Suicide Girls In The AfterLife Read Online Free Page B

remember?”
   “Whatever,” she says, plopping herself down onto the bed. “I can’t believe you don’t even have a mini-bar.”
   “Yeah,” I say. “That sucks.”
   I go over to the one window in the room and pull back the pink drapes. Outside, there is a mountain range, gray with snowy peaks. Quite beautiful, except that it’s moving. Rolling past the window as if it were the backdrop of a movie. “Shit,” I mutter. “The mountains are moving. How messed up is that?”
   Katina comes over and looks out. “The mountains aren’t moving. We are.”
   “Really?” I look closer at the mountains. “It doesn’t feel like we’re moving.”
   She sighs loudly and moves away from the window. “Well, we are. The hotel is flying or some shit.”
   I watch for another minute or two and determine that Katina is correct. Though it can’t be felt, the hotel is indeed flying. I wonder where we are. The Rocky Mountains? The Andes? My stomach lurches and I have to turn away from the window.
   Katina is sitting at the table, looking at a menu. “Are you hungry?” she asks. “I’m starving.”
   Sitting down across from her, I ask, “Is there room service?”
   “Surprisingly, yes. At least according to this there is, but the menu is kind of…uh…sparse.”
   “Give me that.” I lean over and pluck it from her fingers. Studying the menu, I say “What the hell? ‘Floors six and lower (excluding floors one and lower) can choose from a wide variety of our house baked pies, day or night, free of charge.’ Pies? That’s all we get? I was hoping for nice plate of pasta in white sauce.”
   “Yeah, and I could go for a big bloody steak but it looks like we’re SOL.” Katina leans back in her chair and puts her feet on the table. “Did you look at the kinds of pies they have?”
   I look down at the menu again. “What’s rock pie?”
   “Beats me. Probably made with rocks, is my guess.”
   I get up and go over to the phone on the nightstand. I dial zero and wait for someone to pick up. It takes them several minutes, but when they finally do, I recognize Mustache Man’s voice right away. “Hi,” I say. “Yeah, this is room…uh…” I look at Katina and snap my fingers, pointing to the keycard on the table. She picks it up and says, “631.”
   Frowning at her, I repeat the number into the phone. “We’re kind of hungry up here and noticed that the menu says we’re only allowed to have pies.”
   “The pies are excellent, I assure you madam,” says Mustache Man.
   “I’m sure they are, but you know…we’re hungry for something a little more substantial than pie right now.”
“House rules,” he says crisply.
   “House rules,” I repeat, trying to sound indignant.
   Katina jumps out of the chair and barrels over to me, grabbing the phone out of my hand. “Listen, buddy, we think your house rules suck, so why don’t you just send us the menu that all the rich people on the upper floors are getting?”
   I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch as she listens. It seems like she listens for a long time. Then: “Okay, fine. Whatever. But it better be good.” Then she slams the phone down into its cradle. “Fucking wanker,” she says to it.
   “Are they sending us another menu?” I ask.
   “Nope,” she replies, heading towards the bathroom. “He said he was sending up pie.”
   Groaning, I flop back on the bed and look at the ceiling. Oddly, it’s covered with tire tread marks of all shapes and sizes. Thin treads that could have been made by a little wagon of some sort, bicycle treads, all the way up to treads that could have only been made by an SUV. I mention it to Katina who lies down beside me and points. “I think that one is from a grocery cart,” she says. “I used to work in a grocery store.”
   “Hmm,” I say.
   Someone knocks on the door and Katina jumps up to