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“They’re right, though,” Ryan told her.
“We’re not that old.”
“No, not about that. We should get a room.”
“Does that mean you’re not buying a gun?”
“It means I heard what you said, and I’ll sleep on it.”
“I’ll take that. For now.” She looped her arm through his. “Come on, oldster.”
* * *
The Budget BungalowMotel rooms had exterior entrances. Leilah loitered near the vending machines in the outdoor courtyard while Ryan roused the dozing clerk in the office and paid for a room. Assuming anyone was looking for them, they’d be looking for a woman and man traveling together, so Ryan checked in as a solo traveler.
He emerged from the office with a frown and a silver key attached to a plastic tag.
“All set?” she asked.
“Let’s just say Manfred is no Hope.”
“Well, the Budget Bungalow is no Rest Hotel.”
“True enough. I couldn’t get a room on a higher floor. We’re on the ground level.”
She eyed the rickety railings that fronted the walkways on the second and third floors. “I doubt there’s much of a view, Ry.”
“We’re more exposed on the first floor,” he said in a low voice. “Upstairs, we might hear someone coming.”
“Nobody’s coming,” she told him firmly. “Nobody knows we’re here. Did you have to show Manfred your ID?”
“The Budget Bungalow’s not that kind of place. I had to show Manfred an Andrew Jackson.”
“You bribed the clerk with twenty dollars?”
“He’d probably have taken ten. Come on, let’s get inside.”
There were eight rooms on the ground level; four on each side of the courtyard. He led her to the last room on the right side of the yard. He jiggled the key in the lock, then shouldered open the metal door and flicked on the light.
She followed him inside and sucked in a breath. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He kicked the door shut, locked it, and engaged the deadbolt. “Try not to touch anything. Everything looks … sticky.”
“You should get your twenty back.”
The room was dingy, drab, and dusty. A flimsy plastic chair sat near the window, which was covered with bent and broken blinds coated with lint and dirt. A laminate dresser with a missing drawer pull on the top drawer had once also served as a TV stand for a now-missing television, judging by the square in the middle of the dusty surface. One double bed completed the decor.
She deposited the bags on the seat of the chair and was mildly surprised that it held under the meager weight.
“Before you ask, Manfred’s not sending up a cot. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Ryan volunteered.
She eyed the worn and stained carpet. “Please don’t. The roaches might carry you off in the night.”
“Oh, you’d rather share a bed with a bobcat in a burlap sack?”
“Why not? I’m sure I’ll be sharing it with bedbugs.”
They stared at each other in mutual dismay, and then Ryan laughed. Quietly at first, then loudly, and finally, he was gasping for air and roaring with laughter. Despite herself, Leilah giggled.
