I parked close to the office and hustled inside. An elderly man sat behind the desk, watching a small TV.
“Evening,” he said.
“Are you the manager?”
“Yep. The manager, the owner, the handyman.”
I took Kenny's picture out of my pocketbook. “I'm looking for this man. Have you seen him?”
“Mind telling me why you're looking for him?”
“He's in violation of a bond agreement.”
“What's that mean?”
“It means he's a felon.”
“Are you a cop?”
“I'm an apprehension agent. I work for his bonding company.”
The man looked at the picture and nodded. “He's in unit seventeen. Been there for a couple days.” He thumbed through a ledger on the counter. “Here he is. John Sherman. Checked in on Tuesday.”
I could hardly believe it! Damned if I wasn't good. “Is he alone?”
“So far as I know.”
“Do you have vehicle information?”
“We don't bother with that. We got lots of parking space here.”
I thanked him and told him I'd hang around for a while. I gave him my card and asked that he didn't give me away should he see Sherman.
I drove to a dark corner of the lot, shut the engine off, locked the windows, and hunkered down for the duration. If Kenny showed up I'd call Ranger. If I couldn't reach Ranger, I'd go to Joe Morelli.
By nine o'clock I was thinking I might have chosen the wrong profession. My toes were frozen, and I had to pee. Kenny hadn't materialized, and there was no activity at the motel to break the monotony of waiting. I ran the engine to warm things up and did some isometrics. I fantasized about going to bed with Batman. He was a little dark, but I liked the look of the codpiece on his rubber suit.
At eleven I begged the manager to let me use his bathroom. I mooched a cup of coffee from him and returned to Big Blue. I had to admit, while the wait was uncomfortable, it was immeasurably better than it would have been in my little Jeep. There was a feeling of encapsulation in the Buick. Sort of like being in a rolling bomb shelter with windows and overstuffed furniture. I was able to stretch my legs across the front bench seat. Behind me, the backseat had real boudoir potential.
I dozed off somewhere around twelve-thirty and woke up at one-fifteen. Kenny's unit was still dark, and there were no new cars in the lot.
I had several choices available to me. I could try to stick it out myself, I could ask Ranger to rotate shifts with me, or I could pack it in for the night and return before daybreak. If I asked Ranger to rotate shifts I'd have to give him a bigger piece of the pie than I'd originally intended. On the other hand, if I tried to stick it out by myself I was afraid I'd nod off and freeze to death like the little match girl. I chose door number three. If Kenny returned tonight it would be to sleep, and he'd still be here at six in the morning.
I sang “Row, row, row your boat” all the way home to keep awake. I dragged myself into my apartment building, up the stairs, and down the hall. I let myself into my foyer, locked the door behind me, and crawled into bed fully clothed, shoes and all. I slept flat out until six, when an inner alarm clock prodded me awake.
I stumbled out of bed, relieved to find I was already dressed and could forgo that chore. I did the bare minimum in the bathroom, grabbed my jacket and my pocketbook, and trudged out to the parking lot. It was pitch black above the lot lights, still drizzly, and ice had formed on car windows. Lovely. I started the car, turned the heater on full blast, took the scraper out of the map pocket and chipped the windows free. By the time I was done chipping I was pretty much awake. I stopped at a 7-Eleven en route to Bordentown and stocked up on coffee and doughnuts.
It was still dark when I reached the motel. There were no lights on in any of the units, and there were no new cars in the lot. I parked to the dark side of the office and cracked the lid on my coffee. I was feeling less optimistic today and considered the possibility that the old man in the office had been having some fun at my expense. If Kenny didn't show by midafternoon I'd ask to be let into his room.
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If I'd been clever, I'd have changed my socks and brought a blanket. If I'd been really clever, I'd have given the guy in the office a twenty and asked him to call me if Kenny showed up.
At ten minutes to seven a woman drove up in a Ford truck and parked in front of the office. She gave me a curious look and went inside. Ten minutes later the old man came out and ambled across the lot to a beat-up Chevy. He waved and smiled and drove off.
There was no way I could be sure the old guy had told the woman about me, and I didn't want her calling the police to report a strange person loitering on the premises, so I hauled myself over to the office and went through the same drill as the night before.
The answers were the same. Yes, she recognized the picture. Yes, he was registered as John Sherman.