Rating: R Some sex�but it�s not who you think.

Disclaimer: You know the drill

"What have I gotten myself into?" Jake grumbled, as he listened to the cries of ecstasy from the next room. He looked around his motel room with its lime green shag carpeting, TV stand from the 70�s, dresser from the mid 80�s and realized he was facing a desperate situation. With great hesitation he sat upon the comforter that had no visible stains. He grabbed the remote which was chained to the TV stand and turned it on. "The only thing missing from this wonderful picture is the flashing neon sign outside my room."

"Oh, yessssss!" Exclaimed a woman, which was followed by additional groans and rhythmic banging.

"Wonderful. OK, what�s on tonight?" As Jake flipped through the channels he saw a pattern of porn, which flooded every channel. Jake was surrounded by images and sounds of fornication. "What else was I expecting? I�m in one of the sleaziest motels in New York City." Jake quickly turned off the TV and began to hum. His humming grew progressively louder, but it did not drown out the noises from the other room.

"I�ve got to get out of here." Jake jumped to his feet, grabbed his baseball cap, pulled it over his eyes and then threw on his jacket. He needed to go out for a walk to clear his mind, settle his nerves and rising testosterone levels.

As he emerged into the brisk night, Jake pulled his jacket closer to his body. Glancing up at the sky he noticed that the bright lights of the city blocked out the stars. Jake recalled with fondness when he was a teenager and would sneak down to the beautiful beaches in California. For hours he would lay on the beach, gazing up at the stars and listening to the waves crash across the beach. California was always warm and sunny.

"Why did I come here again?" Jake grumbled. "My life could have been so different if I had stayed in California." He kicked a can and sighed. "Look at my life now. I�m wearing some mystical bracelet that can kill me or blow off my hand. My partner is laying unconscious in a hospital. My boss wants to arrest me. Kenneth Irons wants to kill me. And now I am wandering the streets of a really bad neighborhood because I can�t sit in my cheap motel room and listen to some hooker and her john in the next room. Can my life get any better? God my life sucks. I should have listened to my mother. But, nooo, I thought I knew what the hell I was doing. I had to become a cop. I�m an idiot." Degraded, cold and tired, Jake decided to walk back to the motel.

It was late when Jake made his way back to his room, and he was thankful. For once when he entered his domain he did not hear any noises of passion. Jake tossed his keys on the dresser, but kept his jacket on because the heat was broken and he felt it was unsafe to climb under the covers. Carefully, Jake placed his gun on the nightstand and turned off the light.

"My back is killing me," Jake grumbled, as he walked around his motel room, cursing the lumpy bed he was forced to sleep on the previous night. "The floor would have been more comfortable." He stretched, hoping it would make him feel better, but it did not. Jake could feel the tension in his muscles and he was in desperate need of a good back massage.

Walking into the bathroom, Jake turned on the light. An assembly of cockroaches scurried across the pink tile walls. "Jesus Christ!" Cockroaches were a common phenomena in New York, and while Jake was accustomed to them, he did not have a desire to shower with the creepy bugs. With great hesitation he scanned the small room, and questioned whether it was a practical idea to take a shower or not. Finally, Jake came to the conclusion he needed to bathe because he was unsure when his next shower would come.

Jake took off his clothes, and placed them on the bed. Then he walked into the small bathroom. It made his skin crawl to watch the bugs moving around the room as if he was not there. He walked to the tub and turned on the water, placed his hand under the faucet and waited for warm water. Jake continued to wait. As he stood shivering in the bathroom, cold water running over his hand, he realized he there would be no hot water.

"Great." Jake hated cold showers. He took a deep breath to steady himself and to try and gather his courage. His blue eyes glanced up at the water, which trickled down and he emerged himself in the water. "Holy shit!" Jake was not prepared for temperature. Quickly he began to lather up, as the icy water hit his bare skin. "This sucks! This sucks!" Jake dunked his head under the water, placed some shampoo on his hair and worked it in. As he moved his hand over his hair he felt a lump. "What the.." Jake withdrew his hand from his head and through soapy eyes he saw something brown.

"Jesus Christ!" He swore, and flicked his hand so the cockroach would fall off. The bug landed in the tub and made a hasty attack towards Jake�s feet. The young man jumped, causing himself to lose his balance. He fell out of the shower, taking the shower curtain with him and landed on the brown linoleum floor, which looked as if it had not been cleaned since the early 1980s. He scrambled to his feet, left the bathroom, and from the doorway glanced around to make sure he was not going to be attacked again. Shampoo dripped down his head causing his eyes to sting. Jake needed to remove the shampoo, so he carefully walked across the floor, making sure there were no more cockroaches from above. Jake did not immerse himself in the frigid water again; instead he stuck his head under the water. Once the shampoo was removed, he grabbed a towel and made a speedy retreat.

Jake removed his clean clothes from his duffel bag and shook them to make sure no critters were occupying his pants. Once he was dressed, he ran the towel over his hair, attempting to dry it. It was still damp when he placed his baseball cap on, but Jake could not wait for it to dry. He had to stay on the move before Dante caught up with him.

Grabbing his wallet he looked through it. Much to his dismay there was only fifty dollars, which would not last long. There was always the option of retrieving money from the ATM but that would give Dante a paper trail to follow. With Sara out of commission, Jake had no one to turn to for assistance; and he was unsure how long he would be able to stay on the run.

"I wish you could help me Sara. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to keep Dante at bay forever." Jake threw his bag over his shoulder. "I can�t believe this whole mess has to do with some stupid bracelet." His hand rested upon the doorknob, but before he turned it, Jake glanced back at his room. He prayed his life had not become a series of cheap motels.