Small Steps - Louis Sachar [61]
Armpit was winded when returned to the hotel. He had always thought the hills in Austin were steep, but they were nothing compared to where he’d just been. One of the streets was so steep the sidewalk had been shaped to form stairs.
The orange message lights were blinking on his telephones—all five of them. He splashed his face with cold water and watched the phone in the bathroom mirror blink on and off rapidly.
He returned to his bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, then picked up the phone. He pressed the button for messages.
“I don’t hate you. I’m just sick and tired of being used by everyone. Why should you be any different? Just go ahead and sell the letter. I don’t care. I really don’t. Everyone else makes money off me, why not you? Besides, how can I be embarrassed? I’m not a real person! I don’t have feelings! I’m just a— Just go away. I never want to see you again! You’re right. I don’t have a clue. But neither do you.”
Well, he could have told her that.
A new voice came on.
“That was your final message. To hear the message again, press three. To save it, press six. To erase—”
Armpit hung up.
Kaira put on a hotel robe. The volume control for the bathroom speaker was to the side of the sink. She turned it down now that it didn’t have to compete with the shower.
She towel-dried her hair. Rosemary would come fix it later. She dropped the towel on the floor, opened the bathroom door, and took one step into the bedroom.
Jerome Paisley closed his eyes as he swung.
The bat caromed off her shoulder, then slammed against her throat.
Kaira fell against the bedpost, and before she could even figure out what was happening, she was struck again, this time across her chest.
She found herself on the floor. She tried to crawl under the bed but was only able to partially protect her head. The area under the bed had been blocked off so guests wouldn’t lose their keys and underwear.
The bat smashed against the back of her neck just below the base of her skull.
She was only vaguely aware of what was happening as Jerome Paisley grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her away from the safety of the bed. She saw the eerie image of her business manager/stepfather split into two people, each holding a baseball bat high above his head.
There was a noise from out in the sitting area, and then a shout.
It sounded like the Doofus!
Jerome turned away from Kaira and swung just as Fred lunged at him. The bat cracked hard against Fred’s rib cage, but he kept coming. His hands wrapped around El Genius’s thick neck as the two men fell to the ground.
Kaira watched the bat rolled across the floor and under the TV cabinet. She wanted to scream but couldn’t get a breath. She tried to crawl to the telephone but couldn’t raise herself off the floor.
There was an anguished groan; then Jerome pushed himself up to his knees, took several deep breaths, and stood up the rest of the way. He glanced at Kaira, then went to retrieve the bat.
Fred remained on the floor. Sticking into his stomach was the knife from Armpit’s fruit and cheese plate.
The entrance to Kaira’s hotel suite had double doors, as it was frequently used to host parties. Armpit was surprised to find one of the doors open. He knocked, and when there was no answer, stepped inside.
He could hear the TV coming from the bedroom. “Kaira?” he called.
Jerome froze. He looked down at Kaira, but she was in no condition to cry out.
“Kaira,” Armpit called again.
No answer.
“Look, if you don’t want to see me, I understand. I just came to return the letter. I’m not going to sell it. I don’t want anything from you.”
Jerome moved to the bedroom door, his bat ready. He really didn’t want to have to kill Theodore Johnson. That would just complicate things.
Kaira fought to retain consciousness. She tried to call out, but she had nothing left.
Armpit set the letter on the bar. “I’m just putting it right here on the bar,” he said.
Good, thought Jerome Paisley. Touch the bar.
“Well, I’m going now,