The CIA had been a career goal of mine as long, if not longer than fancying a gig as a priest. Besides an obsession with a British agent whose surname is often alluded to me with just about every introduction, I liked the idea of being paid to be a jack of all trades as well as putting my language, cultural and martial skills to use in most adventurous ways. The notion of working one year in, say, a sweat shop and the next I'm serving as a dictator's right hand man was alluring in the fact that I'd get to sample an infinite number of walks of life. The only thing I couldn't wrap my mind around was the deceit required of me as a clandestined agent. My penchant for honesty and empathy developed for those I'm simply meant to lead on would compromise every mission. That and my father's disapproval based on experience steered me away but it didn't keep me from packing a dinner suit or clergy's shirt nearly wherever I went.
There was no room for them this trip, though, physically and out of principle. Just as well, however, for they would have been stolen by none other than a fellow conman. So let me tell you how I lost my clothes.
I had just successfully eluded that thunderstorm from the last chapter, retiring to the city of Jackson, Mississippi. The cheapest place happened to be none other than a Motel6 which I had avoided like the plague since my first night on the road but I was in high spirits so a roof and a bed regardless of the condition would suit me just fine. The scene with a disgruntled guest and the front desk woman only amused me when it should have been a sign to ante up the extra cash for accommodations serving a demographic less desperate than myself. Once they stormed off and I was next, I applauded how the lady handled the situation. A nice man with a cane sitting nearby also chimed in in agreement and we all had a chuckle with her sigh of relief. Soon after, I had the keys to what turned out to be a wonderfully renovated room.
The people I meet just get more and more unique, don't they? Since I was impressed by the room and thrilled at the fact there was a coin laundry available on site, I returned to the front desk to ask for another night. Much writing could be knocked out here, I thought. As the kind clerk happily extended my reservation, I chatted with the caned gentleman some more about one another's motel horror stories. Little did I know that I was about to add another tale of woe to my repertoire."Are you straight?"
To which I replied, "Yeah."
"Okay, good. Just thought you were checking me out or something."
"Ahah..."
One shirt and my swim shorts were the only articles of clothing that hadn't been drenched by the last couple days of rain rides so virtually everything else went into the coin washer. I can't remember the last time I was excited to do laundry! When I returned to switch them into the dryer, my cheerful mood dropped into neutral as it was discovered that the machine's lid was opened. Inside were just my underwear. The meager pair of shirts and jeans that were minimally brought for the entirety of this trip were nowhere in sight. Besides their intrinsic value which had been honed for practicality after weeks of riding, their sentimental value were the most poignant loss. One shirt, which had been thrown in the bonfire in my drunken stupor and subsequently saved by one of the Gulls was intended to be gifted to them at the end my journey but as it stood, I was without even clothing for my own basic need.
Just then, my weird neighbor, now dressed, walked by and noticed my plight. He was quick to mention encountering a short, blonde older woman who defensively declared the clothes she was picking out of the dryer were indeed her son's. I listened to him intently then quietly walked outside, circumnavigating the entire motel property, trying to keep my cool while hoping to see any sign of this laundry thief. To no avail, I returned to the scene of the crime and noticed one of the vending machines were pushed away from the wall. Some tinkering could be heard from behind it but as soon as my presence became known, the person, likely trying to score themselves free M&Ms, silenced their racket. I scoffed at the notion that they thought I couldnt tell what was going on but I was too caught up with my vengeful agenda to care about this new thief, who I deduced was my drugged up neighbor.
All that brooding sent me to my room where I threw on my jacket and slipped the MD and knife into the inside pockets. Back outside at the very front of the motel did I stake out this woman. It didn't play out in my mind what I would do when I finally confronted her but it was so offensive to me that I was even crossed in such a way, I demanded some sort of satisfaction. I'd be on that corner for at least an hour, watching every window and door and even the demographic of people checking into the hotel. I had never seen so many sad men with even sadder prostitutes before. It was interesting to note how in my menacing mood nothing was tolerable when just an hour or so ago little phased me.
I watched my neighbor go in and out of his room to the common area where the machines were constantly. Everytime he'd walk by with this look of sympathy for me. Eventually he'd come over, introduce himself with a firm handshake and chat a bit but it didn't last long as my tone was far from social and I even caught his eyes catching a glimpse of the butt of my revolver casually concealed in the shadows of my jacket. Shortly after he parted, I realized how foolish I was being with my clouded judgement and returned to my room to think this predicament through.
Sitting there, facing the wall of a noisy neighbor, I buried my sentiments for a moment. Instantly, it became clear who the culprit was. The man didn't strike me as someone who would go out of his way to accuse someone of taking clothes out of a laundry machine to being a thief. Next, stealing out of the vending machines doesn't exactly rule him out as a unlikely candidate, especially when trying to hide in silence. Then of course there's his frequent visits to the said machine, likely to curb an appetite spurred by his copious pot smoking, putting him in the vicinity of my clothes and a possible motive to turn sell them for more drugs. To think, I had shook hands with the thief and my soaked attire was just on the other side of this wall.
Wasting no time, I bolted out of my room to find the manager in hopes they had some kind of authority to inspect his room. It didn't take long to find the owner for he was just a few doors down, yelling at the man of the hour for breaking into the housekeeping room. Slowly I walked up, listening to the young fellow speak. He weaved a convincing lie but I saw right through it when he noticed me and took advantage of the situation to change the subject to my stolen clothes. My piercing eyes didn't leave his face as I analyzed every fabricated fiber he was stitching while backed into a corner by two men he had crossed in one night. He was on the defense and hid it poorly. Before retreating into his room he threw out as a last resort to the manager who was still hot blooded about catching him that the woman who stole my clothes said her name Magdeline. Now what part in this supposed encounter with a short, old blonde woman stealing clothes would she feel compelled to impart her name to a complete stranger? Your stories are full of holes, kid.
