24. Thad
We stop for the day just outside of Nashville. This is the part of the trip where it becomes obvious we’re strangers. Some of those conversations we were having earlier, it started to feel like—maybe we knew each other? I know how stupid that sounds. I’m not saying we met in a previous life or something, but it didn’t feel like we were two people who’d barely had any interactions together. She’s easy to talk to, and she really listens, like it matters to her what I think. Maybe that’s setting the bar low, but in my last relationship I was in a constant competition with social media (and then, unbeknownst to me, my father), so you can’t blame a guy for enjoying the undivided attention for a change.
But now, trying to decide on a place to stay, it’s clear just how much we really don’t know each other yet. You know how with your family and friends, you can just be a grade-A asshole and make demands and shoot down ideas, but with an acquaintance you tend to be much more polite? All that “Oh, it doesn’t matter to me…whatever you think” hedging and bullshit. It gives me a headache, honestly, and I just want the whole thing to be done.
Again, I’m used to dealing with personalities like Vera’s, so I’m trying to suggest the kinds of things she would want. Not that we’ll probably find five-star resort hotels on the side of the highway, but I’m aiming for the nicer end of what we’re seeing. “What about that one?” I ask, indicating an advertisement for a hotel at the upcoming exit.
More hemming and hawing and squirming from Helen. Finally, I’ve had enough. “All right, say it. What’s the problem?”
“Could we go somewhere a little less pricey?” she asks, wincing as she says it. “I’m sorry if that’s not how you’re used to traveling, but I’m a public librarian in an expensive city, so…gotta count my pennies.”
I frown at her. “You aren’t paying. This is my job, not yours—and you’re taking time off work to do it.” At the protest I already see forming, I cut her off. “Besides, I can write it off as a business expense.”
And furthermore, I invested my Bama Bounty paychecks back in the day, so I’m not exactly hurting for income. But I don’t mention that part. Seems crass.
I figure Helen will change her tune about staying at a nice hotel, now that she knows I’m paying, but instead she seems even more wary about choosing a high-end place. “It doesn’t need to be anything fancy,” she insists. “Just go with whatever you’d normally choose for a trip like this.”
NormallyI wouldn’t be chasing anyone across state lines, so it’s kind of a moot point. I don’t mention that to Helen, though. It’s hard to say what it is about the Dean Flanagan case. The money is obviously a nice incentive, but there’s a feeling you get when you know you’re on the trail of someone you’re meant to catch. Dad used to say it was a sixth sense all natural-born bounty hunters have, a sort of obsession that feels almost like love. Plus it’d be nice to land something like this, prove that my business doesn’t have to rely on my father’s name.
I can’t help but reflect, for maybe the thousandth time, just how different Vera and Helen are. I can’t imagine Vera ever in a million years feeling uncomfortable about someone else spending their money on her. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, necessarily, to like the finer things in life—look at me, driving in my fancy car, fussing about getting crumbs on the upholstery—but I guess what stands out to me is the difference in how the offer’s received.
Yet another reminder, I guess, that I don’t really know Helen, or how she thinks, or what she wants. I don’t ever know what to expect from her. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before, and I don’t just mean not like any other woman. I mean any other person. I’ve lived so long expecting the worst out of people, searching for the greedy or petty or mean reasons they do what they do. I’ve tried doing that with Helen, but I’ve been wrong basically every time. Which makes me almost wonder…if I should be expecting the best, giving her the benefit of the doubt, trusting that she actually might just be a good person.
We’re taking so long to decide on a hotel that we’ve almost passed through Nashville completely, putting us in danger of hitting another empty patch of rural countryside and having to drive another hour before we can stop. My bladder very much does not like that idea.
I see another hotel advertised at the next exit. “All right,” I say, making an executive decision for the both of us, “the Road View Inn it is…”
From the outside, the inn doesn’t look too bad. It’s obviously not a chain hotel, but the sign looks new and the paint is fresh. I see a bunch of bikes in the parking lot, but I’m not opposed to bikers on principle, unless they give me a reason to be.
As soon as we step inside, I realize I’ve made a mistake. The interior of the Road View Inn is a far cry from the freshly painted exterior. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead. The clerk sits behind bulletproof glass enshrining the entire front counter, with just a little intercom to talk through.
And the lobby is absolutely packed with bikers.
These are not retirees who bought a bike and formed a club with some buddies to fulfill a lifelong bucket list of traveling the country. This is a biker gang, full of the kinds of guys I usually only see in a database for breaking bail, or worse. Many are wearing matching jackets with white dragons stenciled on the back. This lot is big, mean, and rowdy…and their eyes all collectively turn to Helen as she enters the room.
