Sunday, July 9, 2017

Stepping into the morgue felt to Sadie like stepping into a refrigerator. She immediately got the chills and shuddered. She knew that the shuddering was only partly caused by the temperature in the room. This is so creepy. She thought.
With Hank beside her she felt somewhat safe but that didn’t stop images of zombies and putrid flesh from entering her thoughts. When they entered the room of corpses, Hank flicked on the light and a series of neon fluorescents came on one by one. A low humming filled the room. Sadie noticed some of the lights flickered and immediately thought of the outdoor mosquito traps that David used to have during the summer months. The sound of that popping used to keep her up at night. Now we’re the fly. She thought dismally.
“Can we get this over with ASAP?” She groaned.
Hank stood at the morgue drawers, his brow furled. “ASAP.” He answered.
He pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed hold of the tray. Slowly, he pulled out the body of Jesus Christ. The body was covered in a shroud. Sadie couldn’t tell whether it was plastic or linen but she wondered vaguely if an imprint would be left on the material.
Hank closed his eyes and frowned. His wan complexion featureless like a mask. He appeared to be either on the verge of being sick or crying. Sadie couldn’t tell which. Did he believe? She thought. Was he one of the true Christians who lost their faith when the gods fell?  She hadn’t seen him wearing a cross but that didn’t mean he wasn’t Christian. Is he mourning his god right now?
Sadie took a step closer and put her head down. Hank stoically pulled back the shroud uncovering the head and shoulders and stepped back. “I know this is hard.” He said as if to himself. “It’ll just be a moment. Is this the man you saw?”
Sadie forced her eyes down, her mind retreating. She focused only on the details of the face. The Sadie that had been at the Basement last week was pulled deep into the recesses of her consciousness. That Sadie was locked safely away in her room. She was asleep and comfortable. This Sadie stared down at the face of a beautiful man. Deep set eyes and cheekbones cut like marble. He appeared to be sleeping and Sadie half expected to see his eyelids flutter. Dark skin and brushed hair made him statuesque. He looked nothing at all like the images found in art through the centuries. To Sadie, he looked more real and a bit mangy.
As she gazed down, memories of that night surfaced like a buoy on a stormy night. She flailed around subject to the whims of the wind and water. Her mind ached when she thought of his face as he fell. The look of surprise and resignation. “That’s him.” She muttered.
As she stood idly wondering how cold that table must feel on the body, she noticed that Hank was no longer beside her. On the other side of the room, he was bent over a pile of papers.
“What are you doing?” She asked. Hank glanced at her distracted. “What? Oh, I’m checking the log. Looking for something.”
She joined him frowning. “What are you looking for?”
He pushed the papers toward her. “An abrasion ring.”
Her eyes widened and she gestured for him to explain. “It’s a black ring burnt onto the body by gunpowder. It tells us whether the weapon was touching the body. In other words,-”
“Whether the shooter was at a distance or fired from point blank range.” Sadie finished.
He nodded. “Yeah. For somebody to get that close that fast, it’s possible it was somebody in his entourage; maybe somebody he knew.”
Sadie shook her head. “Or somebody who’s small and can move fast in crowded areas.”
Sadie stopped. A sudden anger rising within her. As she looked at Hank she could feel her kettle whistling. Her heart racing, she pointed at Hank’s face. “You’re an asshole!” Hank took a step back. “You didn’t need me to identify the body. You brought me here to see my reaction! So I’m a suspect!” She screamed.
Hank reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Everybody that was there is a suspect. You can’t blame me for entertaining the possibility.” Her eyes like molten fire, Sadie brushed his hand away from her. “You’re sick.” She said menacingly. “Take me home.”

Neither spoke as they walked outside and into a setting sun. Sadie thumbed the necklace that dangled from her neck. But she would not speak. On the freeway, Hank glanced over at her a few times but didn’t see the bloodshot eyes that stared numbly out the window. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt wounded.

