The duffle bag on the table sits between us like the elephant in the room it really is.
He’s wearing a cheap suit. Hair’s slicked back, skin’s clean shaven. Mirror-shades–indoors. What kind of jerk wears sunglasses inside a dark motel room?
“You just gonna stare at it,” I say. “Go ahead, check it out.” I nod towards the bag and lean back in my chair.
His upper lip twitches for a second, but then he pulls the bag closer, sliding it over the old plastic table. I shift awkwardly, trying to keep it cool, but I’m sure my being nervous shows, still. Especially with the two armed thugs guarding the motel door.
How is it I keep ending up in a place like that?Read More »