“The drugs, rubber thong, and portable hand pump were a dead giveaway.”
“I hope I can get rid of all of this before the hotel detective arrives.”
“What I need now,” he remarked considering the evidence, “is a miracle.”
Just then, a miracle happened.
After they finished cleaning up the horse’s crap, The phone rang.
The hotel detective showed up at Sam’s door, followed by three housekeeping staffers all armed to the teeth with implements of cleaning.
“Get the phone,” Jesus told Sam in a slightly hushed voice, “I’ll deal with the hotel detective and housekeepers.”
“Hello,” the voice on the phone said to Sam “Are you happy with your long distance company?”
The hotel detective was trying to peer around Jesus to see inside the room and to light a cigar, and was not doing well at either job.
“I thought they didn’t allow smoking in this hotel,” Sam overheard Jesus say to the hotel detective.
“I don’t have to take your shit,” Ernie the hotel detective rasped, clenching his still-unlit cigar between his teeth and emptying his Glock’s magazine into Jesus, as the three housekeepers dove for the floor.
“Oh, madre de dios, I’m going to regret this in about a month,” Jesus groaned.
“Die, damn you, die die DIE,” Ernie snarled, slamming in a new magazine and emptying it into Jesus, too.
Shocked and frightened, Sam dropped the phone receiver and tried to dash into the bathroom but, after taking only a few steps, was tackled by the unexpectedly fast hotel detective.
“Where do you think you’re going, asshole?” Ernie asked, reloading again.
Sam felt the barrel of Ernie’s Glock on the back of his head.
At that moment, a long pineapple shaped shadow fell upon them- it was Bert and he looked grumpy.
“What’s with all the fucking noise?” Bert yelled as he stepped into the room.
“A good woman is a good woman,” responded the House Dick, “But a good cigar is a smoke.”
Then Samantha replied, “A hard man is good to smoke.”