Chapter Two

Gus dropped his keys as he tried to lock the flimsy door to his motel room from the outside, and cursed a little under his breath as he did so. Jocelyn didn't like it went he cussed and let him know it when she heard him. But Jocelyn wasn't here with him this morning to see his less than optimum condition. Maybe she would give him a one-time pass and cut him a break that he really didn't want to ask for. Did motel rooms like this still have physical keys everywhere? This one hadn't made the technology leap to digital key cards yet, and may never. This key had probably been on this large diamond shaped plastic tag that read 132 since he had stayed here as a kid. He was thinking about how old the key might be when it snapped off in the lock.

The office was his next stop then. He looked right at the construction workers next door that seemed to be letting up on the noise a bit, and then turned and headed left down to the office with the "Vacancy" sign half-working. Sam Patel, the owner, was rustling around behind an extremely cluttered counter. Pillows and comforters and unopened cans of paint filled the space where guests might sit at hotels he was used to. The transient clientele of the Coal Miner's Motel was apparently a forgiving lot if the weekly rate was low enough. Sam's wife came out and served him a bit of lunch from the kitchen just behind the desk. Did they live back there in the room off of the office, he wondered?

"Good morning, Mr. K. Have you had lunch yet? We have a bit extra, I think."

"Ah, you remember my name!", Gus said with a smile. "How do you do that? I just checked in Thursday and I haven't been around here all that much."

"I try to learn all of my weekly rate guests. Are you staying just one week with us? We would be glad to have you for longer."
"One week is the plan. I have some time off and some work to do. Depending on how all of that goes, I may not even stay the whole week. Can we pro-rate the weekly charge if I leave earlier?"

"Ah, Gus - may I call you Gus? - I wish that I could do that for you. ButI gave you the good rate for each day based on a weekly stay. If you leave early I will have charged you too little. You understand."

"I guess. Yeah, I do understand. I guess that I paid the full amount on my card when I signed in, so I guess that's that. We'll see how the week goes."

"I do have a problem, though." Gus slid the broken key tag across the counter. "I'm afraid this was a little brittle and it snapped off in the lock. Can you get a locksmith over to fix it on a Saturday? That's got to be expensive."

"I won't need a locksmith. I have an extra lock around here somewhere and my son Venkat can change it out while you're gone for lunch. Just stop in here and I'll have a new key for you."

"Will do. Say, do you know if that construction crew next door there is going to be working all day? They are kind of loud and I may need a nap this afternoon."

"You'll have to ask them. They're a good bunch of guys. Some of them are staying here with you. They are on a monthly rate. Good customers!"

Gus agreed to pay an additional fee to replace the door lock on his room and headed back down the row of red doors to his car. His head was starting to feel a little better out here in the sunshine and the noise seemed to be abating somewhat for now. He turned his thoughts back to fast food and a problem that he wasn't quite sure how to solve over at the empty house on Buena Vista Street. He wasn't that good with his hands around he house and didn't have to be with his sales job. But, every now and then he wished he could fix some plumbing or do something with dry wall without having to hire it out. It seemed like something a guy should just be able to do. It bothered him that home repair was beyond him, but it didn't bother him enough to learn how. Maybe if he volunteered more on the maintenance tasks at the church he could pick some of those skills up. There was a time in his life when he was much more active at the church, but....well....well, he didn't want to think about that today. Just get lunch. But where?

"Gus? Hey man, what are you doing staying here?"

Gus looked around and saw one of the white pickup trucks with the large logo for Robert Johnson Construction that were ubiquitous around town pulling up behind his car. He had seen it earlier at the building project next door. The last thing he wanted to do today was talk to anyone who might recognize his hangover condition. No, check that. That last thing he wanted to do was to talk to anyone from his church in this condition.

"Oh, hi Carlo. Good to see you. Sorry I didn't see you there. Are you working there next door?"

"Yeah, I'm a team lead. I run a crew for the big boss. We're knocking off for the day, though."

"That's good to hear. That hammering was cutting right through my brain earlier. Yikes."

"Gus, buddy, I hate to say this to you but you look like hammered death. Are you okay? Can I give you a ride somewhere? I'm not sure you should be driving."

"I look that bad? Yeah, I had a tough night. I'm not feeling particularly proud of that at the moment. Don't tell anybody that you saw me like this, okay?"

"Sure. No problem with me. Hey jump in. I'm heading to a diner for lunch. Go with me. My treat."

"Carlo, thanks for the offer, but..."

"Man, just get in the truck. I'm making you a good offer. Let's catch up. It's been a while."

Gus hesitated, unsure of what the right answer here was. He was headed for lunch anyway. It was a basic social interaction that he would have initiated if he was in his sales mode. But he wasn't in that mode this week, and this lunch offer had some strong potential for being uncomfortable. He had seen Carlo around church almost weekly, but hadn't made much of an effort to be all that friendly. They said hi in the hallways in an “I'm okay, you're okay” mode that was easy to get into on a Sunday morning. It was simpler that way. He had been holding almost everyone at arm's length for...well, for a long time now. Even before the accident, now that he thought about it. Dear God, he didn't want to think about it.

Carlo had gotten out and come around the truck and was opening the passenger door for Gus, making the decision for him. He grabbed a long black canvas bag off of the front seat and threw it in the workspace behind the seats. It landed with a loud thunk.

“Work tools? That bag looks heavy, Carlo.”

“Not quite. It's my bugout bag. Do you have one for you.”

“What's a bugout bag?”

“You know. Bugout. Some people call it a SHTF bag, for when stuff hits the fan and you might need to get out of town.”

“I have an emergency kit, sure”, Gus said. “I learned to have one back when I served in the Air Force up in Alaska. It's got a lot in it, I think. More than most people have in their car here in Illinois. But, man it's not that big or heavy. What all do you have in there.”

“Not important, Gus. Let's go get some grub. Is the diner on the southside okay?”

Gus nodded to acknowledge his question as he slid into the passenger seat. Whatever. Now he was thinking about the accident, and he wasn't okay.