Chapter 10
From his snug, grimy jeans pocket, the man pried out a well-worn, diamond-shaped keychain. A single key dangled from it. At the center of the diamond’s face was a piece of masking tape yellowed with age. The number three was written on it in black Magic Marker.
It was nighttime. The temperature had dropped rapidly and he could see his own labored breath.
He slid the key into the womb of the brass doorknob where he twisted it until he heard a click and felt the door give. When it swung open, dry, rusted hinges cried as if they were pleading for help. The light from a flickering neon-blue motel sign just a dozen yards away lit up the foot of a queen-sized bed covered in a thin bedspread that had probably once been white.
The small room inside was musty and warm, a climate brou