Friday, June 9, 2017

Set awoke with a mouth full of dirt. Lying in the deep cool earth, he wriggled his body like an earthworm, trying to gain purchase. His eyes fluttering, he knew he was buried and tried to close his mouth. Working his fingers, he gripped the moist earth.
How had this happened? Had his brother finally sought recompense? He felt himself breathing and stayed very still. An unfamiliar sensation flooded into him. Yes. He inspected each of the curious attributes his body was exhibiting. He felt debris fall on his chest as he clawed above, towards the sounds.  
He had known Horus to have heka but this was beyond even him. Time and again he had battled his nephew but never seen anything like this. What have you done dear brother? He thought. How clever to inter.
He thought of the dry sheets of sand and his beloved Aur. He thought of home, the cool air and columns ringed in fire and turquoise. Even the pharaoh knew better than to curse his name! How little the living really perceived. Every step they took on kemet was him. I am the black land!
Set rolled onto his shoulder and struck upwards. He could feel cool air above. Under his breath, he began repeating the phrase across his tongue.  Long articulating sounds of K…..M…..T.
It was right that he should be buried. Into the terra was fitting. Set freed a knee and began sifting the dirt near his legs. The sounds now brighter, more urgent. Submerge me in my kemet but I will rise dear brother! He felt a breeze and moved his palms, feeling the morning dew.
Set shivered, balled up his other fist. He made punching motions until both his arms were freed from the ground. His fingers now talons, he struck at the earth in long, raking motions. He could sense the dull sounds that awaited above and fought until his head was exposed. Now and then, he would feel the vibrating echoes of a rat or snake as it sauntered past.
Set climbed from the ground and collapsed on his back. Dirt in his eyes, he rubbed at them. Muddy coughs erupted in his chest and it felt like fire. He saw gravestones around him and knew he was in a place used for mortuary practice. He looked at his own gravestone. A dilapidated slab of stone. It looked ready to crumble at any moment.
He pulled his legs out of the ground, his body lurched, as he climbed to his feet. An avenue lay before him. A series of street lamps elucidated the barren road. Recent rain glistened on the concrete giving it a sheen.
One of the lamps blinked twice then went out.
A portent? His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked down at his body. A wiry frame, long arms and legs. He would be suitable for the games in this vessel. Dark skin glossy in the moonlight, the Descendant stared down at his wet clothing caked in dirt and wondered if he had, in fact, died.
But there were no indications that he had passed on. Certainly Anubis would have come to shepherd him to the weighing if he had expired. He heard a dog barking and swallowed hard. His heart pumping, the god waited a few beats.
Nothing.   
Something rustled behind him. A man stumbled out of the brush and stopped. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Set considered the man. He wore a dark suit with shiny boots. A bulbous hat rested on his head. He had thin features not unlike himself and a face that quickly gave way to shock or disbelief.
“Hey mister, did you just climb outta that grave right there?”
Set glanced at the disturbed earth. “Just so.”
“Are you dead then?”
That is the question. Set thought.
The man took out a flask from his left inside jacket pocket and handed it to him.
“Are you not having any?” Set asked.
“Mister, you look to need it more than I do.”
Set took a long pull, clearing any remaining dirt from his throat. He considered the man’s query.
“Couldn’t be.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve seen alot of strange shit in this city. Can’t say I ever seen a man crawl up from a new grave though.”
Set stepped back and regarded him. I can’t be the only one. He thought.
“Where are your priests?” He asked.
“Like Catholic?”
“Temple priests. Where is Heka?”
“Who? I don’t know any hecha. I don’t speak spanish. But there are Catholics, Jews, Buddhists all around the city.I’ll show you where they are. Gimme five dollars. I’m a tour guide.Give me five dollars and I’ll take you to hecha.”
Set didn’t respond.
“You sure you ain’t undead?”

He made to leave and that’s when the stone came down cracking into his skull. The man crumpled. Set dragged him behind a tree, when he was sure he hadn’t been detected, he stepped back and put the bulbous hat on his head. It fit perfectly.

