Irene Kendall had let the john pick her up in the bar at the Mirage a little before eight in the evening. He’d had a good run at the craps table and was high on his good fortune. She’d listened attentively while he bragged about his gambling prowess. When he started to feel his drinks Irene hinted that she might be amenable to a sexual adventure. It was only after she was sure the john was panting for it that she explained that she was a working girl and told him her rates. The john laughed and told her that the bell captain had pointed her out to him. He said he preferred sex with whores. The john had paid up front and tipped her afterward, and he hadn’t roughed her up or asked for anything exotic. The only downside to the evening was the motel, a by-the-hour fuck pad in a run-down part of town. A lot of Irene’s clientele stayed in the classy rooms at the Mirage or the other upscale casinos on the Strip and the motel was definitely a comedown. Still, the room was clean and the john was satisfied with a quick in-and-out, so she didn’t have to work hard for her money. When Irene got ready to go, the john surprised her by telling her that she could stay in the room because he had to catch an early flight. She accepted the offer and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Irene never heard the door being jimmied and had no idea that there was someone else in the room until a gloved hand clamped across her mouth. Her eyes sprang open and she tried to sit up, but the muzzle of a gun pressed hard into the flesh of her forehead and forced her head deep into her pillow. “Scream and die. Answer my questions and live. Nod slowly if you understand me.” The feeble light cast by the flashing neon sign on the bar next door revealed that the speaker wore a ski mask. Irene nodded slowly and the gloved hand withdrew, leaving the sour taste of leather in her mouth. “Where is he?” “Gone,” she gasped in a voice hoarse with fear. “Say good-bye, bitch,” the intruder whispered. Irene heard the gun cock. “Please,” she begged. “I’m not his friend, I’m a pro. He was a pickup at the Mirage. He fucked me, he paid me, and he left. He said I could use the room for the night because he had an early flight. I swear that’s all I know.” “How long ago did he leave?” The prostitute’s eyes shifted to the clock radio on the nightstand. “Fifteen minutes. He just left.” Two cruel eyes studied Irene for what seemed an eternity. Then the gun withdrew.
“Stay.” The intruder vanished though the door. Irene did not move for five minutes. Then she raced into the bathroom and threw up.