A $6.50 TOUCH

From: Murder Incorporated - In a Keg

by Harold J. Treherne

o one frugal inhabitant of the prairies six dollars and fifty cents for one night's sleep in this city of perpetual twilight is a most unheard-of and outrageous thing. The welcome sign in each room reads: "We cater to sleep." A good thing can be overdone. Consider a customer in the back seat of a cab, he pays for the privilege, yes — and he's taken for a ride. In this motel, too, you pay for the privilege and are about to suffer a similar fate. You've paid the price but not cheerfully. To proceed: This one February night in Vancouver, just before twelve, I found myself in temporary possession of such a prospect.

I had survived this first shock but a reaction was setting in. Standing by the bed I moved my head slowly from side to side in utter dejection, bemoaning the while: "Six dollars and fifty cents, six dollars and fifty cents, how awful."

Then I saw what appeared to be glass-fronted registers at either end of the room. Heat should come out of these and I placed my hand against one but I wasn't at all sure. I rolled up my sleeve and tried my elbow and that tender spot didn't register either. I thought of trying it with my head but I allowed that would be unfair. Heat might go the other way.

Then I saw a dinky little brassy-looking gimmick over the bed. Ah-ha! I gloated this must be the Master Control. I took a close look at it but couldn't read it so I slid into my specs and still couldn't read it but there was a table lamp close by with the biggest top-hat I've ever seen. With the aid of this monstrosity I read "LOW." So this is the way they treat you! and suddenly I felt cold. Quickly I shrank into my overcoat and slapped my nick hat on over my shivering locks but I was too bashful to put on my overshoes, somebody in Vancouver might see me. But I said to myself I said: "Ill show 'em, you'll see."

With a whip I flipped the wheel 'ard over to port, maybe starboard. Instantly the room shook from end to end under this added impetus of surging heat. Six dollars and fifty cents indeed!

I reconnoitered and flushed the toilet just to ease my rising blood pressure a point then I turned on a tap full blast and one third of the icy stream cascaded over the bowl and disappeared down inside my trouser legs. I backed up too late. Again I flushed the toilet just for good measure. Now the room was at last warming up and my breath wasn't trailing me around any more.

I couldn't think of anything else to do so I doused the glim, closed the peepers of the Venetian blind and relaxed in the soft clinging comfort of the double bed, within limits of course. I tossed and turned and finally went into a deep sleep.

I sure had a dilly of a nightmare. A man was standing over me. He had no gun. He didn't need one. "Six dollars and fifty cents, I want six dollars and fifty cents," he demanded over and over again.

"What a swindle," I managed to whisper. I was scared. Then I woke up in a terrible sweat, whether from the dream or the heat I wasn't quite sure. I staggered out and opened the door to let in a little fresh air. Although not a fresh air crank I do like a little. There was no one around but I nipped back into the bed in a hurry decked out in nothing but my birthday suit.

When daylight dawned (Vancouver style) I was really browned good - on both sides — no kiddin'. I reached up and reversed the thermo (I must cover my tracks) and slipped out and closed the door, sneaking back in unobserved.

The time was now 1 0 A.M. on the dot and it was still costing me over 60 cents an hour. Could I ever live this down? I shook my head but words just wouldn't come. I used a corner of the bed sheet in lieu of my hankie.

To take my mind off everything I got up and nipped into my pants and shirt (please reverse) and all at once the door opened and a voice said:

"I am der cleanin' voman, pardon - maybe I should not have enter - no?"

I entirely agreed. Just thirty seconds before, I was standing by the bed a worthy candidate for nudist club membership. This was true in fact because I hadn't locked the door. Who locks a door in Saskatchewan? Not me. As she was leaving I said, "Please close and lock the door" and she did.

My reputation was at stake and I had to be careful. I had to uphold my Saskatchewan reputation, whatever that was. But now I wasn't feeling too bad; the pennies were mounting up on the other side of the ledger and, being about ready to leave, I switched on all the lights then switched them all off again. Then my other voice said: "What did you do that for, Stupe?"

Well, I knew they were off now because I had just turned them off. One look at the taps and judiciously I decided they were better left alone - strictly no meddling. As for the sanitation outlet I just banged the lid. It was a soothing sound. One final glance around, and not exactly a fond one, I prepared to leave. Picking up my small suit case I made for the door and the pesky door was shut and locked and that jeering voice said, oh so oily: "Didn't you tell the woman to lock it?" "Aw keep quiet!"

I raised one eyelid of the Venetian blind and peeked out. Although I had to wait a while I was fortunate. My char of very short acquaintance passed by on her way back from charring and I hollered: "Hey."

Very sporty of her she opened the door and she said: "You hafent a key?"

"But oui, Madame, I have," and then it struck me what a sap I was.

I left wholly defeated and depressed and slunk out.

There's just one thing more: the temp round that part of Vancouver rose two degrees in one hour and the oldest of the weather-wise old timers still can't account for it but I could tell 'em because - I know!