The Blonde

2:53 a.m.

For the past hour, nothing in Charles Lee Vincent’s world had made a goddamned bit of sense. From Tokyopop and backward comics to tough guys who liked to choke people to this guy now … following him across the room, sitting close to him. Extreme anxiety disorder? Yeah, extreme anxiety that your wife is going to find out you had a hot blond hooker up here in your room. Tough titty said the kitty. It wasn’t Charlie’s problem. This guy had the bad luck to be in the wrong room at the wrong time. That’s all.

Charlie told the front desk what he knew, rattled off a quick description, told them to seal the front doors until he got down there. He’d get the police over here now, and they’d go room to room if they had to.

Until they found the guy who liked to choke the air out of people. Charlie hoped he’d be with one of his ex-brothers on the force when they found this guy. They’d let him alone in a room with the fucker for a few minutes. Let him see what oxygen deprivation feels like. He also asked the details of the occupant of this room. Yep, as he’d figured. Married. Married, and damn near sitting on top of him in the bed. Like, hello? Ever hear of personal space?

“Um, ready to go downstairs, Mr. Eisley? There are plenty of people down there to keep you company.”