With the awful weather, Harry figured that Cheryl would be taking shelter somewhere. He'd had no luck at the bar or store…checking each building in turn until he reached the motel. He'd been hoping to enlist the talkative owner to help with the search, but Norman was nowhere to be seen. It would have been nice to locate Cybil too, but he would have to find his daughter alone.
Shivering in reception, he decided a quick change of clothes would be a good idea after all. His room key had unfortunately disappeared in the quake. There was no spare behind the counter, so he made a search of the office. He went through shelves and drawers finding files and folders but no key. The door to the office was open. Nothing worked; the tv; the phone; the radio. On the desk by the radio sat a book, bound in black leather. A journal or a log book with Norman's name on it. After what he'd read at the Indian Runner he needed to know…
September 10
Took package.
Told to sit on it a while.
Don't want to get involved but
can't disobey...
He's probably linked to
the death of the mayor and others.
Mr. Young was involved with the local drugs racket…the 'package' had to be the large packet of white powder he had found at the store…'high risks with no rewards' definitely made more sense in the light of this discovery. As he carefully replaced the book he spotted the board where the keys were hung, once upon a time. There were only two left. Each key had a tag. One read 'Office' which was of little use now. The other read 'master'. Harry had struck gold…striding out into the snow he headed straight to his room, relieved when the key clicked into place and let him in. The heating in the room had obviously been off for some time, though it was warmer than the office. After quickly drying off and raiding his luggage for fresh jeans and a t-shirt, he ventured out again. Theoretically, the master key would allow him unlimited access to the motel. Hopefully he would find a quietly sleeping seven year old girl in one of the rooms.
The keyhole of room 8 was a little stubborn, giving on the fifth try. It was a twin, exactly the same as his. Though it was dull and dusty it was otherwise neatly kept. It had been unoccupied for some time. After making a fruitless search of the room, then 7, then 6 , 5 and 4 he started to worry again.
Room 3 seemed a little different. This was evidently where Norman's other guest was staying. It was the only single room he had come across. The occupant's belongings were minimal; a trenchcoat, some change on the dresser; a briefcase.
Kaufmann's briefcase.
Harry wondered why the doctor would stay in such a cheap place. Surely he could afford a grand homestead, not a dilapidated motel room?
He noticed that the minibar was fully stocked. Not a privilege that he was afforded. Quite hungry, he jealously snatched a chocolate bar and stuffed his face with it, shoving the wrapper into his pocket. He walked to the bathroom which was clammy inside. There was steam on the mirror above the sink. A razor, still wet, sat by the tap. The occupant had been here recently and could be back soon.
As he turned to leave his flashlight caught on something which glinted in its glare. In a crack between the floorboards by the dresser was a key. He pressed himself to the crack to get a closer look. It was branded with the company logo of Yamaha. If he could procure a vehicle…
The crack was too small for his fingers. He looked around for something to fish it out with. The room was pretty bare. He popped open the briefcase and pulled a paper clip from a bundle of papers. Bending it to a hook shape he wiggled it around in the crack in vain and was about to give up when it caught on the paperclip and he pulled it out.
After finding the remaining rooms as unoccupied as the rest, he headed across the car park and through reception looking for any door he hadn't tried. The first was a bathroom; the second a toilet. He tried the third which opened into a garage. Kaufmann's motorcycle was here alright, though it was a pretty old model. The key slid awkwardly into the rusted and dusty ignition. He hoped the engine would turn over. It would make searching easier although it was a long time since he rode a bike. Stealing the Yamaha didn't seem like a big deal…he had already taken a key from a dead man, a gun from a police officer and chocolate from someone else's minibar. Reasoning that grand theft auto was acceptable under the circumstances he turned the key. The motor spluttered and died.
Before he had a chance to try again the door to the office swang open wildly crashing into the wall.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" yelled Kaufmann.
"I – I'm sorry." spluttered Harry, "I thought it would be easier to search if…"
"That thing doesn't work. It's been sitting there for years. Belonged to the owner."
The doctor didn't seem to be overly concerned about the attempted theft now. Instead he appeared to be sizing him up. It was a look he was getting used to.
"Did you find a way out?" demanded the doctor.
"No. Not yet. How about you?"
"Zip. But It's too soon to give up. This Craziness can't go on forever. A military rescue squad should be here anytime now. If they come through the town, we're home free."
"I hope so." Harry said, though it seemed unlikely. He doubted anyone had even heard of this place, let alone dispatched a rescue squad.
"Is that a candy wrapper sticking out of your pocket? Did you steal the chocolate from my minibar?" barked Kaufmann.
Harry shifted awkwardly, fiddling with the cap of the gas tank. It popped open, the cap bouncing across the floor. Stuffed inside was a small vial of the red liquid held in place with a can liner. Harry picked it up.
"Give me that !" ordered Kaufmann wresting it from Harry's grasp.
"What is this stuff?"
"That's none of your business. Instead of messing with that how about coming up with a way to get out of here." he admonished, "You shouldn't be hanging around here goofing off. What do you think you're doing? You want to get yourself killed, get out of here!"
"Okay, Take it easy!"
"Unless you want to die, keep your mind on business, got it?" he threatened as he left, slamming the door behind him.
Harry stood stunned contemplating Kaufmann's tirade. The red liquid seemed very precious to him. Precious enough, perhaps, to kill for. Remembering the doctor's fury when he discovered the smashed vial at the hospital, he wondered what could make it so important. What was this stuff?
Maybe it had something to do with PTV. Maybe Kaufmann was involved with Norman in the local drugs racket.
Not wanting to head the same way as him, Harry pulled up the garage door. Outside, black clouds were gathering in the sky.