open, much less active, until at least eleven. So, I went
to the Sunset Inn. It was a shabby motel, the kind with the rooms directly overlooking
parking lot and weekly rates advertised. I parked the Jeep, and stepped into the afternoon
sun.
As I walked, the unfamiliar weight of Amy’s knife sat in my back pocket. I had never
carried around a weapon before, and it was an interesting feeling. It had a weight
heavier than what it actually was. It changed how I walked, just slightly. Only a
small part of me wanted to dwell on the fact that knives like the one Amy had given
me were illegal in San Francisco. The sensible part of me remarked on the fact that,
if I wanted safety, legal innocence, and boredom, I should have told Amy to get lost.
Too late for that. I walked to the office of the hotel. It was typical of the places
like it. No air conditioning, apart from a few fans, a counter with an ancient computer,
and that stand of brochures and pamphlets of attractions that every cheap motel has.
There has to be a rule or something that makes it mandatory.
The man behind the desk, an overweight Latino with long hair pulled back in a tail.
He wore a Hawaiian shirt, and had a generally bored expression. “Can I help you?”
“Yea, you can, actually.” I said. “I’m looking for a friend who is booked here. He
goes by the name of James Thomas.”
“Thomas.” He echoed. I took a quick glance at his name tag. Javier.
“Yea,” I continued. “He was staying weekly, I think, would have paid on a government
card.” I reached into my jacket, pulling out the key card Nick had given me. “He gave
me his card, but he’s such a scatterbrain. He forgot to tell me his room number.”
Javier nodded. “Uh, yea, sure thing, man.” He took the card from me, swiped it in
a machine, and started to type on the antiquated computer. “I thought he was an out-of-towner.
He had a Midwestern accent.”
“Oh, yea, that’s Jim.” I bluffed, hoping he would take it. Only for a second, did
I think about how I had to have looked.
“Right. Okay,” He handed the card back to me. “It’s room four. Just go up the stairs,
second room down.”
“Thanks, Javier.” I felt a little tension leave my shoulders. I shouldn’t be this
good at lying. Then again, Javier hardly seemed like the guy who gave a crap.
I left the office and headed out to the rooms. After climbing concrete stairs with
a very odd stain on them, I made it to room four. The key card took three swipes,
but it opened.
The room looked like it had been tossed. The room was a mess, with clothes and sheets
all over the bed in piles. I closed the door behind me, heading to the bed.
I imagined, before the mess, Thomas had been a pretty neat guy. He had dress shirts,
slacks, and they all looked to be of at least a decent quality. I’ve got a suit somewhere
in my closet, back from when I had ideas of being a teacher, and it was nowhere near
as high-quality as his.
I started to search through his suitcase, a large black deal, the kind that could
fit an entire family’s weekend clothes. Inside was some more clothes, and cardboard
small box the size of a brick. I opened it up. There were bullets. A lot of bullets.
I took one out. I wasn't not terribly knowledgeable about guns, but there seemed to
be something odd about them. They had an odd tinge to the metal, a silver mixed in
with the copper. I put it back, and closed the box. I was about to put the box back,
when I felt something on the bottom of it.
I turned it over, and saw a piece of paper taped to the bottom of the box. “Well,”
I murmured. “That’s interesting.” I picked it off and opened it. It was a page that
had been torn from a notepad, if the tears on each were any indication.
I opened them, and started to read.
Nick, you bastard, when you read this, get the cavalry. I’m in over my head here.
It’s big, man. We’re talking one of
to the Sunset Inn. It was a shabby motel, the kind with the rooms directly overlooking
parking lot and weekly rates advertised. I parked the Jeep, and stepped into the afternoon
sun.
As I walked, the unfamiliar weight of Amy’s knife sat in my back pocket. I had never
carried around a weapon before, and it was an interesting feeling. It had a weight
heavier than what it actually was. It changed how I walked, just slightly. Only a
small part of me wanted to dwell on the fact that knives like the one Amy had given
me were illegal in San Francisco. The sensible part of me remarked on the fact that,
if I wanted safety, legal innocence, and boredom, I should have told Amy to get lost.
Too late for that. I walked to the office of the hotel. It was typical of the places
like it. No air conditioning, apart from a few fans, a counter with an ancient computer,
and that stand of brochures and pamphlets of attractions that every cheap motel has.
There has to be a rule or something that makes it mandatory.
The man behind the desk, an overweight Latino with long hair pulled back in a tail.
He wore a Hawaiian shirt, and had a generally bored expression. “Can I help you?”
“Yea, you can, actually.” I said. “I’m looking for a friend who is booked here. He
goes by the name of James Thomas.”
“Thomas.” He echoed. I took a quick glance at his name tag. Javier.
“Yea,” I continued. “He was staying weekly, I think, would have paid on a government
card.” I reached into my jacket, pulling out the key card Nick had given me. “He gave
me his card, but he’s such a scatterbrain. He forgot to tell me his room number.”
Javier nodded. “Uh, yea, sure thing, man.” He took the card from me, swiped it in
a machine, and started to type on the antiquated computer. “I thought he was an out-of-towner.
He had a Midwestern accent.”
“Oh, yea, that’s Jim.” I bluffed, hoping he would take it. Only for a second, did
I think about how I had to have looked.
“Right. Okay,” He handed the card back to me. “It’s room four. Just go up the stairs,
second room down.”
“Thanks, Javier.” I felt a little tension leave my shoulders. I shouldn’t be this
good at lying. Then again, Javier hardly seemed like the guy who gave a crap.
I left the office and headed out to the rooms. After climbing concrete stairs with
a very odd stain on them, I made it to room four. The key card took three swipes,
but it opened.
The room looked like it had been tossed. The room was a mess, with clothes and sheets
all over the bed in piles. I closed the door behind me, heading to the bed.
I imagined, before the mess, Thomas had been a pretty neat guy. He had dress shirts,
slacks, and they all looked to be of at least a decent quality. I’ve got a suit somewhere
in my closet, back from when I had ideas of being a teacher, and it was nowhere near
as high-quality as his.
I started to search through his suitcase, a large black deal, the kind that could
fit an entire family’s weekend clothes. Inside was some more clothes, and cardboard
small box the size of a brick. I opened it up. There were bullets. A lot of bullets.
I took one out. I wasn't not terribly knowledgeable about guns, but there seemed to
be something odd about them. They had an odd tinge to the metal, a silver mixed in
with the copper. I put it back, and closed the box. I was about to put the box back,
when I felt something on the bottom of it.
I turned it over, and saw a piece of paper taped to the bottom of the box. “Well,”
I murmured. “That’s interesting.” I picked it off and opened it. It was a page that
had been torn from a notepad, if the tears on each were any indication.
I opened them, and started to read.
Nick, you bastard, when you read this, get the cavalry. I’m in over my head here.
It’s big, man. We’re talking one of
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