14
WAITING FOR THE MAN
Horvath doesn’t sleep much that night, and in the morning it feels like he didn’t sleep at all.
He gets up, washes his hands and face, dries them with a threadbare towel embossed with a gold E.
He gets dressed and heads downstairs.
Mr. Prissy is manning the front desk, as usual. His skin, lips and fingernails look extra shiny today, and so does the new royal blue suit. There’s an extra quart of oil in his hair, too. Must be a special day.
Horvath walks up to the desk.
“Good morning, sir.” The sarcasm and disdain have dried up.
“Morning.” He pauses. “I’m at a disadvantage here because you know my name but I don’t know yours.”
“Gilbert.” He says it like a Frenchman, Jeel-bear.
“So, Gilbert. Anyone ask about me?”
“No.”
“Good. Anyone just hanging around the l
