Tom Brand Escapes

22-Escapes the City of M.I.

As Brand pulled up to the motel, nothing seemed particularly amiss, although the dented truck that had been on the patch of grass was gone and the front door was locked. He knocked and got no answer. There was a radio playing somewhere and through the front window Brand could see the hooks that held the motel keys. One was missing.

"Unit two," he said to Jenn.

As they went around the back of the building Jenn took her gun out. Brand put his hand to his.

The rear of the building had a rectangular extension that jutted out about twelve feet from the house and ran the length of it. There were three clean white doors with the numbers one, two and three neatly stenciled in blue. The door to unit two was slightly ajar. Brand knocked and then pushed it open. The room had a slight disinfectant smell. It held a full size bed, nightstand and lamp, and small chest of drawers. The bed looked rumpled but the bedspread and sheets were not turned down. The radio alarm clock flashed twelve o'clock. Brand approached the bathroom cautiously while Jenn stood guard at the room door. She had her back pressed to the jamb and looked about inside and outside at intervals.

Brand knocked softly and receiving no answer, opened the door. There was a toilet and basin sink. The entire room was tiled and there was a single shower head in the corner. The floor and walls were wet like they had been recently used and the fan was on.

"It looks like he was here," Brand said.

"Where is he now?" Jenn asked.

Then they heard it – a single shout of pain. It was muffled but unmistakably Petras. They both bolted outside. Jenn skidded to a halt in the dirt yard.

"Where did it come from?"

Brand shook his head and put his finger to his lips. Faintly, he heard talking. He crouched low and continued along the building, flattening himself against it. Set back was an attached garage. The large door was boarded up but there was a smaller side door and window. Through it, Brand could just see the top of his friend's head. Petras was seated in a chair and slightly reclined back. Just then, the woman they had seen earlier walked up behind him. She raised something above her head, and it glinted in the light. Brand signaled to Jenn to cover him and forced the door in.

The woman screamed and another person skittered backwards across the floor. Brand trained his gun back and forth between both figures and then began to laugh as Jenn burst into the room. He immediately put his hand to hers to lower her gun.

"I'm so sorry about your door," Brand said. He examined the jamb. It had come cleanly off and could be reattached with a few nails.

"What do you think you're doing?" Petras asked.

"We saw you weren't in your room. We heard you scream," Jenn said.

Petras laughed, a rarity. "It was the pedicure. My feet are very ticklish." He pointed his finger at Brand and then Jenn. "Tell anyone that and I'll kill you."

Brand sat down on a long low bench beside the window and rubbed his knuckles against his chin. The garage was a tiny hair salon with two barber chairs, a sink, and a manicurist station. Bottles of shampoos, conditioners, balms and sprays sat on shelves about the room. Old magazines were piled in wooden crates on the floor.

"Sorry, Petras. I saw her raise something over your head."

"Yes," the woman said. "I was about to give him a shave. I use only a straight razor. It gives the closest, cleanest cut."

"Brand, this is Irma. Anna, cowering over there, is her sister. In addition to the motel, store, and gas station, they run this salon. I couldn't sleep, so they kindly offered their services."