The two teens checked in just after midnight with their father, all of them looking hollow-eyed, dirty and exhausted.
The older man paid for the room with a credit card Mike suspected didn't belong to him. Not that he cared. It was a shit job at a shit motel. He wouldn't be hanging around too much longer.
Mildly interested, he watched as the three disappeared into their room, hauling a few heavy-looking duffels and a big bag of fast food.
He didn't see them again for the rest of the night. When he came back for his shift the next day, the big man and his black Impala were gone, but he'd left his sons behind.
That had been four days ago.
Mike had seen the teens out and about. At the video arcade down the street, the convenience store; once or twice ambling down the street. They'd been laughing, shoving at each other, kid stuff, but, still, both kept a wary eye out.
Mike knew that wariness. He'd seen it before, mostly on losers who'd eventually ended up behind bars. He didn't get that particular vibe from these two, but – there was just something about them.
It didn't take him long to suss it out. Mike had a talent for sniffing out people's guilty secrets.
And even in Vegas, brother on brother is a pretty big fucking deal.
ΩΩΩ
Late Saturday, just after the start of his shift, Mike caught a flash of movement out the office window and saw the two boys leaving their room, the older one carrying one of their duffel bags.
Not talking much, they walked down the dimly lit sidewalk to the motel's laundry room, opposite the office. When they went inside, Mike turned back to the television, flipping irritably through all the channels before giving up and turning it off.
A few people checked in. A few checked out. Mike handled it all with his customary indifference.
During a quiet moment, his glance went across to the laundry room, where the teens were sitting on the curb outside, clearly lit by the fluorescent light from the open door.
As Mike watched, the older boy slung an arm around his brother and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's dark head.
The younger boy looked up and gave his brother a smile of such devotion, such sweetness, Mike's heart gave an envious, pained little twist.
A horn blasted into the night and a car pulled into the motel's lot.
The Impala.
Engine loud in the relative quiet, the black beast slid into its parking space. With a quick word to his brother, the older boy jumped to his feet and ran to their father. After a short exchange, he went into their room and started carrying out bags.
Shoulders slumping a bit, the younger boy went back into the laundry room. Through the open door, Mike could see him pulling clothes out of one of the dryers.
Then the office door opened and one of the motel's long-term residents came in, hat in hand and resentful, wanting to explain why he was late with the rent again. By the time he finally left the office, the Impala was gone.
Mike stared at the empty parking space, expressionless. After a moment, he shrugged and turned on the television.
But part of him, a part that didn't get a lot of light, couldn't stop thinking about the younger boy's face when he looked at his brother. It made him feel prickly, and restless.
ΩΩΩ
Mike quit the next morning.
It was time to move on.