The Blonde

1:57 a.m.

Security Office, Sheraton Hotel

When the phone rang, Charlie Vincent jolted. He had nodded off with a book in his lap. It was a small paperback sampler of Japanese manga his kid had given him, published by some company called Tokyopop. Charlie had been giving him money for these things for a few weeks now, and during weekend visits he’d steal glances at some of the art. Looked like Asian porn stuff he’d seen on the Skinternet, but his kid reassured him they were just stories—mystery, sci-fi, romance, comedy, fantasy, action. He gave Charlie the sampler to check out, and Charlie was confused as shit until his kid told him they were meant to be read back to front. Like that made any fucking sense. Charlie wondered if his kid was going to tell his mother about it, give her a good laugh.

Charlie put the book on his desk, picked up the phone. It was the front desk.

“We got a call about a domestic dispute in seven oh two. From the neighbor across the hall. Can you check it out?”

“Christ. What’s the name?”

“Jack Eisley. Like the Eisley brothers, I guess.”

Charlie paused, then decided he had to ask. “Is the guy black?”

“Does that matter?” asked the desk clerk, who was also black.

“C’mon. You know what I mean.”

“I’m looking…. Here’s his license. Nah, he’s a white dude from Illinois.”

“Okay. I’ll be right up.”

“One thing you should know.”

“What’s that?”

“I think we got a case of woman-on-man violence. Guy upstairs said it sounded like it was the dude who was getting beaten.”

Now that’s something different, he thought. “Okay, I’ll be gentle.”

Charlie hung up the phone and wondered if he was suddenly living in a backward world. Comic books you read in the opposite direction, women smacking around guys. What was next? His ex-wife being nice to him?