Helen is oblivious to the attention, busy rifling around in her purse for something. “I can’t find my wallet. I think I must have left it in the car…”
“We’ll get it later,” I tell her tersely, keeping my eyes on all the eyes that are watching her. Without really thinking about it, I put my hand on her elbow and pull her closer to me. “Come on, let’s go check in.”
“Won’t I need my ID?”
I only half hear her, busy waging a silent stare-off with all the bikers who are watching us. This one’s mine, I tell them with my glare, my posture, my hand on her. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s archaic and sexist and blabbity blah. I’m only speaking their language, don’t shoot the translator.
They suss me out a moment longer. This isn’t my first tango with these sorts of men, and I know they’ll clock my height, my frame, my tattoos, and the way I’m not pissing my pants staring them down. Hopefully all of that will translate to, This guy isn’t worth messing with.
Nobody moves, and I swallow down a sigh of relief. They won’t try anything, at least not with me around. “We’ll be fine. I’m the one paying, remember?”
Helen grimaces at the reminder, but we’ve gone over it enough that she doesn’t bring it up again. At least, not here, in this dump. I’m guessing she’s already pieced together a room in this place can’t cost that much, so she won’t protest. But if I try to persuade her to go to a different hotel, the whole thing will probably start all over again, and frankly I’ve reached the point in the day of traveling where the thought of being in a car for even five more minutes sounds like excruciating torture.
Still, I won’t feel safe staying in a place like this, not with Helen alone by herself in one of the thin-doored rooms, likely with a broken lock. Any one of these nasty assholes might pounce on her the moment I’m out of sight. They probably wouldn’t even have to try that hard. Knowing her, all some guy would have to do is knock on the door with some bullshit excuse about needing to use the phone, and sweet little Sister Helen, with one of her sunny smiles, will throw the door wide open to the Big Bad Wolf.
I tighten my hand into a fist at the thought, gritting my teeth. The visceral reaction in my body surprises me—because nothing is actually, actively happening. It’s all in my head. But tell that to my pounding heart, my clenching gut.
Thinking quickly, I come up with a solution. “There’s a bathroom right here in the lobby. Your bladder must be pretty full by now, huh?”
Helen looks like she can’t quite believe I’m bringing up her bladder in the middle of a hotel lobby. “My bladder is just fine,” she says with no little amount of dignity, a very distracting flush creeping into her cheeks—two perfectly round little spots of pink that might have been adorable if we weren’t surrounded by hungry predators all waiting to pounce on fresh meat. Her eyes dart over to the bathroom. “But, if you’re going to check in anyway…”
“Go ahead,” I encourage her. “I’ll take care of everything.” As she takes a few tentative steps toward the bathroom, I call after her, “Make sure you lock the door.”
I watch her the whole time she walks, and so does the whole room, all of us holding our breaths. Dear, naive Sister Helen really has no idea what a loaded weapon she is outside of her bulky, shapeless clothes. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, nothing salacious, but even so. She has the kind of body that’s made for sinful thoughts, all swaying hips and luscious curves, and I sigh with relief when the door shuts and I hear the lock click in place.
I move quickly to the glass-enshrined front counter, careful to keep the bathroom in my line of sight. The man behind the counter looks almost as tough as the bikers in the lobby, bald and tattooed, with a no-nonsense, gruff look about him. Damn. He might make things difficult for me.
“I need a room,” I tell him, “two beds if you have it. And when my friend gets back, I need you to tell her there are no other rooms left, so we’ll have to make due with sharing the one.”
The clerk looks back at me, unimpressed. “Take whatever creepy shit you’re trying to pull to another hotel. I’m not getting involved.”
“No creepy shit, I swear.” I put one hand on my heart and the other up in the air. “Hand to God, I’m not doing anything we couldn’t tell her mom about tomorrow morning.” Okay, so that’s a bit of a lie, because I’m pretty sure Pam would have an aneurysm if she knew Helen and I were going to be in any type of bedroom scenario together, no matter how platonic. “I can’t let her stay on her own with this group hanging around.” I gesture behind me with a subtle jerk of my head. “Who are these people anyway?”
“The Iron Wraiths,” the clerk tells me, and I can hear in his tone of voice that he’s no fan, either.
I wince. “I grew up in Mobile. Never had any run-ins myself, but I know others who have, back from my bounty hunting days.”
I let that dangle in the air a moment, see if he’ll bite. It’s a bit of a gamble, honestly. There are a lot of people who hate bounty hunters on principle, either because they’ve been picked up by one or a friend or family member has. This guy, by the looks of him, has had a few run-ins with the law, and chances are good he’ll kick me out right now just for the affiliation.
