Hard plastic wheels clacked over shallow grooves in the covered walkway between Dmitri’s room and the parking lot. He checked the door.

Locked. Good.

The flirty, moderately trashy maid had already caused him enough trouble. Not her, specifically, but women like her.

Squeak-squeak, tap. Squeak-squeak, tap.

Everyone on the flea-trap motel’s ground floor with the luxurious parking lot view would be waking up to the same delightful clatter. Dmitri imaged that the cardboard-thin walls had somehow been designed to amplify sound instead of insulate it. He wondered if anyone had called the police yet over the loud fight a few rooms down. It sounded like a real brawl.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he said. “I had to make sure the door was locked, or the cleaning people will barge in.” It was the first time he’d spoken with his wife all week. He heard her ring tone from the shower at 6:03 AM, and nearly broke his ankle racing to the phone.

“We both know what I did,” he continued, ignoring his dripping, towel-clad reflection in the cloudy mirror. “I won’t waste your time trying to excuse it or justify it.”

Tap, squeak-squeak. Tap, squeak-squeak.

Something about the cart bothered him. He couldn’t spare the attention to figure it out; any hope of saving his marriage, or at least salvaging some kind of amicable relationship with his wife hinged on this phonecall.

“I’m not trying to change your mind. I just want you to know that I’ve had my road to Damascus moment. I got the job at hospital. It’s just a security position, but it’s better than nothing. I’ve turned a corner, and I’m not looking back.”

Tap tap, squeak. Tap tap, squeak.

The clock-radio on the nightstand said 6:09 AM. It came to him. The cleaning girl shouldn’t have been there for another hour. She was pushing the cart from the right, instead of the left, and she hadn’t stopped at any rooms.

…Until she reached his.

Tap tap tap. “Housekeeping.”

He recognized the trashy girl’s voice.

“Not now, please,” Dmitri yelled. “No, it’s housekeeping. They’re knocking on my door.”

Keys jingled, and one of them slid into the lock.

“Christ, they're unlocking the door. I better go. I’ll call you after my shift, okay? I miss you.”

“Housekeeping.” The lock turned, and the maid bopped backwards into the room, dragging the heavily laden plastic cleaning cart over the threshold. Her dyed-blond ponytail swung between her shoulder blades as a tune only she could hear battered her eardrums through inserted headphones.

Dmitri shook his head, unable to fathom how this walking cliche could be trusted with room keys. The Do Not Disturb tag dangled in clear view from the outside door-handle.

Cheered by the unexpectedly positive turn in his marriage and his life in general, Dmitri stifled a laugh. What good would being angry at the ridiculous girl do, anyway?

Her very snug, hot-pink tracksuit matched her jewel-studded Sketchers, and the word Juicy screamed for attention in bold white letters across her plump ass. If Dmitri hadn’t already turned that corner…

He sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting his bath towel for optimum coverage, and watched her struggle with the heavy trolley. He smiled in anticipation of her surprise when she would finally turn around and realize she was in the wrong room with a giant, naked man. He’d have to be careful not to frighten her. This wouldn’t look good if she starting screaming.

A heavy bundle of towels, bathmats, and shower curtains fell to the floor with an odd thud as she gave the cart a final tug over the threshold. She rifled through a tool bag, and before he could wonder what she wrapped up in that bundle, she turned to face him holding a clawed hammer.

“I tried to warn you,” Dmitri said. “I guess you couldn’t hear with your music up so loud. You still can't, can you?” He pointed at his ear. He had hoped for more of a response. Her utter lack of surprise was a bit of a let-down, but her eyebrows arched higher as she gave him an appreciative once-over.

With a disarming smile and an apologetic shrug, she tugged the ear-buds from her ears. "I heard you. These aren’t even plugged in." She tossed the headset over her shoulder in the general direction of the cart. With her eyes locked on his, every motion became a sensual exhibition.

“Right,” he said, as if that made perfect sense. “This is the absolute last thing I need right now.” He didn’t want to get rude with her, but she needed to leave.

“You won’t be needing that, either,” he said. “I haven’t spotted anything in this room that needs hammering.” He enjoyed a mental chuckle at the double entendre. Arnold, himself, couldn’t have delivered the cheesy line better. He caught himself smiling, and didn’t want to send mixed signals. “Don’t get me wrong. I like a girl who can handle heavy tools, but whatever you have in mind, you can forget it. I have to get to work."

“I heard. Congratulations. New job at the hospital.”

Is she mocking me?

“How fucking boring is that going to be?”

Definitely mocking.

“Listen… whatever your name is,” he began, looking for the name badge that she must have forgotten to pin on. “Let me put this another way. You’re a pretty girl, and I’m flattered, but I'm not interested. Now, please fuck off.”

That didn’t work, either. She only smiled bigger. How much clearer could he be? He’d had more than his share of crazy women. Some of these stupid sluts wouldn’t hear the message until he delivered it with a steel-toed boot. With this sort of psycho, anything more subtle would lead to broken glass and stalker city.

“I meant boring for me, big guy,” she said, oozing silk and sugar. Confirming his opinion, she looked him over once more, top to bottom, and then back to the top, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m sure a security gig is just the thing for a big man like you.” She licked her lips and glided up to him, blatantly ogling his bare chest and arms as she reached for the zipper between her breasts.

He didn’t need the mental warning bells to know that she was trouble. She still had the hammer in her hand, for Christ’s sake. That didn’t bother him, though. He’d won eight trophies and a few handsome purses as a competitive body builder, and this doe-eyed little piece of ass would need more than a hammer if she wanted to hurt him.

As much as he enjoyed being admired, even by this crazy chick, he had to stop her now, or she would notice the levitating towel in his lap. He was a man, after all, and that sort of thing was well out of his control.

Still sitting on the bed, he reached up to keep her away, but she stepped right into his hand. Her warm hand fell across his, pulling it firmly to her breast as her fingertips pressed into the soft flesh between his thumb and finger. Pain shot up his arm from the pressure point. It was more startling than painful, not unlike the uncomfortable tingling from whacking his funny-bone. It was, however, perfectly timed to distract him from the hammer.

It crunched into his head just above his ear with a deafening ring. Blinding fireworks dominated his vision. Direction, balance, and even time ceased to hold any meaning. Only the blood pooling in his ear and trickling sideways across his face hinted that he had fallen onto his side.

Dazed and disoriented, he struggled to remember what had happened and where he was. Had he really been attacked in his cheap motel room, or was this just another freaky dream?

Later, seconds or hours, he couldn’t say, he thought his eyes opened. It seemed very real, but even in his muddled state he knew it had to be a dream; a bizarre nightmare brought on by his tremendous headache.

The cleaning girl lay beside him on the bed, straddled by another Dmitri wearing his brand new hospital security uniform. The naked girl didn’t struggle as he choked her, not even when the bones and cartilage in her throat snapped with a sound like corn kernels popping in a microwave.

Ding! She’s done. He felt guilty for wanting to laugh at such a horrible thought, but it was just dream.

“I expected you to sound different, Dmitri Chenko,” he said, filling the name with sarcasm. He looked at him like a snake watching a cornered mouse, still squeezing the girl’s throat. “A big guy like you, with a name like that—I thought you would sound like a Russian gangster, or that tall, blonde guy who beat Rocky. ‘I vill blake yoo.’ What a disappointment. You should have changed your name to Smith and gone into radio.”

It felt real when the other Dmitri climbed off of the girl and onto him. “Good-bye old Dmitri. The new Dmitri will take it from here.” New Dmitri stabbed him in the neck with a hypodermic needle, and that felt real, too. But only for a second.