Sunday, April 16, 2017


“Do you know why we’re talking today?” Dr. Clarke Sevier asked over round, rimmed glasses that frequently slid down her nose. A shrug. The criminal forensic psychiatrist folded her thin arms and nodded. Speaking with deliberate caution, she allowed herself a short time to settle in with a subject before attempting to access parts of the mind that could be volatile. The patient in the chair opposite sat calm and relaxed. But she knew appearances could be devastatingly deceptive. Sevier held the silence. She had not expected much out of this first meeting but an opening foray. A chance to assess the immediate behavior of the patient. She noted the way the patient stared at her face. Blinking her green eyes, she looked down at her notepad. The notepad served a few purposes. It provided a written record of impressions not picked up by the camera on the wall, it allowed for short pauses to better steer the conversation and it was a place she could turn to if the patient needed a break. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?” Sevier asked. The patient’s features conveyed a supple youthness in the smooth lineless face and quizzical eyes. A small fan hummed in the corner and she glanced at it. “Are you cold?” Without looking up, the patient shrugged again. “We’re here because of what happened. Do you remember what happened?” “I remember all of it.” The patient said while looking over Sevier’s head and outside at the city. “Good. We can start there.” There was something almost soothing in the patient’s casual tone and only a detailed record of the violence enacted put down Sevier’s immediate relaxation. It was partly due to the bloody photographs New Los Angeles police had sent as part of the case file. The crimes had been horrific. As if the very act of killing had been some holy hobby. She smiled and clasped her hands in front of her. When the patient did not respond, Sevier asked: “How were you feeling before all this happened?” Was there certain stresses as you acclimated here?” She had participated in many interviews with refugees and immigrants from other countries but this was something entirely different. The Descendents hadn’t fled some war torn country or come here to seek a better life. They had ‘woke up’ here. Gods without grace. Very little was known about exactly how many reside within the city limits or perhaps more importantly, why they vacated the Heavens. The trouble was they appear as human as anybody else. The only way to tell is by small residual miracles or moments of bewildered ecstasy when they’re around. For the most part they stayed in hiding. “I felt fine before it all happened. I felt fine as it was happening too.” Was this a testing moment?To see how she’d react. “So you’re current symptoms did not occur prior to the episode.” “No they did not.” “I was under the impression that you came from outside the city.” Sevier said. The patient scowled. “You mean originally? Yes, in that case I’m not originally from ‘here’.” “And the symptoms did not occur immediately but progressed after?” The patient reflected on Sevier’s query. “Yes, that’s right.” Looking at the deity in front of her, Sevier felt chills rise on her arms. She had established a line of communication. The Descendent would answer her questions. But there was something eerie indeed frightening about getting into the mind of one of these beings. What if she was given some prescient knowledge of her own death or that of mankind? As far as she knew, this was an unprecedented event. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The patient stared into ther eyes. “The symptoms began shortly after I arrived. There were periods where I would feel normal and there were moments when I didn’t. And that’s when I- when the events occurred.” Sevier hesitated. “Do you still experience the symptoms now? After the fact?” The patient shivered. “Yes, sometimes.” Sevier glanced down at her notebook. The light from outside her window making a streak across the paper. She could sense that the patient was watching her but felt at ease enough to pause throughout the session. This was all new information. Her initial reactions needed to be preserved. In the notebook, she wrote: Patient is lucid. Willing to talk. No sign of impairment. Remarkable. “So your illness came on shortly before the Basement attack?” The patient nodded. “About then, yes.” Sevier felt queasy. She had read the entire police report and knew the Basement murder had been the third homicide in a string of at least six. Why lie now? She put down the pen and smiled. “I think we can stop there today.”

