Yes. For her, I could stoop that low.
“Come on,” I told her. “I have a plan—just a little ways up the street, if you can still make it.”
Tria nodded dumbly as I got back on the bike, which I was quite sure I hated now. We drove up a long hill, and I motioned for Tria to pull into a large parking lot and stop the bike near the front. Right between the entrance and exit drives was the tall pole with the spinning silver circles at the top.
She pulled off her helmet and looked at me out of the corner of her eye.
“If you think you are going to rob this place, I would much rather deal with a park bench than a jail cell.”
“No worries,” I told her. “Come on. Get that…that thing.”
Tria pulled the Great Bag of China out of one of the motorcycle’s packs and followed me into the posh lobby of a five-star hotel. I walked straight up to the front desk and asked for the night manager. She eyed me with contempt, and I just ignored it.
With a giant, pride-swallowing sigh, I reached into my back pocket. I grabbed my wallet, pulled out a black plastic card with a pair of silver loops and a number on it, and handed it to the woman. She took it with trepidation and a scowl.
“Call your corporate office,” I told her as I pointed at the card. “Then dial that extension.”
She eyed me, and for a moment I thought she might just call security and have us both thrown out, but then she picked up the phone and started dialing. I could feel Tria’s gaze on the back of my neck, but I didn’t look in her direction. I knew I was going to be pummeled with a bunch of questions as soon as the next opportunity presented itself, and I hoped to keep just a little bit of peace for a few more minutes. With any luck, she would be too tired to harass me and would just fall asleep.
“This is who?” The lady behind the desk was
speaking into the phone. “You…you mean Michael Teague? I mean Mister Teague? Oh!”
She looked back at me with astonishment.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she continued. “Yes, I know it’s late, but…but I’m the night manager at location oh-seven-four in Portland, Maine, and there is a…um…gentleman here who handed me a card with…sir? Um…”
She leaned over to her right to look at me more closely, and I turned to show her the left side of my head. I reached up with one finger and tapped the two silver earrings hanging there.
“Yes, sir, he does. Um…tattoos?”
I sighed dramatically and turned around, then lifted my shirt to show her my back.
“Yes, sir.”
I watched her eyes get wider as she listened to the voice on the other end and stared unabashedly at me. Finally, she stopped and held the receiver in my direction.
“He’d like to talk to you…”
“No,” I responded as I looked back to her. “Just give me a fucking room.”
She licked her lips nervously before relaying my message into the phone.
“The presidential suite? Um…of course, sir. I’ll take care of it…anything he wants...of course...thank you, sir. It was a pleasure to”—she pulled the phone away from her ear and scowled at it—“speak with you,” she finished. She hung up the phone and looked at us again. “I’ll have you all checked in momentarily, sir.”
It was pretty impressive that Tria managed to remain silent as we were handed key cards and given directions to the executive elevator of the Silver Springs Hotel. She didn’t say anything as we got inside, and I pressed the button for the eighteenth floor. She managed to stay quiet all the way down the hall and to the door to the room.
Once I opened the door, she was too distracted by the room to ask any questions.
I had to admit, it was a pretty damn fine suite, all leather and cherry with a large screen television, a computer set up on the desk, and plenty of room for your own laptop if you brought one, too. There was a small hallway with doors to a closet and bathroom. There was a dining area, a living room, and large double doors that opened up to the bedroom and master bathroom. It was probably about double the square footage of our apartment.
Tria halted in the doorway for a moment and then made her way slowly inside the room. She took it all in with a couple of big sweeps of her head to the left and the right.
“Are you going to explain all this to me?” she finally asked without turning around.
“Do I have a choice?” I walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice and a tiny bottle of vodka. I took two big swigs out of the orange juice, added the vodka to it, twisted the lid back on, and shook it up.
Tria moved to sit on the plush couch and continued to look at me pointedly.