I turned on the TV. It had been months since I watched anything. I turned to news and that lasted about ten seconds. I flipped around and found some old movie, a crime story. I stayed there. My parents used to watch classic films with me as a kid. I guess I found them comforting.

About six beers in, I started to fade a bit. I leaned back on the couch and just drifted. I felt a wave of peace come over me as I began to fall asleep. Then someone knocked on the door. Not just knocking either. They were pounding on it. I opened one eye, hoping it would just stop. It didn’t.

I stood up and spilled the beer I had resting on my lap. My moment of peace was destroyed. I stomped across the hardwood and yanked the door open violently. I planned on slapping whoever it was.

On the doorstep stood Detective Lou Wheatley. I opted not to slap him. He was the one cop who didn’t want to put me away.

“Morning, Cal,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Who needs sleep?”

I stood back so he could walk inside. He immediately looked at my coffee table covered with a case of beer, a bottle, and a bong, not to mention a Mason jar of weed. It was legal now, so I didn’t feel the need to hide it.

“This place looks like a teenager’s bedroom.”

“You come here to insult me or you have something else on your mind?”

Wheatley walked past me to the couch and sat down. He pointed at the beers. “Can I have one of these?”

“It’s eight a.m.”

“It’s been a long night.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Wheatley cracked open a beer and took a good long swig. I joined him. The ghoul watched us from his corner and shook his head.

I let Wheatley relax a second before I pressed him. He obviously had something for me. He didn’t do social calls. We’d known each other a while, been through some shit, but it was almost always business. He finished the beer, crushed the can, and helped himself to another.

I glanced at the ghoul.

“What happened last night?” I asked.

Wheatley took one more gulp. “I thought it was a routine homicide investigation,” he said. “Fucking hell, was I wrong.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Wheatley looked at me. “An entire motel, twelve units, and a body in each one.”

“Motel?”

“The Ambassador on Ventura.”

“I assume we’re going there?”

“If you would?” he said, almost pleading. “I have the place on lockdown. They’re waiting for us.”

I have to admit, he was freaking me out a bit. Wheatley was a rock, so seeing him rattled, rattled me.