Sunday, March 26, 2017


Hank’s face reddened when he realized he’d been unabashedly gawking at Sadie and Freya as the float passed him by. Pulling himself out of what seemed like a dream, he jumped onto the float and was met with a delighted Sadie. He’d never caught her joyous and felt ashamed. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that she’d been attacked but his ruse at the morgue had been a low blow. He wanted to offer something, anything as a peace offering but could only shake his head stupidly. Sadie smiled warmly. “It’s OK. I forgive you Hank.” Hank nodded. “Very carnivalesque Sadie.”
“I’m feeling very festive, yes.”
“You look better.”
“Gettin. Surprised to find you here. Or maybe not. Must be strange given your...hobby.”
Hank recoiled as if she’d struck him. For a moment, he wondered if she referred to his taking sometimes lewd pictures for clients.
“Yeah, well I don’t miss a Carnivale. Did you know that aside from the encouraging unacceptable behavior, Carnivale was meant to bring unlikely people together?”
Sadie sized him up.
“What are you getting at?”
“Oh not that.” He replied. “Just that good and bad, heaven and hell, and perhaps mortal and immortal. Seems it worked.” He nodded towards Freya. Freya noticed that their eyes were on her and stopped dancing.
“She’s with me.” Sadie murmured.
“Of course she is.” Hank replied. “So I thought you should know...we caught one.”
Sadie looked away. “The young woman?”
“We think so. She matched the description that you and Eli provided. But no rain slick.”
Sadie’s eyes drifted up towards the cloudless sky. “How do you know it’s her? Did she say anything?”
“Not much. Just sits there and stares in front of her.”
“Then how do you know?” She exclaimed with a trace of urgency.
“Because she asked for you. She said to bring her the carcass.”
Sadie flinched. Her mind flashing back to that night. She could still hear the puppy whimpering and that horrible whisper.
“Wh-what?”
“She says she wants to see you.”
“What about Eli? Did she ask for him too?”
Hank shook his head. “Not as of yet. But then again, ****no spoilers******
The jab had its desired effect. Sadie shrunk and started rubbing her hands. Hank continued. “ I think it might be a good idea. It won’t take long. Just go in there and we’ll be watching the whole time. She can’t hurt you. She’ll be shackled.”
“Sure asshole. Have you forgotten there’s one more? And what do I do when I get home and little sis is waiting for me?”
“I will personally ensure your safety. I don’t sleep these days. I can watch over your apartment myself.”
“I’m not reassured.”
“Nope.” Freya chimed in.
“It’s important Sadie.”

She took out her phone. As she texted Eli’s number, she wondered how she was going to explain this when they got face to face.   

