The fight against STFU had hurt him. He needed repairs beyond what he could administer himself. He needed replacement parts. He needed ingredients and time to make another batch of the Elixir of Life. Basically, all that meant was that he needed help, and he did not like having to ask for help. Franks did not have many friends—per the human concept of the word—and the few he did have would be watched closely. Hopefully the message he gave to Archer and Jefferson would get to Myers. Trying to contact Myers outright would simply get them both killed.

In the meantime he would have to turn to someone who was off the books, someone the government would never suspect Franks of contacting.

The problem was that everyone he knew who fit that description was a bit . . . unsavory.

Franks was waiting in the bathroom because he couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and he didn’t want to leave an obvious mess on the carpet. Having a cleaning lady call the police would only complicate matters and put STFU back on his trail that much faster. He would have stood in the bathtub but he needed to be able to see the door. He did not like being surprised.

The red light on the digital lock turned green as the sensor picked up the chip in the guest’s card. The door opened. A man and woman were silhouetted in the light from the hall. They were all over each other. They disentangled their limbs long enough to stumble inside. The female figure was all perfect curves and proportions. The male was of no consequence. He was even too small and too out of shape to be of use for spare parts. The shadows merged again. Shoes were kicked off. Clothing was partially removed, but mostly tangled up and stuck. The man’s attempts at seduction were like watching a monkey humping a football. The woman knew what she was doing, and was trying to guide him, but apparently it was hard to coach someone that enthusiastically stupid.

Desperate times called for unsavory associates.

They quit sucking face long enough for her to order, “Bedroom. Now.” Then she walked away, lithe and graceful. The man followed her, clumsy and stumbling over his shoes. His pants were around his ankles, so he shuffled like a penguin.

Franks really didn’t have time for this. “Hello.”

“Oh shit!” The man exclaimed. He tried to move behind his date, shielding his identity, but he tripped over his pants and hit the wall. “Who’s there?”

“Housekeeping,” Franks said.

She recognized Franks’ voice. His presence had to be very unexpected, but she covered it well. As could be expected considering her history, she was an excellent actress. “I called the front desk about the shower this morning. Is this really the best time to fix it?”

“My apologies, ma’am . . .”