almost okay

SHERMAN WHISTLES WHILE HE WORKS
Chapter Seven: The Beginning of the End

It was two-thirty by the time I made it back to my hotel room. The hotel bar was closed and I was left to suffer through the rest of the night without a drink. I sat and watched television as I carefully cut the contents of the manila envelope, photograph and all, into tiny shreds then flushed them down that barely functioning toilet. I'd forgotten how poorly it worked. It took me an hour just to get rid of the last of the paper, watching flush after flush swirl slowly around, holding the handle down to empty the bowl completely, but by four I was finished. I punched out for the day, flipped numbly through the channels, finally killing the thing and lying across the bed, then staring at the ceiling and listening to the white noise of the air conditioner until the sun came up. I got up, shit, showered, shaved and packed.

I hadn't slept a wink, but I figured I could catch up once I got to Ohio.

The trip over to Cincy took me back through the mountains on the turnpike, clipped through West Virginia and across southern Ohio to I-71 South. It was a nice trip, all in all. After I'd paid my last toll on the turnpike I was happy to be on the open road, free to take an exit anytime I felt like, happy to be rid of the sameness and the narrow lanes of the toll road. I rolled west on I-70 with the window down and the wind in my face. The weather was good, much better than I'd experienced on the trip down, and the view was scenic up until I reached central Ohio. When I wasn't cursing the traffic I was checking out the scenery, trying to keep my mind off of what I'd just done and stay focused on the last part of the job. After all, I still had the toe to deliver. Once I'd checked into the hotel a middleman was supposed to collect that as proof I'd done the deed, then hand me the forty grand.

I made the trip in a little over eight hours, found my hotel thanks to very good turn-by-turn directions on my Yahoo Map, and checked in around 7:30 p.m. “Where can I get some beer around here?” I asked the clerk at the desk, a plump, middle-aged black woman.

“You go back up this way,” she said indicating a right turn out of the parking lot. “That's Kenwood. Go on until you see a gas station on both sides of the street. You can get beer there.”

“What about food?”

“Turn right or left and you'll run across something. There's a Subway to the right and I'm not sure what all to the left.”

“Thanks.”

I dumped my bags in the room and headed out, weary from a sleepless night and the drive, but too hungry and thirsty to care. After picking up a meatball sub, I made a quick stop at the beer store for my alcoholic supplies. The beer was warm, though, no room in the coolers for it at the tiny store where I bought it. Thank god there was a mini fridge with a freezer in the room. Once I was back, I kicked off my shoes, loaded up the freezer, pulled the toe from my pocket and put that in the ice box, too. I was tired of carrying it around.