Now alone with the motel owner, I confided my suspicions about his kleptomania. The manager was still rather furious and said if the kid crossed me one more time that he would call the cops. I wasn't going to give the young man another chance. It wasn't my business to exact justice on him either; my clothes were all I wanted but using the law as leverage was duly noted.
Hands folded before my face with furrowed brows, I sat there facing the wall contemplating a means of extracting my clothing. The loudness of the kid's roommate was distracting. So far the only issue with the room itself was the thin walls... Ahah! Within a heartbeat the table was being pushed away to give me access to the adjoining room door which had a high clearance at the bottom that I initially plugged up with a towel as not to smell the smoke. Then, I placed my journal in the crack, pulled up my voice recording application and let the bugging begin. If the right conversation came up, I'd have the evidence needed to blackmail him into giving me my property or else into the backseat of a squad car he'd go. My grin was unusually devious.
Because of his earlier altercation with the manager, he was afraid to go outside so he asked his roommate to go ask the front desk for the extra towels he had tried to swipe earlier. When the roommate returned that right conversation I was patiently awaiting commenced but it ended up being more than I bargained for.
His buddy was thoroughly disturbed. The manager divulged what his thieving friend had been upto and apparently he was not aware who he had been rooming with. The three hours of recorded audio was so full of provocative drama that it's very difficult for me to draw a narrative out of it. I'll simply state the facts.
The boy's roommate was a much older man. Suffering afflictions of seizures, a traumatic past, and a downtrodden family, he lacked the expected jaded personality that a hard life would have wrought. Very kind hearted and trying to get on his feet, he has hopes of a new home that he fondly speaks of fixing up with his own hands and resources. Somehow, the young man gravitated to his situation through some classified ads looking for a roommate to help get the house off the ground. They hadn't known each other long but had been sharing the motel in the meantime while they planned things out. During this time, the kid's troubled background seemed to catch up with him every so often, to which the man only now brought up and my thief would grow ever more and more defensive. Even during that three hour conversation, his girlfriend would call and he'd take a familiar tone that seemed full of compounding lies. It could be overheard on his phone that she was accusing him of being some kind of con artist. Later this night some of his friends would bang on the door demanding to be sold more illegal drugs which the man thought the kid put an end to before agreeing to being friends. Like some kind of saint, apparently he was going to tolerate it all only if he confirmed that what the manager was saying about his actions tonight were admitted to. Of course, like a knee-jerk reaction, he denied it all and went on a tirade, constantly referencing his troubled childhood and the supposed principles he lived by. Several times he would refer to the man as being a close father figure that he never had. The waterworks then came about and initially to my amusement, the man called his masculinity out. Ever anxious to challenge and avoid criticism, the boy jumps to declaring his heterosexuality to which they would discuss for a time. It was obvious that he was gay - even the man could see it and tried to shrug it off as none of his business but the boy's upbringing seemed to be the source of a lot of his troubled nature. Their talk continually came around to this man's ability to recognize a cock and bull story but willingness to forgive for the sake of this new home and new life he wants to start. He even went so far as to say he'd give back the money the kid invested, sever his ties and bide his time in a homeless shelter with at least a clean conscience. The boy just would never admit to anything except that the older fellow was the best thing that happened to him in a long time. Something in how he confessed that so often as if he had something to lose seemed like the only sincere words he was capable of.
The microphone finally turned off when it became evident that I now lacked the motivation to exact revenge or deviously reclaim my clothing. The soaked pile in the bathroom were brought up in the conversation but after hearing all of that they seemed so trivial now. If anything, I wanted to step in, confirm the older gentleman's suspicions and steer him away from being this youngerster's next mark. What complicated it was the fact that, though this kid is responsible for a lot of the wrong doing in his life, from what I gathered - not by what he said but how he said it - he was a product of his surroundings. This Christ-like figure he's crossed paths with may just be the right person he needs to learn that he is in good company and needn't scrape by anymore through deceitful means. How to intervene at this point was just too much for one night.
I jumped out of bed when I heard them packing. When I peered out my peephole to see who his roommate was it surprised me to see that it was none other than the nice man with the cane! There was little time to figure out how I was going to step in. Suddenly my sympathy for the gentleman came over me. I opened the door, walking out in the same shirt and shorts I had done my laundry in earlier and approached him as he was being helped into the cab by the driver.
The man looked at me and said nothing, only to nod and acknowledge he understood what I meant."Oh, how ya doin', son?"
"Good morning, sir. I don't know how to tell you this but--"
Just then, the kid stepped out of the room and greeted me. My pause was long then I continued,
"For what it's worth --your friend there? Watch out for him... And watch out for him," I advised with a more reluctantly caring tone in my clause.
While walking back to my room, I passed by the kid with a sack slung over his back. He voiced a goodbye as he joined his friend in the cab. Sympathetic but still a bit raw, I continued into my room only to say without turning around,
My door closed and that was that. The clothes weren't worth the drama and the possible confidence trick in the works wasn't my fight. I reckoned if his crimes ever caught up with him and caught the attention of a certain intelligence agency, he'd surely succeed in that career where I'd only go so far. One can only hope the man can teach him to turn over a new leaf."You're going to need a belt too."
This episode did not turn out how I wanted with some sort of poetic justice or a charmingly heroic Ocean's 11-esque revelation in the end where the player was actually being played. There's even no apparent tie in to my own life story. Just an awkward chapter is all this may ever be and I suppose every adventure has its unremarkable days. Perhaps the resolution we're all craving is just further down the road.
All I could take from this was that if you give a naked man a light you may end up giving him your clothes too.
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