A Number of Wrong Turns

Chapter 2

Night had fully fallen by the time I finally reached Ayjer's 'hotel', and as I nudged the car's heater up a notch, I ruminated on the firsthand lesson I was being given in how quickly air cools when it doesn't contain much water vapour.

I was also being reminded why I should never, ever, under any circumstances, trust Ayjer to make my sleeping arrangements.

She'd been right about the size of the place; it was a good few acres of land, enclosed by a low white fence and some attractive sandstone boulders at the end of a shallow valley. The car park was spacious, freshly painted, and half filled with quite a few breeds of Lexus, Cadillac and similar mid-life crisis cars. There was even a Ferrari near the main entrance... though I wouldn't have liked to see the cost of repainting it after a day of driving through the desert.

In short, it looked a lot like an upscale All-American ranch; there was even a horse paddock.

There was also a sign. A bright... neon over the entrance to aforementioned car park. It was... tasteful. The lady on it was fully clothed, wearing a jacket that, while unbuttoned, was still modest and she was and not at all provocatively positioned. If it wasn't for the suggestive up tilt of her lips, or the way her hand invitingly waved over 'Gentleman's Club', it might have graced any billboard in America.

Parked on the road outside said 'gentleman's club,' I repeatedly beat my head against the steering wheel.

One other thing Ayjer had neglected to mention was that when she'd said 5 miles, she meant it was 5 miles from anywhere. I didn't even need to check the sat nav; the 'ranch' was located so deep in the desert I'd worried the machine had broken again.

But... this left me in a quandary. Obviously I couldn't stay the night; even if I'd been tempted by lady's mischievous smile, I wasn't a member. But the sat nav could barely be trusted to tell me place names, I was well out of cellphone range and as Ayjer had said, Nevada was largely empty; I could drive around for hours and still not find a place.

That left me with the option of sleeping in the car, or girding my loins, driving into this most masculine of places and very politely asking the front desk if they could direct me to the nearest hotel.

I smacked my forehead one last time; there were so many humiliating ways this could end, and being thrown out was the least of them.

Sighing, I put the car in gear, reminding myself a few moments of humiliation were better than sleeping under my coat in the backseat. Yet I still felt like the sign girl was mocking me as I sidled under her knowing gaze.

A little to my surprise, there wasn't a doorman, or bouncer... or whatever you call the tactically shaved gorillas who guard these places. I didn't even need to use an intercom, and the scent that rolled out of the door wasn't French perfume, but some kind of pine.

Noting the pleasantly non-salacious welcome mat, and rustic, but elegant interior, I was briefly transfixed by painting of a wolf pack, surprised that it was an actual oil painting. That made me start to think that maybe I'd misjudged this place, and then I saw the receptionist.

She was... not fully clothed.

To be precise, all the vital areas were covered, but not by something she could walk around outside in. Not if she didn't want to catch a severe chill.

Suddenly not knowing where to look and resisting the urgent need to just turn around, I approached the desk. "Uh... hi," I greeted her, steadfastly looking her in the face rather than down where my eyes wanted to go. The young blonde looked to be about 20 and was no doubt used to men leering at her, but that didn't make it right.

"Hello." She responded coolly, her nose delicately wrinkling as she inhaled several hours of stale car sweat. "Can I help you... sir?"

"Yes... this is kind of embarrassing," I scratched under my watch, "I'm a little lost and I was hoping you might be able to tell me where I can find a place to sleep tonight?" Realising how that sounded in a hot flash, I urgently clarified, "Uh not here. Naturally; I mean a hotel or something? My sat nav is on the fritz so if you had a road atlas or something...?"

Inwardly cringing, expecting her to laugh or sneer, or just tell me to get the hell out, I was instead subjected to a stare so intense it made me wonder if I had a mark from hitting my head on the wheel. But after what seemed like an eternity, she relaxed, offered me a controlled smile and with a mildly Germanic accent, replied, "That is quite alright... sir; I uh, do not have a 'road atlas', but if you will wait in the lounge, I will get help."

Nodding gratefully, I followed the elegant wave of her hand, trying to place her accent; it had a soft, guttural inflection which I vaguely recognised but was too tired to pay much attention to as I entered the lounge, which turned out to be a small seating area with a crackling log fireplace and open, but currently unattended, bar on the far wall.

Having successfully negotiated the conversation without metaphorically inserting a lower extremity into my oral cavity, I felt relieved enough to actually relax a little. The fire was gloriously warm and as I sank into the sofa, I felt my tension drain into the soft cushions. Maybe I was over thinking this? I just needed to wait and try not to stare at the receptionist when she came back.

To be clear, prostitution isn't wrong. It wasn't a nice profession, but so long as a woman was treated with respect, then I had no problem with it...I just didn't know how to act around half naked women; it wasn't something I had a lot of experience with. I also didn't know how I was going to explain this to Linith, but whatever I came up with, it was going to be prefaced with 'Ayjer tricked me'.

What seemed like a mere minute later, I heard heels clicking on the polished hallway floor and felt my eyes widen as I turned to see the blonde receptionist, flanked by two friends in similar states of undress.

On some level, I was aware I should be stunned by how the one on the left was wearing a corset one sharp breath away from a wardrobe malfunction, or the one on the right was wearing an actual garter belt with stockings, or be mesmerised by the fact that the receptionist's top clearly offered no support whatsoever when she moved.

But instead, it struck me that all three were the exact same shade of blonde.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," The receptionist solemnly shook her head as she stepped into the lounge, speaking with an accent that I can now quite easily identify. "We have no road atlas."

I actually feel my heart sink as her friends follow her in, the one in stockings standing by the doorway with her arms folded, and the other taking position directly behind me. "...That's ok," I assured her, trying to 'casually' look around the room and finding that the other exit was behind the bar. "If you can just point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way."

"Oh, we don't wish to be rude." The receptionist flashed a cruel smile as she stepped in front of me, her eyes boring into mine. "Besides, you said you were looking for a place to sleep tonight?"

"I doubt that I could afford this place." I swallowed; there was no way I was getting out of there of course, but if I played along, I could buy precious seconds that I could use to... uh, live longer in. My eyes frantically scanned the sofa and floor, but unless those pillows had some really heavy sequins they wouldn't help me much.

Linith could probably find a use for them... but my girlfriend could punch through a brick wall; anything was a weapon in her hands. I was just an analyst, and my expertise was telling me, far too late, that the woman wasn't human.

Nor was her friend by the door way... or the one in the corset who'd just locked her fingers around my shoulder.

Thereceptionist leaned down so her grinning face was level with mine. "Oh, weinsist, Faré."