Years ago I worked at a low-end motel chain in Albany Georgia as a maintenance man. It was a cheap motel, but well cared for and clean. It was used mostly by traveling salesmen, construction workers and families in town to visit relatives. And Cathy. Cathy was a prostitute.
She dressed nice. It would be easy to mistake her for a school teacher, or a nurse… basically, a well put together, a classy and quite attractive lady who just happened to have an unusual occupation. She would stay a few times a week and different men would come to visit. Most would stay about an hour and leave.
At this time I worked with a man named David. He was older than me. A Vietnam veteran. I didn’t know much about his personal life, he was friendly but private.
I did know he was divorced. That was something he was quite bitter about. I knew he had a disease or condition the stopped his body from producing adrenaline, so he had to take pills for that. I knew he lived alone. But that was about all.
One day Cathy pulled up and a shiny new Mercedes pulled up beside her. She went to the car, got money and went into the office. She was dressed a little different today. A short skirt and stockings and as she was walking her skirt lifted a little and I could see they were thigh highs. High heels. Sexier than usual. Nothing that would stand out in a bigger city. But in a small town in South Georgia, that outfit would be quite the attention getter.
After she got the key and drove off I went to the front to talk to Chip, who was working the desk that day. I mentioned how nice Cathy looked today and he told me she had given him a hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change. This was a place where the rooms were in the 25–35 dollar range. We talked a few more minutes and when I went back out Cathy and her Friend was already leaving. He drove away, she dropped the key in the night box and left.
Since they were only there about 10 minutes I went to see if the room could be made ready to be rented. It was early enough that the cleaning crew was still on duty.
Nothing appeared to have been touched. The bed was still made. No furniture moved. The only thing out of place was a single washcloth spread out in the center of the floor. I tossed it in a yellow cart one of the ladies used to carry dirty laundry and put a new one on the shelf and told Chip the room was fine to rent again.
A few days later she returned. Everything was like the last time. Huge tip, clean room, staying just a few minutes. And the single washcloth on the floor.
This time I was curious and told David what had happened. He agreed that was strange. The next week it happened again. But this time David was with me and when the man got out of the car David took one look at him and pulled me into an empty room that was being cleaned. He had angry eyes, was acting agitated.
He told me that “that motherfucker was his wife’s lawyer, the one who took everything and ruined his life”. His face was twisted in rage, an emotion I didn’t know he was even capable of. At the most, I had seen him slightly amused or a little sad.
Over the next few days, David talked a lot. Telling me his wife took and took and took. Her lawyer cleaned him out. Kept the house, All the furniture. He basically was left with nothing. We were in the shop and he picked up the Polaroid camera we used to document damages and said if he comes back again he was going to get a picture of them together and use it against him. Either blackmail him or show his wife and ruin his marriage. I could tell he wasn’t kidding and I told him that’s a terrible idea. He just stared at me.
One day I saw him walking fast. He had come from the office and had the camera and a key. I looked down the row of cars and saw the Mercedes. I ran and intercepted him. Tried to reason with him. He pushed by me. I followed and without making a scene kept trying to reason with him. He was silent. He slid the key into the lock and raised the camera.
Before I could say another word he quietly pushed the door open.
The lawyer was laying on the floor, his head centered on the washcloth. Cathy squatting over his face, skirt pulled up, a thick brown turd connecting his mouth to her round ass. He was oblivious, in some shit eating bliss. She looked me straight in the eyes by way of the mirror. Sad eyes. I felt sick to my stomach and turned away. David pulled the door closed. He didn’t take a picture.
He handed me the camera and the key and was smiling. A really creepy smile. Then just walked away. He left and I never saw him again. I never saw Cathy or the lawyer again either.
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