* * * *
It wasn’t yet four in the evening but Lyndon knew he couldn’t keep going. They’d taken more backroads and were nearly out of Illinois, but Curtis didn’t argue when Lyndon told him they were stopping for the night. He bought a pint of whiskey at a grocery store, picked up a pizza with one of Curtis’ twenties, and found a cheap motel to spend the night. When he unlocked the door, Curtis’ face fell.
“One bed?”
There wasn’t even a couch. The place had added a table and two chairs, though.
“I don’t know how much you think I make but it’s much less than twenty-five-kay a year and I’m paying for this,” said Lyndon. He tossed the pizza box on the table. “There’s enough floor space for you. You can even have the second pillow.”
Lyndon couldn’t tell whether Curtis was relieved or not he
