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“Klinger,” he wheezed while shuffling around the desk. “Like in the M*A*S*H show, only I don’t wear dresses. Too damn cold. Also, my legs ain’t what they used to be.” He leaned over to put his nose to the paper. “Ah, room six. Paid in full via the interwebs.”

“Oh, Klinger. Cool. Got it. Oh, say, sir, no.” I rushed to throw out a hand to stop him from picking up the duffel bag of equipment resting beside our sneakers. “That’s pretty heavy.”

“I got it.” He slowly bent to fetch it, tried to lift it, and then walked to the door we’d just come through and out into the brisk air. The bag still sat on the floor.

“Guess he didn’t get it,” Phil whispered and hoisted the duffel to his shoulder. We jogged out to follow Klinger, the bellhop/manager/valet, down an uneven stretch of cement to room #6 at the far end of the walk. Several old trees were planted here and there, mostly pines, and a flower bed that had not seen a hoe for several years. Weeds ran amok.

Klinger fumbled in his front pocket, pulled out a wad of tissues and a small box of raisins, handed them to me, then dug deeper for a set of keys he eventually pulled out. Five minutes later, the door swung open, and we followed Klinger into our accommodations. Typical motel room. One bed, one dresser, and a TV on the wall. The heater rattled ominously. The drapes were dusty but functional. A door to the left led to what I assumed was a bathroom. There were no holes in the walls or shades of dried blood on the well-worn carpet, so I considered that to be a good sign.

“We don’t have no ice no more. Machine broke down on the night that we was celebrating Cuomo winning his first term. Water is free, and there’s a good cable channel that comes in most days if the wind is blowing from the west. Diner in town makes good food. Mabel makes whoopie pies on Tuesdays,” Klinger informed us then held out his hand. I rushed to dig into the front pocket of my jeans to pull out a couple of crinkled ones to tip him. “Much obliged.” He handed Phil a key. Not a key card. A key. “My raisins?”

“Oh sure, here you go.” I returned his tissues and his box of raisins. He smiled a toothless smile, then he tottered himself back to the office. Phil closed the door and turned the lock. We exchanged glances. “I need to wash my hands. I don’t know if those were used tissues or not.”

“Gross. I’m going to run the black light over the bedding.”

“Good call.” I hurried into the bathroom. It was old and faded but seemed pretty clean. The sink and shower had some grout issues but nothing too bad. A bar of yellow soap was still in the wrapper and sitting atop two towels on the lid of the toilet. There was no hesitation to unwrap the soap and then wash my hands. When I left the bathroom with clean hands, Phil was tucking the sheets back up near the pillows. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Sheets and blanket are clean,” he announced as he stowed the black light back into the bag. His stomach growled like a grizzly. “I’m really hungry. Think we could head to town?”

“Sure, yeah, I could eat.” I held up my phone to try to bring up a map, but the one bar was gone. “No service.” Phil gasped. “We’ll go ask Klinger which way to town. We’re like pioneers now, using our wits and the wind to lead us to sustenance.”

That made him smile. After stealing a kiss, we closed and locked the door to our room—well, tried to lock it. The key didn’t turn all the way to engage the lock. Phil shot me a perturbed look as he thudded back into the room to gather our equipment and load it back behind the seat of the truck.

“This place is luxe. Really, my father went all out on the accommodations,” Phil spat as we made our way to the office. The sarcasm dripped off him like sap from a recently drilled tree. I said nothing. Seemed that would only inflame him more. Pushing into the office, we found Klinger sleeping on the plum sofa, feet on one arm, head on the other, a green cap on his gaunt belly. Clearing throats didn’t rouse him, so we had to give him a shake. One rheumy eye opened.

“Sorry to disturb your nap. Can you tell us how to get to town?” I asked in my best polite young man tone. “We’d like some dinner. Also, the key to our room won’t lock the door properly.”

He sat up. Eventually. With some help from Phil. “You going to town?”

“We are, yeah.” I smiled at the old man. I enjoyed the elderly. Growing up with Yeye had taught me great respect for the wisdom our elders possessed.

“Oh, get me a whoopie pie at Mabel’s?”

“We’d love to.” I glanced at Phil, who nodded, then back to Klinger. “But you said they only make them on Tuesdays.”

“Is today not Tuesday?” Klinger asked rubbing at his stubbly chin, a look of deep concentration on his face.

“It’s Sunday,” I filled in.

“Well shit. The diner is closed on Sunday.” He sighed with great drama.

Well shit was right. “Is there anywhere else close by where we could get something to eat?”

“There’s a Handy Dandy Gas-n-Get about three miles east. They got them breakfast pizzas that are pretty good.”

“It’s nearly night,” I gently pointed out.

“Oh, well shit. No pizza for us. Guess we’ll have to make do with chips and jerky sticks.” Klinger stared up at Phil. “Big boy, that one. Best get him two jerky sticks.”

That made me smile. “We’ll do that. And we’ll bring you back something as well. So, the key?”

“Oh, I’ll have to call Bertram. He’s a locksmith. Just don’t leave any jewels or valuables lying around until he gets here. Probably tomorrow afternoon.”

“Super.” I sighed.

“Thanks for the kindness. If I’m not here at the desk valeting, I’ll be back in my room watching porn.” Phil choked on some spit. With our help, Klinger rose and placed his cap back on his head. “When you pass the old campgrounds, just keep going on past. I know you kids like playgrounds and such, but that place ain’t safe. Used to be a counselor out at Minnow Mingle in the seventies. Had to close down one summer when kids come up missing. Oh, and there’s a bunch of geese that make the lake their home. One near ate the ass right off Goober Miles’ pants last summer when he was out there fishing. Wonder whatever happened to old Goober?”

Klinger left us there gobsmacked with that info. The door to the back room closed in our faces. A moment later, feminine moans could be heard leaching through the thin door. We left. Quickly. Once outside, we skidded to a halt. Phil looked pale as vanilla custard as he gaped at me.