us to share her distaste.
I said, 'That will be fine, thank you.' She looked at us as if we were somewhere below subhuman.
'We don't smoke, but at the moment anything will do.' I smiled. We became normal again and were given a big smile back.
She continued to hit the keys.
'Sure. I have a special at the moment:
thirty-nine dollars ninety-nine, plus tax.' Her expression now said that I should be jumping up and down with joy. I took the hint.
'That's great!' I pulled out my wallet and gave her my credit card. She could have been asking for $139.99 plus tax, I wouldn't have given a shit.
'Thank you' she studied the card 'Mr. Snell.'
She swiped the plastic and the machine clicked and hummed as I filled in the registration form. I put down any shit I could think of for the vehicle registration. They never look at it anyway, and if she did, I'd just say, sorry, Hugh Grant-type character Brit abroad.
'OK, you're room two sixteen. Where are you parked?'
I pointed out and to the left. She started to direct with her hands.
'OK,
go around back to the left, up the first flight of stairs, and it's there on the right-hand side.'
'Thanks a lot.'
'You're welcome. Y'all have a good one.'
We walked out of reception and I placed my arm around Sarah, talking shit about what a night it had been. We turned left to go to our non-car and worked our way around the motel to our room. There was a chance that anyone putting two and two together after watching the news might call the police, especially if the gas station was already news. But this girl looked as if she didn't even know what day it was. There had to be a point where I had to accept I'd done all I could for now. It was time to clean up, get our act together and then move on.
It was a typical, low-rent motel room that could have been anywhere in the world, with a queen-sized bed, faded flower-pattern cover and white melamine-veneered chip board furniture. The curtains were closed and the air conditioner was off to save electricity.
I took the Do Not Disturb sign from the inside handle and put it on the outside as I fiddled around trying to find the lights. Sarah passed me as I closed the door and pulled the latch across. I went over to the air conditioner and, leaving the curtains closed, switched it to full-blast heat.
Sarah was sitting on the bed, pulling her trainers off. I walked back to the other side and checked the window, a sealed, double-glazed unit that overlooked the landing. The only way out was by the door. I visualized my escape route. There were two staircases; I could either get down to the ground or onto the roof. Once on the ground I would head back to the car park and hijack a vehicle. If push came to shove, I'd kill her here beforehand. I picked up the remote from the bedside cabinet it was attached to a curly bit of wire so I couldn't nick it and started flicking through the channels trying to find some news. The faded silver plastic TV must have been about ten years old so were most of the programs.
Sarah went toward the air conditioner, pulling off her jacket and muttering, 'I need a shower.' She started to take off the rest of her clothes, placing them item by item on the heater, then weighting them with ashtrays and a telephone directory to keep them in place. The air was blowing them about as if they were on a clothesline in a gale.
I watched her undress as I lay on the bed. I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said the guys in the house were planning, and about how lucky we'd been to get away. I just hoped she hadn't killed any police; even if she was telling the truth about the assassination plot, we'd be in deep shit over that.
I'd made a conscious decision to let her keep the weapon; if any police had been killed, she had the weapon that linked her to that, and to the Lance killing. London would have to do a mega deal with the Americans.
I watched her naked body walk across in front of me, heading for the bathroom. She'd always been at ease with nudity, almost nonchalant, in the way models are. Her body was beautiful and still well trained. I watched her thigh muscles flex as she moved; her skin was usually so healthy it glowed, but with those cuts and bruises she wouldn't be showing her legs off in short skirts for a while.
As the shower started splashing I lay back against the headboard, flicking through the channels with the sound on mute. I couldn't see anything of use yet, like the news, but if I'd wanted to buy a diamond necklace and earrings or an ab-cruncher, it was my lucky day. My chin was resting on my chest, my back propped up by the pillow. I could smell myself: wet, mushy and, like her, in need of a shower. Looking in the mirror to the left of the TV, I saw a scarecrow who needed a shave.
I finally hit a news channel that was showing pictures of forests, then the lake. I didn't bother turning it up. This must be it; we were famous.
There was film of different emergency vehicles toing and froing, police and ambulance crews running around with waterproofs over their uniforms.
Then a policeman gave an interview with the same sort of thing going on in the background. I really didn't want to know what he was saying.
If there were dead police, a picture of them would soon be onscreen.
It wouldn't change what I had to do, even though it might make it harder.
The news was replaced by a commercial. I was in a semi daze trying not to nod off. My eyes were stinging as much as my forearm now; at least that had started to scab up a bit. I'd sort it out later. If I'd got tetanus I'd be finding out very soon. I smiled at myself in the mirror as I thought, I could always sue the police department. This was America, after all.
I watched a child's toy commercial, where two small girls were playing with dolls. Shit! I leaned over to the bedside cabinet that held the phone and a Days Inn notepad and pen combo, and wrote a big 'K' on my left wrist. Next to the pen was a small book of matches; I put it in my jeans pockets, along with the mags.
My body was aching all over. I forced myself up, and pulled the phone book off Sarah's jeans. They fell to the floor and I couldn't be bothered to pick them up.
I trawled through the Yellow Pages, looking for car hire, called a toll free number, and was told that, for a charge of $43 a day, plus tax and insurance, they'd be with me inside an hour and a half.
Sarah came out of the shower just as I was putting down the receiver.
She had a large towel wrapped around her, and a smaller, still-folded one in her hands. As she walked across to check her clothes I could smell the soap and shampoo.
'Who was that?' she demanded as she threw the towel by the TV and bent down to pick up the jeans and put them back on the heater.
'I've hired a car.'
'Excellent. How long before we move?'
I didn't know why she was so pleased. We weren't going anywhere she wanted.
'We?' I said.
'What the ruck's with this we business?' I always seemed to regress to South London gob by twang when pissed off.
'All the bollocks you're on about is your problem, not mine. The only we about this, Sarah, is that we we got the North Carolina police, FBI and whoever else wants overtime looking for us, and if you have killed a policeman and they catch up with us, we're in a very big world of shit. Take my word for it, we won't survive any containment; they'll hose us down on sight.
'We are going to do nothing. What I am going to do is, first, get us out of this shit; then I am going to get us both back to the U.K. End of story. I don't care what is happening elsewhere, or what you want to do about it. I have enough shit here to deal with. Fuck Netanyahu.'
She sat on the end of the bed and looked at me. I knew she was going to give me a sales pitch, but tough, I wasn't going to let her get to me.
'Nick, I'm going to tell you anyway. It's important. I need your help.'
I cut in.
'Sarah, I'm not interested in your stories. Not now, OK?'
She wasn't going to give up.
