fine, and Malone pays in cash.
The woman grabs a key from a hook on the wall and hoists herself onto a set of crutches. Her left leg is shorter than her right, and a child’s bare foot dangles uselessly from the ankle. She leads them down a dimly lit hallway lined with numbered doors. A baby cries in one room, the TV is on in another. The hall smells of cigarette smoke and disinfectant.
When they reach their room, number 10, the woman unlocks the door and motions them inside. It’s tiny. A bed, a wooden chair, and a TV. The woman turns on the light, and a ceiling fan begins to spin, stirring up shadows. The window looks down on the park. There’s music playing somewhere.
“Don’t put paper in the toilet,” the woman says. “Use the can next to it.”
She hands Malone the key and heads back to the desk, the rubber tips of her crutches squeaking on the linoleum. The door to room 9, across the hall, opens a crack, and whoever’s inside peeks out. Malone closes the door to their room and twists a flimsy deadbolt that wouldn’t stop anybody. Luz is glad she has the gun.
Malone doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. The room is too warm, and the air tastes like all the oxygen’s been breathed out of it. Luz sits on the tropical print bedspread and closes her eyes, the full weight of the day pressing down upon her. She’d kill for something from her old stash right now, a pill to round off the edges and mute the clanging in her head.
Malone walks to the window and slides it open. The noise from the park is too loud, so he closes it again. He sits in the chair and looks down at his hands as if he’s never seen them before.
“I’m going for a sandwich,” he finally says. “You want something?”
“No,” Luz says.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Don’t leave me, Luz wants to say, but that’s ridiculous. She can take care of herself. As soon as the door closes behind him, she bolts it and drags the chair over and wedges it under the knob. She then pulls the gun from the backpack and sits on the bed with it. Everything’s going to be fine. Rolando has no idea where she’s run to. Still, a cough in the next room makes her bones itch. Maybe a shower will help.
She steps into the bathroom and turns on the water. A dead beetle lies on its back in a corner of the stall. She picks it up with a handful of toilet paper and drops it into the trash can. She wants to be finished before Malone returns. He might get the wrong idea if he catches her, might think she meant for it to happen. She places the gun on the counter, within easy reach, then strips down.
The water is lukewarm, the stream not much more than a trickle. She unwraps the tiny cake of soap and passes it quickly over her body and between her legs, scrubs herself with the thin washcloth.
A loud bang stops her cold. She reaches for the gun and points it at the bathroom door. After a few seconds she steps dripping from the stall and eases the door open to look into the other room. Nobody there. Back in the shower she rinses quickly, cupping her hands to collect enough water.
By the time Malone shows up again, she’s dressed and sitting on the bed, the gun lying beside her, hidden under a pillow. The door is stopped by the chair after opening only a few inches.
“What’s going on?” Malone says.
Luz gets up and moves the chair out of the way. Malone smiles when he comes in and sees her standing with it.
“So that works, huh?” he says. “I thought it was a movie thing.”
Luz doesn’t respond.
He sits in the chair and pulls a sandwich out of the Subway bag, then tosses the bag onto the bed.
“I got you one too,” he says. “They were two for one.”
Luz ignores him, but her mouth waters as she watches him tear into his turkey and Swiss out of the corner of her eye. She hasn’t eaten since morning and is feeling lightheaded. She decides that it’s dumb to be stubborn at a time like this. She needs to keep her strength
The woman grabs a key from a hook on the wall and hoists herself onto a set of crutches. Her left leg is shorter than her right, and a child’s bare foot dangles uselessly from the ankle. She leads them down a dimly lit hallway lined with numbered doors. A baby cries in one room, the TV is on in another. The hall smells of cigarette smoke and disinfectant.
When they reach their room, number 10, the woman unlocks the door and motions them inside. It’s tiny. A bed, a wooden chair, and a TV. The woman turns on the light, and a ceiling fan begins to spin, stirring up shadows. The window looks down on the park. There’s music playing somewhere.
“Don’t put paper in the toilet,” the woman says. “Use the can next to it.”
She hands Malone the key and heads back to the desk, the rubber tips of her crutches squeaking on the linoleum. The door to room 9, across the hall, opens a crack, and whoever’s inside peeks out. Malone closes the door to their room and twists a flimsy deadbolt that wouldn’t stop anybody. Luz is glad she has the gun.
Malone doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. The room is too warm, and the air tastes like all the oxygen’s been breathed out of it. Luz sits on the tropical print bedspread and closes her eyes, the full weight of the day pressing down upon her. She’d kill for something from her old stash right now, a pill to round off the edges and mute the clanging in her head.
Malone walks to the window and slides it open. The noise from the park is too loud, so he closes it again. He sits in the chair and looks down at his hands as if he’s never seen them before.
“I’m going for a sandwich,” he finally says. “You want something?”
“No,” Luz says.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Don’t leave me, Luz wants to say, but that’s ridiculous. She can take care of herself. As soon as the door closes behind him, she bolts it and drags the chair over and wedges it under the knob. She then pulls the gun from the backpack and sits on the bed with it. Everything’s going to be fine. Rolando has no idea where she’s run to. Still, a cough in the next room makes her bones itch. Maybe a shower will help.
She steps into the bathroom and turns on the water. A dead beetle lies on its back in a corner of the stall. She picks it up with a handful of toilet paper and drops it into the trash can. She wants to be finished before Malone returns. He might get the wrong idea if he catches her, might think she meant for it to happen. She places the gun on the counter, within easy reach, then strips down.
The water is lukewarm, the stream not much more than a trickle. She unwraps the tiny cake of soap and passes it quickly over her body and between her legs, scrubs herself with the thin washcloth.
A loud bang stops her cold. She reaches for the gun and points it at the bathroom door. After a few seconds she steps dripping from the stall and eases the door open to look into the other room. Nobody there. Back in the shower she rinses quickly, cupping her hands to collect enough water.
By the time Malone shows up again, she’s dressed and sitting on the bed, the gun lying beside her, hidden under a pillow. The door is stopped by the chair after opening only a few inches.
“What’s going on?” Malone says.
Luz gets up and moves the chair out of the way. Malone smiles when he comes in and sees her standing with it.
“So that works, huh?” he says. “I thought it was a movie thing.”
Luz doesn’t respond.
He sits in the chair and pulls a sandwich out of the Subway bag, then tosses the bag onto the bed.
“I got you one too,” he says. “They were two for one.”
Luz ignores him, but her mouth waters as she watches him tear into his turkey and Swiss out of the corner of her eye. She hasn’t eaten since morning and is feeling lightheaded. She decides that it’s dumb to be stubborn at a time like this. She needs to keep her strength
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