STARSCAPE BOOKS(32)

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” I sniffed the air as we walked down the street. “But you’re getting kind of ripe.”

“I’ve been on the road a bit.”

“Crawling through Dumpsters?”

“Nothing that luxurious.”

“Got any other clothes?”

He shook his head. “Just what I’m wearing.”

“We may have to burn them. With you in them. I’d share my stuff, but there’s no way any of it would fit you. Looks like we have some shopping to do.”

After we’d bought clothes for Martin, I said, “Let’s get a room. We need to figure out what to do. And you need a shower.”

“How are we going to get a room? Nobody’s going to let a couple kids check into a hotel. Especially not Stinky and Spikey.”

“Sure they will,” I said. “And I think you’re going to like the place.”





checking in


“NO WAY THEY’RE going to let us in here.” Martin pointed toward the hotel entrance, where a half-dozen doormen greeted people driving luxury cars.

“Sure they will,” I said. I watched a long, white limo leave the hotel and pull into the street. Two cabs tried to shoot into the opening.

“Looking like this?” Martin asked.

He had a point. Money talked. But some things could still drown it out. “Hang on.” I pulled out the fake rings and took off the wrist band. Then I slicked down my hair as much as I could. There wasn’t anything I could do about the color. I was glad I’d gone with black.

“Presentable?” I asked Martin.

He nodded, then pointed past me. “Hey, that guy looks like Flinch.”

I watched the guy who was walking out of the hotel. “Yeah. Sort of. But older.”

We headed into the lobby. “Play along,” I said. “Feel free to use your talent. Just stand far enough behind me so the clerk can’t smell you.”

Martin stared around at the lobby. “I’m feeling a little out of place.”

“That’s their plan. Hotels like this want to intimidate unwelcome visitors. Our plan is to ignore that.” I walked right up to the front desk, trying very hard to pretend I was someone like my dad, who was comfortable anywhere. He’d told me more than once that money, by itself, didn’t earn respect.

I was hoping the clerk didn’t feel that way. He eyed me from top to bottom, looking for clues to whether I would be a good or bad part of his day. I could be anyone—a lost kid, a guest who had already checked in, a scammer coming in off the street, or, as far as I wanted him to believe, the son of a very rich and slightly odd woman.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to give out the proper mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “Mother decided to go shopping. Like she doesn’t already have enough stuff. At least she dropped us off first. We’re so sick of watching her buy shoes. But she forgot to make a reservation.” I shook my head and muttered, “Typical.”

“Did she give you her—”

I cut him off. “Mother doesn’t believe in credit cards.” I looked him right in the eye so we could exchange annoyed glances and let each other know how inconvenient this was. “Mother believes in cash. She adores Mr. Franklin and Mr. Jefferson.” I pulled a fistful of bills out of my pocket. “She asked me to check us in.”

He stared at the cash. I could see him thinking it over. The whole world revolved around plastic. Cash was unusual.

“Sorry,” I said. “I know it’s a pain. You should see when she buys a car. She makes us lug in bags of cash. It’s thoroughly ridiculous. I thought I’d pull a muscle when she bought that Maserati. You know what one of those things costs?”

The man nodded, but I could see he still wasn’t completely buying the act. I looked over at Martin, hoping he’d say something to make the guy like us, but he seemed to have turned to stone. Then I glanced past him to the left wall, where a copy of an old painting hung in a heavy wooden frame.

“Caravaggio,” I said, identifying the artist. “Very nice.”

Art is one of the common languages of people who stay at overpriced hotels. They know Diirer, Klee, and dozens of other passwords. I’d just showed the guy I was a member of the right group. I could have told him the title of the painting, but I didn’t want to overdo it.

He smiled and slid a form across the counter for me to fill out. “One night?”

“Let’s make it two, for now. Of course, Mother might decide to stay longer.” I made up a name and address, slid back the form, and paid for the room. I added a tip, since that was also part of our common language.