part 10

I don't know what I expected when I opened the suitcase. Maybe for the money to be gone, replaced with stacks of blank paper. Maybe torn-up, specks of decomposed paper that used to be money. So when 2 and a half million dead presidents stare back up at you, you can't do much but smile. The money was still here.

I had to find Bouchard. The when was now, the why for revenge. Where was the tricky one. Where to start? I looked back at the card she'd given me. Staring at it as if for some divine inspiration. Damn it. Well, if I wasn't the stupid one. She'd have to stay at the Hotel. It was the only place someone like her'd consider decent. The only problem I should conceivably have was finding her room. It was a small enough place that even trial and error wasn't a bad way to go.

Some time later I stood outside the Hotel. It wasn't that I was lazy or didn't bother to find the name. It really was called "The Hotel". Leave it to Lost Haven residents for the creative names. An ugly mass of neon letters composed the Hotel's name. Of course, several letters were shorted out, leaving a blinking sign that said "heel" instead. Appropriate, in a way. On the wall around the corner some hoodlums had made their ugly mark the only way they could. Graffiti wasn't uncommon in these parts. Some time ago the mayor announced a campaign to clean up all the graffiti, but it reappeared as soon as it was gone. Uglier, louder, messier. The door groaned in protest, almost as if protesting actually having to work properly. If anything, the Hotel was nicer on the inside. Then again, considering what it had to start with, that wasn't really saying much at all. Somehow ugliness had a way of attracting itself. The receptionist was snoring away in some corner, leaving the guest book in the open, but more importantly, unwatched. I was right on both counts. Bouchard WAS here.

Penthouse suite. Somehow I considered that ironic. If it was a confrontation I was after, at least it'd be done with nothing to hide. Surrounded by open air. Nothing to hide.

Stepping in the lift felt like putting my head on the gullotine block. Whatever happened would be at least one of two things: Life changing, and irreversible. Outside, the wind howled with a fury I'd never seen. Nothing was stopping me, though. One way or another this was going to end.