically. We waited a minute. We heard shuffling, and it was quite for a bit.

I ventured a whisper, “It was probably just a drunk,” I said, seeing Mike struggle not to freak out. He shook his head; he looked at me  like I was some idiot local cop, destined to get his head lopped off in the first couple scenes.

“What—- The —– Fuck.” Mike finally expelled.

“It was seriously, probably nothing.” I said calming down some, “Just somebody who got lost and went to the wrong room.”

If this was just a drunk who’d gone out to get something, it was probably had an arm-full of lube and chainsaws. And intent to use both. I thought that, I didn’t say it. I didn’t know how Mike would react. I didn’t know if he’d cry or kick me in the balls. I wasn’t ready to deal with either.

“Do you think it’s that guy who’s checkbook I took?” asked Mike.

“What?” I whisper-yelled.

“That checkbook I took from room 6?” Mike said casually.

“Why’d you take that you idiot!” I whisper-screamed.

He shrugged. He was sitting up in bed.

“Is that?” Mike said distractedly. Putting his ear up to the wall. “Hey! They’re just banging on other doors!” He said with his head still pressed up to it.

“What?” I asked. I’d stood up and was switching out my pajama pants for jeans, and putting my boots next to my bed. I figured if things weren’t over, I didn’t want to face whatever happened prepared only for a massage.

“They’re still looking for us.” Mike said.

“No way,” I scoffed. I was sure Mike was imagining the muted rumblings from the other rooms as overt threats on our lives from some Cabal of Deliverance Villains and the old people who didn’t like his Cat Bit.

But they did bang again. Right Away.

BAM, BAM, BAM

I couldn’t understand how mad it made me. Not just scared, but mad. Pissed. Like this was something that had been building and needed out.

I had just been filing away all of the things about this town I hated. But this time when I reached into the filing cabinet and a rat jumped out from the back and bit at me. A big bright-eyed filthy bastard too. It was snapping or hissing or whatever rats do that make them scary. I couldn’t just file this. I was going to set the whole thing on fire. Give the whole filing-system a giant “FAIL.”

They struck at the door again. Not a knuckle rap, but a pound. BAM. BAM.

Mike still sat in his bed. I got up but he waved me off again. He was dedicated to the avoidance route.

The person left. Mike put his ear up to the wall. “They’re just going to other rooms again.” He said.

Great I figured. Now even if this person doesn’t want to kill us, the drunk fatties our visitor keeps interrupting from humping do.

“You want us to switch spots Mike?” I asked. Thinking me going closer to the door would be a good move. “No,” he refused adamantly. “I’m not some pussy DJ,” He said, almost angrily. “I’m not gonna just hide or something…I’m fine I jus…”

Then they started banging on the window.

Mike jumped to his feet. He stood there on top of the bed with his eyes wide open looking at our drawn curtains. “Yeah-yeah-we-can-change-spots-that’d-be-cool.” he said without turning his eyes from the window.

I was already up. This was enough. I hated this place and I had reached an impasse. I couldn’t just pretend I wasn’t here. Pounding on somebody’s window isn’t okay. I had to act. I was gonna strike this match.

I looked around the room for something I could use as a bludgeon. Drunks are scary. Drunks from back-woods, north-wood, suck-fuck hotels were more so. Just in case, I wanted to have something to swing at whoever was wrecking my night.

Nothing made a handy club. The lights were small and cumbersome, the fire extinguisher was tiny. I thought about pillow sheet of pornos, but that’d have made a racket. I settled on the coffeepot. It was a tiny one. Like a 2 cup deal. I slid it on my hand like a 2 cup brass knuckles. I stood in front of the door.

They banged on the door again. 

“Yeah.” I answered.

They didn’t say anything. They just banged louder.

“What do you want?” I asked.

They just banged louder.

Mike silently hopped off the bed and peeked as subtly as he could through the drapes.

“They’re out there.” He whispered. I edged closer and positioned my feet a shoulder’s width apart. I took my fear and I sharpened it to a point. I imagined it running out of hips and towards my shoulders. Through my arm towards the corner of that coffee pot.

I leveled the coffe pot in my hand. I got used to the weight. 

I’m going to clock this bastard so hard… I thought … I’m going to bash this mother-fucker’s brains out…

“It’s a chick” Mike whispered.

I’m going to clock this bitch so hard … I thought … I’m going to bash this crazy bitch’s brains out.

“Oh my God it’s Shauna.” Mike said.

This one’s heavy on the action, and I don’t know if I do that real well. But I’m closing in on the whole thing. I’m looking at an even 10 entries. When I started this I thought it’d be 3. Anyway. I should get to the fight next piece. I promise I don’t hit Shauna.
 

 

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