The Mask of Minos, Bruno's Inferno

Chapter 43 - Carla the Killer

She was wearing khaki shorts and a loose fitting white blouse over which she had a light colored hunting vest which housed her 9-mm Beretta snub nosed pistol. She entered the lobby to the Attica and casually walked to the front desk. No one was there and she went behind the desk to find the guest book, flipped through the pages to the last entry and ran her finger along it, and then headed for the stairs; elevators take too long. She made the climb with little effort, often taking two stairs at a time. On the eighth floor she walked to the end of the hall and opened the glass doors and stepped onto a small balcony and stood looking at the sea and listened to the sounds coming up to her. She enjoyed the smell of the city, the sounds of the harbor.

Their door was at the opposite end of the hallway and she opened it easily enough with a credit card. The lock slipped open and she walked in.

Her name was Carla, and it was Carla who went into the emergency room of North Arundel Hospital and cut the small tattoo from the body of the girl lying on the gurney with the purple rucksack on her chest and took the safe deposit key.

She walked around the hotel room looking into every corner, sorting through luggage and the clothing, personal items left lying around. She looked at Sara's clothes as if she was shopping at Macy's, pulling out things that caught her fancy – holding them up to herself in front of a mirror. She found a nice little cotton top and admired it. It was clean, and it was new.

She placed it on a chair, and walked over to the dresser where the vodka was. And looking inside the bucket she found a few small pieces of ice floating in cold water and put them in an empty glass, poured the vodka over them. She watched the ice quickly melt in the glass as it swam in the clear liquid. Then she drank it down.

Through the mirror next to the dresser she could see across the room and outside at the lights of the city below, ran her hands through her hair and scratched her scalp - thought how long it had been since she washed it. Weeks. She smelled her arm pits and winced. Taking off her clothes, and leaving them where they fell, she walked into the bathroom.

The night thickened, and the city lights were dimmer now, a light was on in the room. She came out of the steamy bathroom with a towel around her head and walked over to the mirror. Her naked image pleased her; she caressed the lines of her figure, ran her hands across her hips. Too big, but firm. Her breasts were large, and pouting, pulling slightly to the sides. They had served her well over the years. She bounced lightly on her ankles and smiled as they giggled.

The bed was unmade and she wondered if they had used it – the stains of passion. Making her way through college, she found it easy to sell her natural assets, for the cost of Georgetown wasn't cheap. But she made friends – influential sorts, and wealthy kind. She loved sex, bore the ones with the fat lousy breath. Kiss me, oh come on baby, kiss me. That's right take it all. She gagged and threw her head to the side. Men are pigs.

She ran her hands across the sheets feeling their coolness, feeling for signs of sex. Then she spread her body on top of the bed and she could smell them. The man was on this side, the woman close on this. The strong musk of men and the light perfumed odor of the women. She reached over and pulled the pistol from its holster and lay it on her abdomen. She could hear them fucking. She fell asleep into fitful and restless dreams.