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Dionysus gave only slight regard to the murmurings around him. City Hall was a small building, its hallways cramped. Outside, a small conclave of curious passersby stood in silent vigil, all wondering if or when a mysterious Descendant would come to register. There had been a myriad of hoaxes. Today’s venture had included at least one that Dionysus had witnessed. A man claiming to be Zeus was indelicately expelled when his fingerprints proved him to be not only human born but wanted in several states for fraud. No doubt any fingerprints at all would yield a similar result. Dionysus knew that Descended did not, in fact, have fingerprints. Their fingers were smooth and bare. Silenus assumed it was a peculiar byproduct of having Descended. Dionysus had to agree.
“Just look at the hands.” Silenus explained. “They’ll be smooth as porcelain and featureless.” Featureless. Dionysus wished he could be so inconspicuous. Putting aside his misgivings, he approached a government officer.
“I’ve come to register.” Dionysus said.
“Oh really? Which one are you?” The officer replied without looking up from his desk.
I see. They’re in disbelief. Has nobody came?
Dionysus stooped and laid his bare palms in front of the man’s nose. Beneath the desk, Dionysus heard the man’s knee strike wood as he jumped to his feet. “Come with me.” He said in a mixture of fear and awe.
In another room, a vintage camera took a series of pictures. Dionysus smelled the jarring odors of disinfectants and bleach. The smell put his mind on sterilization which led it inevitably to Sadie.
She doesn’t stand a chance if one us is hunting her.  
Dionysus was led to another room and then another. He had his suspicions about the registry. He knew the process wasn’t for his benefit. But he also knew his memories and insights were of value. But to whom? What possible discernment could I provide in this place? That would be the jurisdiction of Apollo or Dike.
As he stepped into the foyer, onlookers filled the room. Word had gotten out that a Descendant had came. Dionysus missed his footing and grabbed onto the security officer for support. The man’s shoulders tightened and he instinctively pulled away. Dionysus quietly scanned the room. He did not know whether he was terrified or relieved that he didn’t recognize any of their faces.
“Will you be needing a ride home?” The officer asked.
“Yes as soon as possible.” Dionysus said.
The man nodded and walked back the way they’d came. “Wait here.” Dionysus turned and faced the wall. Voices called out for him to say something., cameras began clicking. He put his hood up and peered at a corner television displaying ‘breaking news’ at New Los Angeles City Hall. Dionysus shuddered and retreated further into the corner. A voice echoed from his side. “Perhaps it’s best if you didn’t cajole your heritage.” The speaker, moved deftly facing him. “I promised nothing.” Dionysus shot back.
“Conceded then.” The man responded. Dionysus looked up into dark, flaring eyes. Of African descent, the man wore a bulbous hat over short cropped hair. A thin frame, his arms seemed too long for his body making the suit he wore appear ill fitted. He leaned close to Dionysus’ ear: “You shouldn’t have come here.”
Dionysus studied the stranger. “You’re one of us. You’re an Other.”
“I am only Seth.” The man said.
“Ah, yes. I know that name. You’re far from home Egyptian.” Dionysus stared at the man. There was no way to be sure without checking his hands. Seth smiled and put his hands in his pockets.
“You error in speaking to me Greek. You must never recognize another of us. Do you offer fealty?”
“Fealty?”
“If the Greek man has usurped the god that it  once was, you may offer allegiance to Egypt and she’ll have you.”
“You have not told me why you’re here.”
“Asylum then? We can hide you from Apollonian dissent or his twin.”
“I think not.”
“Ah right, you have chosen asylum with them.” He nodded toward the crowd that stood fidgeting a few feet away separated by a small barrier.
Seth pursed his lips and took off his bulbous hat.
“You speak to me like a Man when our kind should be in shadows…”
Dionysus brushed his hair back from his face. “Yet you’re here. Registering. If we should be invisible to them, why are you here Seth?”
“Ahhhhhh that.” Seth sneered. “I gave my word to an...associate.”
Dionysus felt a twinge in his temple. Descendant logic was a peculiar thing. Motives were at play. But which ones? Part of him wanted to know whom the mysterious associate was. The other part didn’t care and simply wanted to strike at the Egyptian.
“You’ve put a target on your back. They’ll never see you. And you’ll never be free of them. How do you like your new migrant status?”
“As opposed to what? A status of senility in your shadows?
“It was us! The gods that inspired them. We gave them fire. We gave them passion!”
“We gave them a reason to kill one another.”
“We gave them the stars and to the stars they went. They looked up and saw us in Nut’s design. In her, they imagined constellations of ideas! And now, the fire is nowhere to be found. No original ideas. Without us, they are impotent. And yet they stay terrified not of us but of what they could become.
“Lost?”
“Irrelevant.”
In this moment, Dionysus envied humanity. Perhaps it was better never having known grace. “Ignorance and bliss.”
“Ah yes. Bliss. The ecstasy of stupidity.”
“No, of salvation.”
“Salvation? What are they being saved from? Evil? Sin?”
“Of suffering. We are their redemption from suffering.”
“No, we are cursed mortals. Nothing else. We are cautionary tales.”
“You speak of hubris. Of pride. Was it not pride that inspired your fratricide? You speak of cautionary tales. Were we not more accurately stories of existence? They learned from our mistakes. They learned from our successes. Our joys and sorrows. Maybe they are learning still.”
