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.In 309 he heard the sounds of lovemaking—sincere on the man's part, wholly false on the woman's.Across the hall from 309 was a door with SERVICE stenciled on it in chipped and faded letters.It was unlocked.Inside was a large sink, a wet mop and bucket, and a locked cabinet.The closet reeked of urine, but the floor was clean, so Gilbert sat down with his backpack and boom box beside him, and waited for a half hour, when he once again listened at the door of 309 and heard snoring.A smile on his face, he left the Hotel Excelsior with his box and his backpack and headed toward the row of warehouses.Two hours later, he returned empty-handed to the hotel and went back into the supply closet, where he sat on the floor, crossed his arms on his knees, and rested his head on them.He slept fitfully, waking each time there was a noise in the hall, and looking through the door to see what had caused it.At no time did the door of room 309 open.When he was able to enter a thin sleep, his dreams were thick and dark, and he saw his mother dying in the bed, the same bed to which she had taken him over and over again, dying in the bed in her bedroom, because there was no money for the hospital, and what could the hospital do for her that had not been done? Now there was only the dying.The dying and the truthYou did this It was youHe had learned the truth months before, had heard the word motherfucker in school, and laughed at it, but laughed the wrong way, and the others had looked at him and said things, and he had said things back, things that had not sounded right to them, and then they had known, somehow they had known, and accused him, and he had said more, and then they all got quiet, and the guidance counselor had called him into his office and asked him questions using words that he didn't understand, but the guidance counselor understood what he was saying all right, but by that time his mother was already dying, lying in her bed, her black hair like a frame around her face.She was not pale, his mother never was pale, but she was different, less ruddy, a sickly yellow-orange color that reminded him of fruit just on the verge of rotting.You did this you put it in me and you poisoned me, my own son poisoned me, put it in his mothergave me the cancerHe awoke just before dawn, to a gentle sound that slowly washed away his mother's dying words, words that he heard over and over again, hundreds of miles away from her, from where he had left her to die alone, while he had run away from New Orleans, gone out into the world to become Gilbert Rodman, keeping his first name, taking the second from an obscure and unfinished story by Poe about an explorer who went west.Rodman.He would be a Rodman.What was that noise, he wondered, and then, as wakefulness came to him, he realized it was rain.He heard it striking the roof several floors overhead, heard the surge of it as it poured down unseen spouting in the walls.He stood up and stretched his muscles, splashed rusty water on his face from the sink.Then he sat down again and waited until the door of 309 opened.At 7:30 the man in the cowboy boots came out and walked down the stairs.Gilbert waited another two hours until the turquoise lady left.At a safe distance, he followed her out onto the street.The rain was coming down hard, and he stepped next to her as she was standing under an awning waiting for the light to change."You working?" he said, with a hopeful smile.She turned and looked at him coldly."Not this morning, honey." Her voice was rough, abraded by vice."Aw, come on now," Gilbert said in his best aw-shucks, country boy manner."That's why I hate workin' the damn night shift.You pretty ladies do the same thing, and by the time I'm ready to cut loose, you're all too tired.""You got that right, pal." The light changed, but she didn't cross the street."I could make it worth your while.Say, twenty-five bucks." Gilbert started low.He didn't want to look too anxious."Honey, that wouldn't get you a handjob." She started to move from under the awning, and Gilbert put a hand on her arm to stop her."How much then? For an hour of your time?"She turned and looked at him closely.She was older than he had first thought.That was good.He wanted her to look older."What did you have in mind?" She wasn't friendly, not at all.That was good too."Oh, you know, the usual." Gilbert grinned shyly."Maybe some of that.French stuff.""Blowjob," she said, making it sound like one syllable."Well, uh, yeah.I'd like that.And, you know, the regular stuff too.You know, the, uh.""Fucking." She sighed, and Gilbert could smell her breath.He was sure she hadn't brushed her teeth that night."Sixty bucks," she said.Gilbert shook his head uncertainly."That's an awful lot.""Overtime pay, honey." She smiled at him, showing teeth that were white at the tips and yellow at the gum."You'll enjoy it.""Yeah," Gilbert said, chuckling."I guess I will at that.""You wanta go to the Excelsior? I get a deal there.""No, let's go over to my place," Gilbert said."Where's your place?""About four blocks over.On Lexington.""What? That's all warehouses and shit down there.""I got a place in one.I'm a watchman."She looked at him oddly but shrugged.Jesus, Gilbert thought, the bitch was stupid.But that was good, that was fine, that made it all the easier."It's raining," she said."We have to walk?"It was his turn to shrug."You see any cabs?"He didn't have an umbrella, so he got a USA Today from a machine and held it over their heads as they walked.When they were half a block away from the warehouse Gilbert had found the night before, the woman stopped walking.Gilbert, still holding the paper, took a couple of steps away from her before he stopped."What's the matter?"She shook her head.The rain had diminished to a fine mist, and her black hair shone."I don't know," she said."This don't feel right.""Aw, come on," Gilbert said."Look, can I help where I live? I mean, you got a penthouse yourself, you're so picky? Really, I got a nice little apartment down in the basement.That place right there." He pointed to a huge building of weathered brick.TYLER BEARINGS was dimly visible on the side, like ghost letters."Come on.Please?" He tried to make it sound innocent, like a poor schmuck who goddamit never got laid, and wasn't it her duty, as a professional, to ease this poor, horny guy's pain?She thought for a moment, then nodded."Okay.Seventy bucks
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