Kicking It(66)
The smell of the place hadn’t changed much, either.
It was late, and the sun was nearly on the rise. I would be nearly unconscious, and completely vulnerable to the sunlight, which meant I needed to find a place to rest.
According to the Web, the closest hotel was six blocks away. It was called the Wellington Arms, and a sign above the door read ALL SUPS WELCOME.
The hotel’s name was much more regal than its interior. The lobby was small and shabby, but clean. A man with chopped hair and a piggish face that only a mother could love sat behind a beat-up counter, watching hockey on a portable television with an antenna three times its size.
A bell on the door rang when I entered, and he glanced up and looked me over. “Welcome to the Wellington Arms,” he said, his voice nasal and accented. “Where all your wildest dreams come true. Can I interest you in the bridal suite?”
I reached the counter and dumped my bag on the floor. “You have a bridal suite?”
“Don’t this look like the kind of establishment that has a bridal suite?”
His voice was flat, utterly sarcastic, and I grinned for the first time in hours. “Not exactly. It looks like the kind of establishment that’s got bedbugs the size of my ass, though.”
He perked up an eyebrow and leaned over the counter just enough to take in said ass. “Eh, you’re small. That may not do ’em justice. I assume you’re looking for a room before the sun rises.”
“You assume right.”
“Fancy vamp like you can’t afford a nicer place?”
“Fancy vamp like me doesn’t need a nicer place. How much?”
“Hundred for the room. One fifty if you want a view.”
“Of what?” I wondered, thinking of the steaming alleys and rusting fire escapes outside.
“Our quaint neighborhood and its lush surroundings. Cash only.”
Fortunately, I’d grabbed some at the airport. I took six twenties out of my pocket and laid them on the counter. His eyes widened.
“One hundred for the room,” I said. “Twenty for your refreshing approach to service. An additional twenty when I leave if you never saw me come in.”
He grunted, but he was already sliding a trapezoidal plastic key fob and brass key across the counter. “You weren’t so fancy, guy might think you’re from around here.”
I snatched the key and lifted my hand from the cash, which he transferred to his pocket. “Guy thinks too hard, he loses his tip. Which way?”
He grunted, bobbing his head toward a dingy hallway to my left. I hefted my duffel and made my way to the room.
Like the office, the room was shabby but surprisingly clean. The floor was hard tile, the furniture and decor from an era when disco was king—lots of yellows, oranges, and greens thrown together in wild floral patterns. I wondered if there’d been a Mrs. Wellington Arms who’d picked out the furnishings while her husband minded the front desk. If so, she might have been a vampire, because the floral curtains were lined and carefully clipped together to keep out the sunlight.
I washed my face and brushed my hair and teeth, but kept my clothes on just in case my day was interrupted. I set the chain lock on the door and found two glasses by the sink, which I propped carefully in front of it. They wouldn’t strengthen the door, but they’d make enough of a racket to wake me up if somebody tried to force it.
Luc, I thought, would be proud of the slightly paranoid preparations. But that idea only made me more miserable.
“Task at hand,” I whispered to myself. “Focus. Complete the mission. Then go home and deal with whatever’s left.”
Speaking of home, it seemed a good idea to let somebody know I’d actually made it to New York. I picked Merit; she seemed the most drama-free option. I climbed into bed and adjusted lumpy pillows behind my head, then sent her a message.
IN NY, I texted. BEDDED DOWN.
It took her only a second to answer. GLAD YOU’RE SAFE. ANY NEWS RE: O’HARE?
I guessed word had spread. NOT YET. HE’S MY FIRST VISIT TOMORROW. GOT LAY OF LAND TONIGHT; OVERVIEW.
A few seconds passed before she responded.
AND LUC?
I could practically hear the hesitation in her voice. She wouldn’t want to raise an uncomfortable subject—that was Merit—but she was still a friend, and would have worried.
My fingers paused over the letters, loath to confess the truth. WE DECIDED NOT TO PURSUE RELATIONSHIP.
That sounded entirely logical. So I stuck with it.
But Merit wasn’t buying. YOU’RE ALREADY IN A RELATIONSHIP.
DEFINITELY NOT, I texted back, but an uncomfortable warmth spread through my chest. An emotional foreboding.
ARE TOO, she texted. YOU LOVE HIM. YOU RESPECT HIM. YOU SPEND ALL YOUR TIME TOGETHER—WORKING OR OTHERWISE. THAT’S A RELATIONSHIP.