I flipped through the TV channels on the remote for the millionth time. Jerry Springer talks to transvestite fathers revealing their secrets to their children. Ricki Lake talks to pregnant pre-teens marrying their adult boyfriends. Jenny Jones is playing another one of those "Secret Admirer" episodes. Shit, didn't she learn her lesson the first time? Tempest Bledsoe... Tempest BLEDSOE?!?!? How the hell did she get a show??? She's talking to conjoined twins - one who's straight, the other is gay. And Mark Wahlberg -- who the hell is Mark Wahlberg????



I turned the TV off and shucked the remote on the floor. I felt like I had been holed up in the hotel room for a month already - not just a few days.



"It'll just be a for a little while," Ned assured me. "Just be patient."



Of course, he wasn't the one sitting in a hotel room feeling like the Prisoner of Zenda. Crap. How did I get so lucky to have two cops on my ass?? I settled back onto the bed and tried to relax. The hotel room wasn't the Ritz, but it wasn't a rathole.

The ceiling was smooth. Ivory. No, it had little bumps, ridges.



Outside the sun was just setting. The sky was burnt orange, and I thought it was hot outside today. The room was cool - but stuffy. I tried to take a deep breath, staring at the ivory ceiling.



And then it was falling - the ceiling - and a cacophony of voices came like a wave between my ears - Jerry, Jenny, Ricky, Oprah -- what the hell were they all saying! My head exploded.



******



I opened my eyes with a start, shaking myself out of the nightmare.



'Shit,' I thought to myself. 'I have to get the hell out of here. Even

for a minute.'



******



As many times I had been back to Mocha Daze, it just wasn't the same. Not the furniture - that was all new. It was re-painted, re-designed. They were serving food, and added a row of computers where there were coffee nerds hacking away. Having anonymous cyber-sex with someone who is absolutely nothing like what they say they are. No, it wasn't all the new 'stuff.' Hugo was missing, and so was his spirit - his bitching, his gossiping - his love for the place was gone. They even took out the stained glass dove that used to hang in the window.



I checked behind me, making sure that Friday and Gannon weren't there to kill me. I had snuck out of the hotel via the service elevator; I knew that they might be waiting out the front.



I spotted Fran, playing on one of the computers, and I walked up to her.



"Need a refill on that?" I asked non-chalantly.



"Hey!" she said, more surprised then pleasant. "How are you? You okay?"



"Yeah, I'm great. Good. Just keeping a low profile, that's all."



"Yeah, I guess," she said. And then we stood there, smiling at each other, not knowing what else to say.



"Uhm, I'll let you get back to, uh.." I mumbled, gesturing to the computer.



"Oh, yeah....I uh, I'm just surfin' around. I thought Hugo might be on-line or something..." she said.



"Oh yeah? Is he on?" I asked eagerly, thinking it would have been cool to talk to the bald guy.



"Uh, no." Fran's face fell into a sad smile.



"Any idea where he really is?" I asked.



Fran shook her head. "Listen, " she said, "I just need to finish out my minutes and then we can talk."



"No, no that's okay. I gotta go anyway," I replied. I had absolutely nothing to say.