The motel looks standard enough. Completely ordinary.
As we approach the gate, I say, “Slow down. Behave normally…” Klempner shoots me a white-rimmed glare… “… If Harkness has a view of the highway, we don’t want to alert him.”
He nods, terse and tight. Still, he doesn’t so much park the vehicle as abandon it at the reception entrance. Vaulting up and out of the driver’s seat, he slams a hand onto a wired glass panel, barging open the door, barging into the office. I’m two seconds behind him, pizza box in hand.
Behind the counter, thick-lensed spectacles wear an alarmed expression, a mouse-coloured comb-over above, and a Spiderman tee-shirt below, although according to the name-bade, Spiderman has renamed himself, ‘Walter’. A hand hovers below the counter, perhaps to a panic button. “C
