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Was it safe?
That was debatable.
It was the home base for a lot of guys coming out of prison, for the guys who got kicked out of their homes by their wives or girlfriends, for people having illicit affairs.
But there was a lock on the door. There were… some cameras. And there were ears who would hear if something happened.
So I pointed my car in that direction, popping into the convenience store for meds and a drink when I was sure that no one I knew closely was there, then went across the road to the motel.
The Shady Valley Motel was, to put it nicely, an eyesore. Which was saying something because the hideous prison towered over the town, looking down at all of us with its razor wire and flood lights.
But, yeah, it was maybe from the fifties or sixties. Meaning that no one had upgraded the place since. The brick was painted an eye-aching canary yellow color.
Pulling up, I parked right in front of the office, a place that also hadn’t seen much updating since the place opened.
File cabinets lined one whole wall, some drawers open, paperwork spilling out and piled on top.
The desk in the center of the room was an old faux wood vinyl that was peeled up a bit at one corner. On it was more paperwork, books, a radio, and no less than six cups of coffee as well as a fancy all-in-one computer that probably cost more than spending an entire month at the motel.
At the sound of the bell, Jack’s voice called out, “Rooms are fifty-eight a night, week and weekend nights.”
He hadn’t bothered to look up from whatever book he was looking down at, giving me a chance to look at him.
Jack was hot in a sort of laid-back, ‘don’t give a shit about my looks’ kind of way. Fit, but not built, tall, with shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, and a beard that was probably just absentminded rather than intentional.
No matter the time of the year, you could find the man in well-loved, buttery-soft looking jeans and a flannel.
That night, it was a gray and white one, left open in the front to show a white tee beneath.
“Hey Jack,” I said, making his head jerk up, likely not expecting a woman.
“Nyx,” he said on an exhale, his pretty blue eyes taking in the damage to my face that had likely gotten darker and uglier as the night went on. “Who?” he asked, snapping his book shut without even marking his page.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I don’t want to go home,” I told him, hauling my weekend bag up on my shoulder.
“Yeah, get that,” he said. “Okay. How about I put you in the room closest to the office?” he said. “I’d see anyone who passes by.”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
I hated to admit it, but it did feel good to know that there would be a man keeping an eye for danger for me.
“The rooms are shitholes,” he told me in a sort of resigned way that implied there was nothing to be done about that. Even though Jack actually owned the place and was, therefore, totally able to change anything he wanted.
Jack had always just been… a bit of an underachiever. He’d worked at the motel as a teen. Doing the bare minimum. Then, when the opportunity appeared, he took over the place. And continued to do as little as he could. Hence not even bothering to clean out the paperwork from decades ago.
“No offense, but I think everyone assumes that from looking at the outside,” I told him, getting a little chuckle out of the man.
“But if it makes you feel better, we bleach the shit out of the bedding. And all the mattresses are in bug-proof bags. Dealt with a bed bug infestation when I first started working here. Didn’t feel like having to handle that shit again,” he explained.
And that was just so very… Jack.
He had to make it clear that the only reason he gave a shit about something was to prevent him from having to do any extra work in the future.
To be honest, my biggest concern had been bed bugs, so that was a bit of a relief.
“That does make me feel better,” I said, nodding.
“There are two ex-cons staying here right now. A drunk who got kicked out by his wife. A woman and her kid. And, for fuck knows what reason, a couple staying here while visiting family.”
