git commit murder

Chapter 3

3

When the BSD North travel coordinator had said a two-bedroom suite with a shared bath, Dale had imagined a room like he had at college: two bedrooms, side by side, with a bath between them. A door on each end of the bathroom. A solid door. A door that could be locked from the bathroom side, and let Dale pretend that he had his own space.

Byward University’s suites were more like two-bedroom apartments, cheerlessly decorated in different shades of white. The front door opened into a kitchen area, complete with glossy white fridge and microwave. The sink’s chrome bowl and spigot made a spot of color against the glossy white counter. A sturdy table filled the corner.

An open door exposed the bathroom.

Two more open doors led to bedrooms.

Dale swallowed. A midnight bathroom run meant sneaking through the common room. Yes, everybody used the bathroom—but he couldn’t even pretend normality while half-asleep. And was he supposed to have brought a bathrobe for his shower?

Worst of all: every room had only one exit.

If he screwed up talking with Lash he’d have to, what? Go into his bedroom and shut the door?

“Not bad for a university, huh?” Lash said behind him. “Which one would you like? Neither one faces east, that six AM sunrise is a killer.”

“I—don’t think I care,” He’d have to wear his dirty clothes into the bath to take a shower, carry his pajama bottoms with him. He’d need a shirt to go with the pajama pants, though—nobody needed to see his flabby gut.

“You sure?” Lash sounded impatient. “Well, pick one and let’s get to the bar.”

You’re in the way, i***t! Dale took two steps in, towards the room on the right.

Lash trundled past him, dragging that ridiculous suitcase towards the left-hand bedroom.

The door glided shut, hitting with a surprisingly loud thud. A roommate coming home would never surprise you, not with a door like that.

It’s not that bad. The con is only two days, Monday and Tuesday. I fly home Wednesday morning. But he should have brought more shirts. He’d soaked through his on the flight, and talking to Lash had made it worse.

Lash dropped the suitcase right inside the bedroom door. “Bar?”

“Uh, bar?”

“Right, first time,” Lash said. “Early registration’s over at the Royal Oak, tonight. They’ll have your badge and T-shirt and stuff. Plus, a lot of folks have been here for a couple days already, what with the SkyBSD and CoreBSD devsummits and the tutorials and all that stuff.”

Dale’s chest tightened. So I get to try to work myself into a bunch of people who know each other already. “I’ve got a couple things to take care of. Told the boss I’d check my email first thing.”

“I did that on the bus,” Lash said cheerfully. “Canadian SIM card, six gigs for ten bucks, best investment you can make. Come on over when you can, it’s out the front door and left down the walkway, it veers a little to the right but straightens out again. Straight down that to the streetlight, it’s a crosswalk really, and turn right. Almost two blocks, on the left. Can’t miss it. Cross at the crosswalk, it’s just easiest. If you don’t need a guide, I can call my wife and the kids on the way.”

“Thanks,” Dale said. Lash seemed perfectly cordial, but spoke so quickly that Dale felt clubbed with friendliness. Really, though, it wouldn’t have helped if Lash had spoken in a drawling monotone. “I’ll do that.”

“See you there,” Lash said, slipping past Dale and out the door.

Another thud as the door shut, then blessed silence pressed down on Dale’s ears with a rush of tinnitus.

He released the rolling bag’s handle and sagged on his feet.

Distant air conditioning heaved, dropping a puff of cooler air over Dale’s face. The suite didn’t quite smell stale, but nobody had been in here for several days, at least. Not really a pleasant smell, faded bathroom cleaner and dust, but it promised quiet.

Dale shrugged his heavy laptop bag off his shoulders, splashing a sudden shock of coolness across his steaming sweat-soaked back. The backpack didn’t quite thud on the ground—too many different parts inside for it to thud—but it landed with a reassuring solidity.

Quiet.

Dale been further from home, once. He’d been eight, in the back seat of the family van. His dad still had pictures of the whole family in front of Mount Rushmore and at the edge of the Grand Canyon. The one of his kid sister Missy, still tiny at six years old, on a dock with her feet dangling in the Mississippi, Dale had hung in his apartment.

His reasons for coming here suddenly felt flimsy. Dale had mentioned the conference to his boss, Will Qwilleran, who had badgered him into submitting a talk proposal. Dale could give technical talks—he’d done any number of them in front of customers before, and even talked at a few user groups around Metro Detroit. A few of those groups recorded all their talks and uploaded them to the Internet, for public consumption.

Will wants me to get the company’s name out. The company uses SkyBSD, I’ve got CoreBSD on my laptop, I know a whole bunch of these guys from online, I was the right person for him to send.

And Dale had his own reasons for going to the conference.

Reasons he didn’t dare tell anyone.

But there wasn’t any way Dale was going to the bar tonight. He’d need all his mental energy to survive the next two days.

He sighed and dragged his suitcase into the bedroom.

The bedroom itself wasn’t bad. A thick mattress on a double steel frame, with two heavy pillows and sheets obviously chosen for sturdiness rather than thread count. A heavy pole lamp by the bed, a battered laminate desk built in underneath the tinted window spanning the west wall, the chair situated so you got an incredible view of Byward University’s rooftop air conditioners. An alcove held a wire-frame shelf with a closet bar beneath it.

The bedroom door didn’t have a lock.

At least it closed solidly.

Dale put his rolling bag on its side, beside the desk, and flung it open, exposing tightly-crammed clothes and toiletries. With acute disgust he yanked his sweat-filled T-shirt over his head, wadded it up, and dropped it in the empty suitcase top. The cool rush over his flabby chest and gut felt wonderful.

There. Dale had brought five T-shirts: two for Monday, two for Tuesday, and one for Wednesday’s flight home. Without a clean shirt, he wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

Dale dragged his feet out of his overheated black sneakers, delighting in the cool rush between his toes, imagining the fetid steam that must be rising from the shoes’ depths.

Maybe the thing to do was take his shower now. He really didn’t feel hungry, not after that horrible flight. Just skip dinner. He had a couple of protein bars in his laptop backpack. That way he’d be out of the bathroom before Lash returned.

Geeks in a bar? Heck, he might be asleep before Lash returned.

Avoid the whole problem for another day.

That was a plan he could live with.

This whole trip had been a terrible idea.

Before he did anything, though, he needed to cool down. Clear his brain. Find a way to relax. Find something that made him feel… safer.

Dale didn’t let himself think about what that would be.

Instead, he hoisted the laptop bag onto the desk to make it happen.