In A Cream Packard

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In A Cream Packard

A novel by 

Edward R Hackemer

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© 2011, 2013 by Edward R Hackemer 

All rights reserved

Cover art © 2013 by Edward R Hackemer

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Tuesday, June 1, Findlay Street, Perrysburg, Ohio, 7:15 PM

 

Annie giggled when they arrived at the Murphy Hotel.  The building was fresh looking with neatly kept grounds, however, it was actually a motel, not a hotel, as the large wooden sign at the driveway announced.  Below it, there were two neon signs that read: Clean Rooms and Vacancy.  Alex parked the car in front of the office.  They went inside, stood at the counter, and Alex rang the little chrome bell sitting there.  A moment later an unimposing woman with steel gray hair entered from the back.  She wore glasses with thin frames and small round lenses.  She was smiling and pleasantly greeted them, “Good evening, folks.  And a very nice evening it is.  I assume you would like a room.  Why else would you be here?”

“Yes, indeed we do,” said Annie.  “But I need to see it first.  We had a terrible experience at one place in Michigan, don't you know.”

“All of our units have hot water, plenty of hot water, a shower, and a nice window that opens to the back of the property, and they're clean.  The rate is six dollars for a single, ten for a double,” she said.  “Here's the key to Number Five, Miss, and it's two doors down on the right.  You are welcome to check it out.” ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There was a noise at the door, and then a short knock.  “It's me, Annie, the door locked behind me.”  Annie shot up and let her husband in.  He had a suitcase in each hand and the leather bag under his arm.  The suitcases went to the floor by the small two-drawer dresser, and he carefully set the satchel on the table by the window.  He had placed two bottles of Blatz beer from the Packard's trunk inside.  Milwaukee's Best Beer clanged as he set the bag down.  The corkscrew and opener he bought at the Appleton Woolworth rattled against the bottles. 

Alex pulled one chair away from the small table and pulled the plaid drapes shut across the window.  “Let's see what we got inside here, Annie,” he said as he pulled out the other chair and sat down.  Annie sat down almost before he finished the sentence.  They wanted to get the count started: the money count.  He grabbed the opener and popped the cap off one of the bottles.  The warm beer foamed over and down the sides of the brown bottle as Alex brought it to his lips.  He sucked at the suds and took a small sip, handing the bottle to Annie.  She took a drink, looking down along the bottle at her husband.  “Nothing like a bottle of warm Blatz, is there Alex?  Helps take the edge off.” 

They each took a canvas bank bag, pulled the draw strings open, and neatly stood the rolls of bills on the little table.  Alex set the pistol, holster and belt on the floor.  There was a tattered brown box for twelve 38-caliber cartridges with the 'Genuine Smith & Wesson' wording all but worn off.  He opened the end.  There were six left.  They sat there, looking at the rolls of hundred dollar bills, the varied colors of the roll of Chinese Yuan, and back and forth to each other.