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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2214224
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2214224
A lost wallet leads to a messy motel carpet. Written for The Writer's Cramp. Winner, yay!
         My coat flies over to the kitchen counter. Jeans to the nightstand. Hoodie? Nothing. I groan as I sit my drunk ass down on the coarse carpeting and lean toward the bedside table. I am in absolutely no state to go back to that bar, but if Larson hears about this, I’ll never leave the desk again.
         My feet stumble over each other as I gather the clothing spurn all over the motel room. Which is the back of these pants again? Ah, fuck it. I dress like a mess and head back to the bar.
         “S’cuse me.”
         “Yes?”
         “I appear to ‘ave dropped my wallet ‘ere, I was wonderin’ if t’was at the bar.”
         “Just a moment, I’ll check.”
I really don’t like how the blonde is eyeing me. She’s still sipping a drink in the same barstool as when I left.
         “Lose something, hun?”
My dignity for getting drunk on the job. I smile.
         “Just dropped somethin’ earlier, came ‘ack to pick it up. All’s good, Ali.”
I had to chat her up earlier and barely managed to get out of here. She was quite… aggressive with her advances.
         “Why don’t you have a seat right here sugar, you don’t look so well.”
I don’t feel so well either. Fuck it. I drop on the stool next to her. Why are my legs so tired? How much did I drink?
         Her hand slips casually to my thigh as I fight to keep my eyes open.
         “This thing you lost, is it very important? With how busy this place is, maybe it’ll be smarter to come back-” Her hand slips further up my thigh as she leans closer. “-in the morning?”
         I barely register what she’s saying. Okay, I ain’t well. The bass feels like it’s literally hitting my head. The flashing lights are putting me in a trance. Fuck, am I passing out?
         The bass is suddenly no longer tormenting my head. But I definitely feel something cool pressing against it.
         “You back yet, sugar?”
Ali. What the hell. Wait. Something’s not right. It’s quiet. I’m lying down. We were just at the bar. Oh, FUCK!
         I open my eyes to stare at the same coarse carpeting of the motel. I’m lying on my stomach. I can’t move. Shit, I fucked up. I fucked up bad.
         “I found something when you left last time, sweetheart. Wonder if it’s what you were so desperate for at the bar?”
Brown leather dangles before me above the floor. My wallet flips open to reveal my detective badge.
         “Such a shame, you were a sweet one too.”
In the silence of the motel room, I hear the bass bang against my head one last time.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2214224