Weboth smile widely and say hello.Whenwe’d checked in, the man had looked a little stressed and annoyed.Rightnow, though, the way he’s wringing his hands and ducking his head is showing nervousness and regret.
“I, uh, noticed that you haven’t checked out yet.I’mguessing you were hoping to stay longer?”
“Oh!”Ledgersays, which is probably what would’ve come out of my mouth if he hadn’t beatme to it. “Wehadn’t even thought about that.Wedo need to stay longer.Isthis room still available?”
“Iwish it was, but so many people are coming in for theWaterfrontSummerFest, and this room is already booked.”
“Oh, butternuts,”Charliesays. “Weonly thought you’d need to be inBelgradefor a day.Bookingthe second day was overkill just in case.Andthen withKellabeing gone for her physical and switching with me, we completely missed it!”
“Doyou have another room we can switch to?”Iask.Hopefully, it’s another double room.
Thepoor guy looks like he just ruinedChristmasor just broke his grandmother’s favorite vase. “Weare fully booked.Iam so sorry.”
“Noproblem,”Ledgersays. “We’lljust find another one.”
“Iam on it,”Charliesays in our earpieces.
Butthe manager grimaces. “Idon’t know if you will.Sinceit’s you,” he says, holding out both hands, palms up, toward us, “Icalled around to see ifIcould find a room at another hotel for you.Ireally didn’t want to have to show up to tell youIdon’t have a room for you without another option in hand, but there aren’t any.Thisis a big festival, and lots of people come to town for it.”
“Uh,”Charliesaid, “Idon’t know how to tell you this, butIcan’t find any, either.EverywhereI’mclicking is full.”
“Idon’t want to send you away with nothing, though,” the man says. “Wehave a room we use for emergencies.It’snot much, and it’s not meant for guests— it’s foremployees who have to work late and can’t get home for some reason.Butit’s got clean bedding and is a place to stay.Ofcourse, if you have somewhere else to go, that’s fine,” he’s quick to add. “Andif it was anyone else,Iwouldn’t offer, butIwould like to offer it to you.”
“Thanksfor having our backs,”Ledgersays. “Wereally appreciate it.”Andthen the two guys do some kind of handshake thing that only dudes who are friends do that somehow they both know even though they live half a world away from each other.
Theguy gives us a keycard and tells us how to find the room.Then, as he goes to leave, he turns back and says, “Haveyou made any progress on finding new locations forBiteNiteBurgers?Becauseif you choose the location across the street,I’lllet you stay here whenever you want.”Thenhe adds. “Oh, andIhave an idea for a new menu item for you.The‘TwilightVegetarianBurger.’Itcan be one of those meatless ones.Youknow, for people who like their burgers as mysterious and vegan as teenage vampire romances.”
Apparently, it’s not just bro handshakes that are known around the world.Twilightis, too.
Afterwe thank the man and tell him goodbye,Ledgershuts the door behind him and says, “See?It’shelpful to make friends everywhere.We’vegot ourselves a room we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
Whenwe get our stuff packed up, we head down to the room, and it doesn’t take long to realize that there is a reason why they never rent it out.It’sdown a dark, uncarpeted hall that feels like it might lead to adungeon.Which,Iguess, is somewhat fitting because the room has cement floors without a single rug.Twoof the walls are cement, too, and the one window the room does have is teeny and up near the low ceiling.Ifthere was a fire and we had to escape through it,I’mnot sure thatLedger’sshoulders could even fit.
I’mpretty sure it was never meant to be a room at all.Thereare three commercial-sized water heaters along one wall and a big furnace in a corner.Asingle queen-sized bed sits against an unpainted sheetrocked wall, but it does have the same bedding on it that our other rooms had.Theroom does have a bathroom, although its size suggests it belongs in anRV.Besidethe bathroom is a small rod to hang clothes on that’s suspended from the ceiling by two metal wires.
Weboth stand just inside the doorway, staring at it, not saying a word.ThenLedgerpulls out his phone and callsDamjan, putting it on speaker.
Whenwe tell him that we lost our hotel room,Damjansays, “Youdidn’t have a room booked?Duringthe festival?Yeah, you’re not going to find anything else.UnlesstheCSAhas a safe house here?”
“Wedon’t,”Charliesays through our earpieces, whichLedgerrelays toDamjan. “DoestheCIAhave one?”
“Imean, we do,”Damjansays, and for a small second, hope starts to rise, then he adds, “but it’s small.Justa single twin bed, and the last timeIwas there, it was infested with rats.Andcats.You’dthink the cats would take care of the rat problem, but no.They’vegone all biblical and are living in peace.”
“So, we’ve got the option of living in theCIA’sCozyCritterCondo, or theUtilityRoomCellarwe’ve got here.”Ledgerruns a hand over his face, thanksDamjan, and hangs up.
“Well,”Isay, “at least this room is better than that cabin in the forests ofMoldovathat we stayed in.”
“True.ButIhave to say that theCSAhas better safe houses.”
“Betterthan your non-existent one here?”
“No, this is perfect,”Charliesays through our comms. “It’sthe classic ‘one bed’ trope.Thismission just got a whole lot more interesting!Playnice, you two.”
Ledgergrinds his teeth, turns off his comms, then removes his earpiece and tosses it onto the bed.
CHAPTER 13
TRASH TALK
