Free Left on St. Truth-Be-Well by Amy Lane Page B

must have really disliked it, because he gave a faint sneer and said, “No haaablo English.”
    Carson raised his eyebrows. “Bullshit.”
    Again, a sneer, and a head tilt that read, Prove it, asshole! “El naaamo no haaablo English!”
    Carson reached across the cart, grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck, and shoved him against the door…
    Which popped open, and momentum took them into the room where the couple on the bed was just wrapping it up.
    “Oh! Oh! Oh! That’s it, baby, come, goddammit, come!” Pretty Young Thing was getting impatient, and Saggy Old Ass was getting tired.
    “Sweetheart, I don’t think I’m gonna… gonna… what in the hell ?”
    Oh Jesus. “Man, pay her the money and get the fuck out of here. She’s gone over her time already, and Jesus, she’s put out her money’s worth!”
    “Who the hell are you?” the guy sputtered, and Carson kept his grip tight on Manny the Maid’s shirt collar.
    “I’m the guy who’s gonna report a sexual transaction in here if you two don’t get out of—”
    “Uhh!” the girl whined, and Carson grunted, reluctantly sympathetic. She had stripped blonde hair and bright blue contacts, but he could see the makeup covering the blemishes and the decided lack of chin. She wasn’t pretty, she was never going to be pretty, but maybe here in this sordid hotel room, she could pretend. God, he felt bad for her. Just did.
    “But pay her first, dammit! She’s earned it!”
    “Thank you,” she said with attitude, and he could see Saggy Old Ass fishing out a couple of twenties from his pocket as he pulled up his pants.
    “Yeah, don’t thank me. Get a real job and make these jokers wear condoms, okay?”
    “Whatever!” The real job thing apparently hurt. Well, he could sympathize.
    “And here’s another tip for free,” he called after her as she shimmied her skintight pink-paisley skirt down and made to walk out of the room. “Stop having sex here. I’m pretty sure the cops are gonna shut the place down.”
    “As if!” the girl said. “One of the deputies is my best customer. He loves this place. I guess his parents brought him here as a kid.”
    Oh great! Dale’s dickwad brother was gonna love that. Well, good. Maybe it would get him to crawl out of Dale’s ass like the ugly flesh-eating bug he was.
    “That’s lovely, sweetheart. I still wouldn’t place any bets on this place being open. Now wash up and move. Me and this guy here, we got business to take care of.”
    “His name’s Jarred,” she said. “He’s my stepfather’s cousin.”
    Carson wondered if his eyes really could bug out of his head like a cartoon character’s. “Well, thank you, sweetheart, that there is damned good information to know.”
    “God, Gail, you are such a fucking whore, you know that?”
    “Oh, you know English now, do you?”
    “He was born here,” Gail said, sneering. “And I’m not giving you your cut tonight, Jarred. All you had to do was not be an asshole, and this guy wouldn’t have busted my trick. They tip more when they come, moron!”
    And with that she splashed some water between her legs, patted off with a towel, and strutted out on yellow-and-pink fuck-me thongs.
    Carson waited until she’d slammed the door behind her to shake Jarred against the wall a little more. “Jesus, kid, she’s so right. You can call her all the names you want, but she’s smarter than you.”
    “How’s I supposed to know that?” the kid whined, and Carson snorted.
    “Because, dammit, if you’re nice to people, they usually don’t want to throw you against the walls!”
    “What do you want from me, anyways?”
    His unattractive face was all puckered and getting greasy with tears, his breath smelled like blue cheese and athlete’s foot, and what Carson really wanted was for this interview to be over with quickly.
    “The stiff in the room—spill!”
    “The cops already talked to me,” he said, but he looked crafty when he said it, and Carson