17
Eight hours later, we’re all still hanging out in the Industrial Arms hotel, only we’re no closer to finding Lincoln. I’m trying to be patient, emphasis on the word trying.
I shift my position on the mega-uncomfortable couch of my fancypants hotel suite. It’s like someone painted a bunch of cinderblocks, jammed them together into a couch-shape, and then decided to charge people two grand a night to sit on its chilly magnificence.
Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be too surprised if that’s the real plan here. After all, I am staying in the penthouse of a swank boutique hotel. For all I know, cinderblock couches are the latest thing.
Zeke sits at a massive table on the other side of my equally massive suite. At least, I think the thing is a table. To me, it just looks like a big blob o