Or, if my hunch is correct, he just might be the right demographic to have been a fan.
Sure enough, I see his eyes widen as a few things click into place. “Wait a minute—Mobile. You aren’t…?” He examines my face, and his eyes widen even more. “You’re one of those Bama Bounty guys, aren’t you?”
Okay, not a big enough fan to know me by name, but I can still use this. People trust people they know from TV. God knows why, since being famous has nothing to do with being good, but I’ll use it to my advantage if I can. “Yeah, I’m the oldest. Thad. I’m actually on a bounty hunting mission right now.” I lower my voice, leaning in confidentially, like I’m sharing a secret. “Can’t talk too much about it while I’m still on the hunt, but this guy’s a big fish. Big fish, if you catch my drift.”
I’ll let him fill in whatever he believes that to mean in his own mind. “Wow. Is your dad here, too?”
Okay, this guy definitely isn’t that big of a fan if he doesn’t know that there’s no way in hell I’d be traveling with my dad, but whatever. “No, just me.” Before he can ask any follow-up questions, I motion over toward the bathroom. “The woman I’m traveling with is helping me, and believe it or not, she’s a nun.” A bit of an embellishment there, I know, but again, I’m using what’s available to me. “Very innocent, a little gullible. So you can see why I’d be nervous about letting her stay on her own with this crowd around.”
He looks at me skeptically, some of my credibility slipping again. “She’s not wearing one of those robe thingies.”
“They don’t wear them while they’re traveling.” This is complete bullshit, of course, but I’m gambling on him knowing even less about nuns than I do.
I see the inner war waging on the guy’s face. “I can’t be responsible for you seducing a nun.”
There’s a sentence you don’t hear every day. Even in his protest, though, I hear that he’s softening. “I won’t. Hand to God, nothing like that is gonna happen. I just want to make sure she’s safe.”
Before he can give me an answer, the bathroom door opens and Helen crosses the lobby to join me. She still hasn’t noticed the ripple effect she causes just by existing in this room, surrounded by all these men, but the clerk sees it, and I hope it’ll be enough to convince him that I’m right.
Helen smiles brightly as she joins me. “Are we all set?” Somehow she hasn’t noticed the dark dankness of the lobby, or the dangerous men around her. I think she must have rainbow-tinted glasses, to see the world as such a good place. I feel my heart melt a little as I look at her, beaming at me with that newborn-kitten innocence and trust.
When I look back at the clerk, he isn’t looking at Helen—he’s looking at me. Whatever he sees there must convince him, because he nods to me, a short curt thing.
“Sort of,” I tell her, trying to hide my grin and look appropriately put out. “There’s only one room left—it has two beds, but we’ll have to share the space.”
“Oh.” Helen falters a little at that, looking to the clerk. “Really? Only one room left?”
“Yep. All booked.” He can’t make eye contact with either of us as he says it, looking up at the ceiling instead.
I resist the urge to shake my head at him. Jesus. What a terrible liar. Instead, I turn my attention to her. “Two beds,” I remind Helen. “We can hang up a sheet in the middle of the room, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” To the clerk, Helen says, “Thank you for your help.”
He grumbles something back, suddenly intent on checking us into our room. I hand him my credit card, reassuring myself I was right to make this call. I don’t have nefarious intentions toward Helen, but if I did, she would have been an easy mark. She barely even questioned the room situation, which means she probably would barely even question some biker trying to convince her to open her door late at night so he can force his way in…
The thought makes me shudder, and without thinking, I reach out to place a hand on Helen’s upper back. It isn’t so much a possessive gesture this time, meant to warn the bikers in the room that she’s under my protection. I just want to reassure myself that she’s safe, and not about to be snatched away from under my nose.
Helen looks at me in surprise at the unexpected contact. We really haven’t touched each other much, I realize, as there hasn’t been a reason to, but I’m surprised at how natural it feels.
“Room 203,” the clerk tells us, dropping the key cards and my credit card through the slot in the glass. “Second floor. Elevators are down the hall, to the left.”
He seems relieved to have us gone, but not as relieved as I am to finally get Helen out of that lobby, away from the peanut gallery watching our every move. “Do you want to get some food after we put our stuff in the room?” Helen asks once we’re in the elevator.
“Whatever you want,” I tell her tiredly. “As long as they deliver.”
Once we’re in that hotel room, I’m bolting the door and not taking her out again until we leave in the morning and put this place safely in our rearview mirror.