Black Glass by Meg; Mundell

One-forty. That’s twenty a night.’
    She felt dizzy. ‘Is that the cheapest room?’
    There were pastry flakes in his beard. ‘There’s one other, real small. No window, just a bed and a light. Won’t lie to you: it’s basically a cupboard. But the lock works.’
    â€˜How much is that one?’
    â€˜Call it twenty. Or a hundred for the week. You want to see it?’
    She shook her head, held the envelope and counted out five twenties, watched his sausage fingers daintily spirit them out of sight.
    â€˜Number 13,’ he said, handing over a key. ‘Third floor, top of the stairs, black door.’ Now he was jotting numbers in a ledger. ‘Any papers?’
    â€˜No,’ said Grace, then improvised, ‘not on me.’
    He nodded. ‘Cops don’t bother with us here.’ He looked up, wiped his mouth. ‘No guests in the rooms, though.’
    â€˜I don’t want any guests.’
    His eyes shifted over her shoulder. ‘Hey, Merlin,’ he said.
    An elderly man carrying a small case had conquered the heavy door and was edging his way across the foyer. He wore a black suit with stovepipe trousers, and his stoop brought him level with Grace’s shoulder. Folding himself into a chair, he turned his bright gaze on her face.
    â€˜Good evening, Kevin,’ he said, in a voice rich and full as an orchestra. ‘I see we have a new guest — will you introduce this radiant young lady?’ He propped the suitcase on his lap, flipped up the latches, waited.
    (A phrase scampered across the back of her mind: May the Lord cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaks proud things. )
    The man behind the counter shrugged, waved a plump palm. ‘This is Merlin.’ A phone rang, and he reached for it.
    The old man raised his eyebrows at her; kindly, enquiring.
    â€˜Grace,’ she said, swaying a little in her borrowed shoes.
    â€˜Enchanted.’ He nodded. ‘Grace — of course. I couldn’t have put it better myself.’
    Now he was opening the case, taking something out: a wooden doll dressed in a tuxedo, limbs swinging limp and helpless. At once the creature sprang to life. It perched on the old man’s knee, face turned towards her; wide blue eyes, a slow blink of surprise. Head tilted to one side, the dummy regarded her cheekily.
    â€˜Hey there, doll-face,’ it said in a high, singsong voice. ‘You’re a knockout. You ever worked in showbiz?’
    [Flinders Lane, Civic Zone: Tally | Blue]
    Yeah, I got something in my eye, bit of dirt or something. No way, hose-ay, uh-uh, no thanks. Probably just an eyelash. I’m not rubbing it, I’m just moving it around. Hey, check out that lady, she’s got bare feet too carrying her shoes, man those kind of shoes they look fancy but they make you walk like a duck don’t you reckon. Like a tippy-toe duck, like Barbie how she’s always on tiptoe even when she’s got bare feet. I reckon that lady’s drunk.
    Hey shit see that car there again Blue, is that … are they undercover cops do you reckon. I seen one of them looking at me when they drove past — I know that, they not allowed to have beards or moustaches and stuff, but the undercover ones are undercover aren’t they? So that’s different.
    What you doing with the leftover bits? Are you allowed to stick that there, on that churchy thing? Ah. Yeah, true. These ones are pretty don’t you reckon, with that swirly writing, like a fancy birthday card. You reckon this works, all these stickers? You reckon it makes people buy stuff? I am, I am, jeez. I’m always concentrating. I’ve only got about half left. Man.
    That funny-looking guy, with the weird hair? Toldya, I didn’t tell him anything, he was asking questions but I just acted dumb. Yeah, he was asking about Diggy, did I know Diggy had I heard of him blah, blah. But I said nah don’t know anyone