Page 35 of Box of Frogs
There was a knock on the door. Without waiting, the receptionist put her head round. ‘Is everything okay?’ She didn’t look at me. I applauded her bravery in interrupting; Timmons could learn a thing or two from her.
‘It’s fine, Mindy,’ he answered.
‘Good.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s a couple at the front who are complaining about the water pressure. And they said there was a cockroach in their bed. They want to see you.’
Timmons grimaced. ‘I’ll be right out.’ He turned at me. ‘I should go.’ Then he bit his lip. ‘May I go?’
I sighed. ‘Yeah.’ It was clear that he didn’t have much to offer me. There were plenty of gaps he could fill in but he didn’t know anything substantial. Gasbudlikins. Being evil was a lot harder than it looked. And if there were cockroaches in this hotel, it was high time I made an exit. Yuck.
Chapter Thirteen
Spotting a smoker as I exited the hotel, I squared my shoulders and stomped over. So far I’d resisted the lure of nicotine but at that moment I really needed a cigarette.
‘Give me a fag,’ I growled at her, in my best bad-guy voice. I wasn’t yet done with being evil, I decided. What I needed was an argument with a complete stranger. Or fisticuffs. That would make me feel much better.
The woman, wearing a flowery dress and looking as if she’d just stepped out of a posh garden party, ignored my glower and smiled. ‘Of course. I know what it’s like when you’re desperate for a puff.’ She dug into her bag and pulled out a pack. ‘Take a couple.’
I stared at her. Couldn’t she tell I was a villain? To all intents and purposes, I was a large, ungainly man who needed a shave and had a dangerous glower. She had no right to be this nice to me. Unless she was trying to give me lung cancer. It was a slow revenge, to be sure, but it would work in the end.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘I just need one.’
‘No problem.’ She continued to smile at me. It was eerie.
Taking her lighter, I lit the cigarette with my good hand and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately, I choked. My body may well have been craving nicotine but clearly I’d gone long enough without smoking for the nasty side effects to hit me. Light-headedness over took me and the taste in my mouth was like ash. I made a face and dropped my hand with the cigarette in it.
‘You don’t really want it, do you?’ the woman said. ‘Just stub it out. I won’t be offended.’
I gazed at the smoke curling up into the air then flicked her a glance. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
She shrugged. ‘You look like you’re having a bad day. And it’s nice to be nice.’
‘I’m trying to be nasty,’ I admitted, surprising even myself with the disclosure.
She ground out her cigarette. ‘When you’re nasty, people are nasty back. And you don’t think you deserve anything better.’ I must have looked astonished because she gave a brief laugh. ‘Been there, done that, had the therapy,’ she told me. ‘Whatever’s going on in your life, at least you’re alive. Rise above the shit.’ She smiled again. ‘Nice talking to you.’ With that, she strolled away, leaving me staring after her with an open mouth.
Shaking my head, bemused, I discarded the cigarette and shambled along the pavement towards the main street. It was looking more and more likely that I’d have to crawl back to Morgan with my proverbial cap in hand. Quickly, too. I was fairly certain that the pain was getting worse. Most of my chest now ached, as well as my hand and arm, and my thoughts were becoming sluggish. Maybe that was why I was such a pathetic excuse for both a villainanda superhero; I clearly wasn’t working to capacity.
I huffed as I walked along the road. Was it possible to be amnesiacandhave an identity crisis at the same time? Sure, I couldn’t remember anything about myself but you’d think I’d instinctively know whether I was good or bad and act accordingly. Unfortunately, it appeared that life wasn’t as straightforward as it was in soap operas.
I rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pair of loved-up teenagers and almost losing my balance in the process.
‘The bigger they are,’ the boy snickered, ‘the harder they fall.’
I spun round, prepared to give him my best villain glare. Unfortunately the action only served to make me dizzy. As the kids wandered away laughing, I doubled over, trying not to vomit. This was ridiculous. How could I maintain a stomach of steel when faced with gruesome sights but feel the need to upchuck when I simply turned round too quickly? I did my best to hold in the contents of my stomach but it was a losing battle. Moments later, a stream of yellow bile splashed onto the pavement. Bleurgh.
Feeling like death I straightened up, taking my time in case my stomach protested again. My skin was clammy. But every cloud has a silver lining: the rowan-induced pain, which had been spreading for days, appeared to have vanished. Perhaps the nausea and vomiting were a result of my body expelling the poison by itself. If I’d made myself throw up on the golf course, I’d probably have been right as rain. No doubt Morgan was trying to put the wind up me by harping on about nux. Ha! Who needed it? Or him? I could manage perfectly well on my own. I’d have jumped for joy if my current body weren’t so cumbersome.
I continued on my path, weaving in and out of the growing number of pedestrians. Most of them gave me a wide berth, which was just as well. My breath was probably about as ripe as a warthog’s morning fart right now. There was also an annoying buzzing in my ears. It was probably a side effect of walking around in this body. I’d get over it.
Although it had been blazing sunshine not long ago, the sky had darkened considerably. It was darned cold too, and I kept shivering. I should try that charity shop again and see if they had Godzilla-sized jumpers. Autumn wasn’t here yet but this was still England – world champion at grey and chilly.
I turned left onto the next street, realising as I did so that not only were there more people around but that many of them were looking at me strangely. A few looked scared – as they should – but most appeared concerned. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I’d have to remind the world who I was.
Throwing back my head, I let out a loud, fake, villainous laugh. ‘Mwahahahahahaha!’ Oddly, it didn’t make the other pedestrians run away. If anything, they looked even more worried.
A small boy tugged at his mum’s hand. ‘Is the big man alright?’
I swivelled my eyes towards him. ‘I am fine,’ I boomed. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded overly loud. ‘And,’ I added, ‘I am not a man. I’m a woman.’
