MiniNanoWriMo: ficlet 6
Some idiot staying in the room next to them at the Lucky Cuss Motel had to go and get himself killed their first night in town. Which meant the place was crawling with cops, cops who wanted to ask questions and take statements and know who you are and what you are doing in town.
The kind of thing the Winchester boys didn’t really need to be getting themselves involved in, thank you very much. After Officer “Friendly” told them they were free to go, Dean announced that he needed to get the hell out of the room, ASAP.
Out in the parking lot, there was the usual confusion one would expect at the scene of a crime: a few patrol cars (lights flashing), yellow tape sectioning off the victim’s room, flashing cameras from a reporter and the forensic photographer, the motel manager, talking loud and trying to sound in control, even though he wasn’t, dozens of yokels standing around to gawk at the scene.
Dean didn’t know why people were so fascinated with the grizzle and gore of violence. If he could have stayed away from the guns and the ghosts and the fights and all those things that came along with the hunt, he’d have stayed as far from it as he could. Then again, he’d always been able to understand demons better than his human peers - they were unpredictable, crazy and pretty damned stupid if you asked him.
He lead Sam towards the car, hoping to avoid having to speak to any other emergency personnel on site. Just because they got lucky with Officer “Friendly” didn’t mean that one of his peers wouldn’t start sniffing around and give them a more thorough examination.
Standing near the driver’s side of the vehicle, a middle-aged man with greying hair and a neatly trimmed beard was chatting intensely with an attractive blonde. Never one to pass up the opportunity to check out a hottie when there was one to be found, Dean took an appreciative look. She was a little older than his usual type, but certainly nothing to sniff at. In his experience, older women usually knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to take what they needed. They were in it to get themselves off, which some of the pressure on the guy. They didn’t tend to get as clingy as younger girls did, rarely thinking they were going to get a boyfriend out of the deal.
“Is this your car?” the bearded man asked, rousing Dean from his thoughts of ravaging the woman right there in the parking lot.
“She sure is,” Dean smiled.
“Looks like you keep her in tip-top shape.”
“She’s been through her share of scrapes in forty years, but she’s run this long, and I hope to keep her going for another forty.”
“Were you aware that the word Impala comes from Greek? Meaning high horn, black and foot?”
“Ah, no,” Dean answered, not quite sure where this conversation was going.
“Impalas can actually jump distances of over 30 feet, up to 8 feet high.”
“Too bad the cars can’t do the same,” Dean joked.
“Heh,” the man chuckled. “Interestingly enough, Impalas are the dominant species in most savannahs. Ironic considering the cars, particularly in the ‘60s, were the most common type of full-size vehicle on the road.”
“Oddly enough, despite the fact that in 1965 alone one million Impalas were sold, it’s extremely rare to see the older models on the road. There are many owned by collectors of course, but they generally keep them in storage. Funny how something once so common can become so rare,” he said thoughtfully.
“Give the kid a break Gil, he doesn’t want to hear about that stuff,” the woman laughed. “Look at them, they probably want to hit the casino or the Spearmint Rhino, not stand around in a parking lot discussing the origin of words with you.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not everyday I get to see one of these Catherine. I used to own one you know, until the gas crisis in the 70’s when I had to get something a little more fuel efficient.”
“Really, you owned one of these? I did too. It was my first car,” Catherine answered. “God that thing was beat-up and rusted out, but I can tell you one thing; they sure don’t make backseats like that anymore.”
“Want to take a spin for old time’s sake?” Dean leered, wondering briefly what she would be like in the backseat of his car.
Catherine looked at him with a smile, and shook her head, laughing. She was clearly used to lame come-ons from guys like Dean, which made Sam laugh.
“I’m going to take a pass on that,” she said politely. “But you boys have a good time, and enjoy your stay in Las Vegas.”
Character from a TV Show: the boys chatted with Gil Grissom, PhD. And Catherine Willows, as played by William Peterson and Marg Helgenberger on “CSI: Las Vegas.”
Words: 806
A/N: Spearmint Rhino is a real gentlemen’s club in the city. I have no idea if it is low-class or high-class. Hopefully low, because that’s were Dean would probably be happiest. The Lucky Cuss Motel is also a real establishment, and I have no clue if it’s as cheesy as the name suggests. I certainly hope so. Some other choices included: Blue Angel Motel, Desert Star Motel, Safari Motel, Black Jack Motel, Par a Dice Motel and the Peter Pan Motel. Lucky Cuss seemed to be the s