“Another second.” Serge threw the Javelin into reverse and cut the wheel. The car backed into the slot. Serge pulled out of the slot, then backed in again. Then pulled out, backed in. He opened the door and looked down. Shook his head. Pulled out of the slot, backed in again, pulled out…
“Told you I have to go to the bathroom!” yelled Story. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Respecting the community. It’s a heavy rudeness guilt-cross not to park in the middle of your slot.” Serge grabbed a tape measure out of the glove compartment, opened the door again and bent down. “Eleven inches to the line.” He handed the tape to Coleman. “Check your side.”
Coleman leaned out the door. “Thirteen.”
“Fuck.” Serge shifted back into drive. “Not courteous enough.”
Story threw open her door. “I’m out of this boob-mobile.”
Serge aligned the car one more time. The lot was quiet and empty as they stepped onto a sidewalk. A statuesque brunette abruptly materialized in front of them. “Just get in from the airport?”
Serge jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Be gone, industrious hotel hooker. I’m onto your high-end business-traveler vagina ways.” They brushed past her on the narrow walkway.
“Serge,” said Coleman. “How do you know that was a hooker?”
“First, a hot-looking woman striking up idle chat with us in a parking lot. Better odds finding a woodchuck doing card tricks. Second, ever been diving in the Keys?”
“On purpose?”
“Barracudas can be unnerving at times.”
“No shit. Once I was at the aquarium. Those sharp, scraggly teeth freaked me out, and I ran into a wall. I was really stoned.”
“Any experienced diver knows a ‘cuda will never go after an animal as large as a human, unless the water’s cloudy and you’re wearing something shiny, like a watch or bracelet, which they mistake for tiny bait fish.” Serge felt for his wallet to confirm he hadn’t been pick-pocketed. “No, what’s really unnerving is their blinding speed. One second you’re all alone grooving on brain coral and the next, a barracuda is suddenly just there, right in front of you.”
“So anytime a chick suddenly appears outside a hotel?…”
Serge nodded. “Barracuda hooker.”
The hotel reception desk was dark wood with a polished black marble top. The desk was empty except for a lone woman in a smartly pressed blazer with a plastic name tag that was supposed to look like brass: JESSICA. Corporate fever charts determined business increased proportionately to marble surface area. Insufficient data on real brass name tags.
Arriving customers tended to bunch up at the official three P.M. checkin time and, much later in the evening, after businessmen and -women finished their business. This was that in-between limbo part of the day when but a single employee was required. Only three customers in the last hour. Jessica mainly answered the phone about ice machine location and whether the names of adult movies would show up on expense account receipts.
The phone rang again. She answered professionally. It was the same customer from last week who’d been calling all day to complain about the sneaking-a-pet-in-the-room penalty charge on his credit card.
Jessica maintained training-seminar poise. “Sir, I completely sympathize, but I spoke with my manager and you’ll have to call our corporate office. Would you like that number again? … I understand your position that the barking was from a TV show about dogs … No, I can’t change anything in the computer ‘just between you and me’… I’m sorry, I couldn’t make out that last thing you said because of the barking in the background … Okay, I’ll wait while you turn the volume down on the Dog Channel …”
Automatic front doors opened. A woman in cutoffs veered urgently for the restrooms. Moments later, the doors hissed open again. Two more entered.
“You carry that clipboard everywhere?” asked Coleman.
“Million and one uses,” said Serge.
“What’s it for this time?”
“To get a free upgrade.”
They approached the front desk.
“Excuse me,” Jessica said in the phone. “I have to put you on hold.”
“Don’t put me on hold-“
Serge arrived with purpose and plopped folded hands on the counter. “Reservation, Storms.”
“One moment.” She smiled and tapped computer keys.
Serge pulled the clipboard from under his arm and placed it on the counter, speaking as he wrote: “Front desk, cordial. Pressed navy blazer, no dandruff …”
The receptionist looked up from her screen. “You from headquarters?”
More clipboard writing. “… Asked nosy question …”
“I didn’t mean-“
“Nobody does.” Serge clicked his pen shut. He quickly looked left and right, then waved the woman closer. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you look like someone I can trust, and I’ll need inside help to make the big layoff go smoothly.”
“Layoff?”
“I’d like an upgrade.”
“No problem … Seven-nineteen, the presidential suite. Here are your keys.”
“The code word is marzipan.” “What?”
“We’ll be in the bar.”