“Our lost children.” Seth sneered. “You do know that our children want to devour their creators. You’ve put a target on your back. Your asylum here will end in defeat.”
“I’m just acceding to their wishes. I’m making a go of it. You’re here to see who slithers out of the woodwork.”
Seth shuddered deeply. He swiveled his body and leered out the window. It was an imposing view. One in which he could see the layout of the building. Anybody who entered or exited would be in his line of sight.
“As if anybody will come.”
“It’s a spectacle now. The press is here. But they’ll get bored as time goes on. And they’ll leave. Then ours will come. Pious has offered alms.”
Seth laughed. “Soon there’ll be thousands of us lined up around the block. The Descended will fill the city! I don’t have to tell you what Eleos means in your Greek. Your ‘alms.’”
“Pity.”
“Yes, pity. You see Dionysus, we are the pitiful. But they’ll feed us for life.”
“Our existence no longer depends on them.”
“I wasn’t talking about us.”
Dionysus stared outside at the picket signs and absorbed Seth’s remark. An unspoken appeal to faith? He knew that Seth was dangerous. Maybe the most dangerous of all but couldn’t permit himself the thought that he’d killed the Christian god. Dionysus had read the many stories of the Egyptian god of disorder and storms. Violence was certainly in his disposition. The use of guns seemed an aberration though. He’d use knives. Again his mind was brought to Sadie. The attackers had been knife wielders. He sensed Seth gazing at him and turned his head away. The effort contorted his usually mild mannerisms making it seem like he’d been struck. His eyes fell on Seth’s face and the god was expressionless. His face blank as a fearsome mask. Dionysus tried to think. Before he could find the words, Seth leaned in close and whispered: “Yes, my handmaidens nearly got her.”
“Who?” Dionysus squeaked.
The god groaned but recovered quickly. “These things happen. Mortals die. Gods die. And all the heavens are in abeyance.”
“You’re hunting her. Why?”
Seth smiled. The movement made him ghastly. Dionysus felt a tightness in his throat. He forced himself to be calm. The girl was important in some way. He had little doubt that his deduction was correct but important in  what way? What could be so threatening that it brought down the wrath of a god?
Suddenly, claps of thunder peeled outside and Dionysus felt something whiz past his face.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Hank Dolan exited a cab to find himself in the seedy back alleys of No Quarter. Overhead, a generator humming accompanied the buzzing of flies and stench of trash that littered the street. He stepped further in and knew the hostel was a few hundred yards ahead. Ten O’clock. Still early but you never really knew in this part of town.
Would Sadie flee here for refuge? He wondered. **************no spoilers***************** He felt unsure as to whether Sadie had even been there. The thought that she’d at least seek out help from someone she knew weighed heavily on him. Something didn’t add up.
Hank had seen much of No Quarter through the years, negotiated its shady areas and interacted with its inhabitants. It really was a different social ecosystem the further downtown one ventured. The closer one got to Hell in the south-east corner of the district, the rougher it got. At three to five am, no reasonable person would find themselves here unless stupid or desperate. When Pious McNally had built the hostel as part of a large network of retail spaces, it had been the hope that travelling tourists would inspire the city to invest in No Quarter. What actually occurred was a spike in robbery and other violent crime.
Hank paused at the doorway snuffing out a cigarette and loosened the grip on his sidearm. A decayed sign indicating the accommodations rested inert on the door. Ten dollars a night for a bunk and shared bathroom with god know’s who else.
Very unlikely. He thought.
Even on her best day, Sadie had an aversion to public bathrooms. Given her phobias, the likelihood of her sharing a bathroom here was doubtful and sleeping would be out of the question. Still, it was worth a look. He had seen what fear can do to somebody’s normal, everyday behaviors. Often, the pieces of their former self were shattered into tiny bits and left to be swept about in a breeze. If Sadie had come here it was also likely somebody would remember her or her eccentricities at the very least. No Quarter’s natives had a way of remembering the passerby who realized too late that the hostel was maybe not worth saving a few dollars in the budget.
Hank pushed open the door and stepped in. He heard loud chatter and the desk clerk admonish some poor addict. “I said no needles here!” Well this was a piss poor idea. He turned and made his way to the woman careful not to step on anything that might pierce his sneakers. He took out a photograph of Sadie and held it in front of the clerk’s spectacled eyes. Her rosy cheeks and round waist made her seem odd amongst the emaciated, drug-addled occupants that laid curled up and facing the wall on their bunks.
“You seen this girl in the last few days?”
The woman squinted. No doubt she was blind as a bat and the glasses virtually useless. “Can’t say I have.”
“She’d have maybe been here the night before last or yesterday evening.” Hank said.
“Alone?” The clerk stepped from behind the desk and crossed to Hank, her eyes focused on the photograph.
“It’s likely, yes.”
The woman picked up a clipboard and squinted some more. A heavy thumping and somebody yelling could be heard somewhere in the back. Hank stared at the kitchen, expecting someone to burst out with knives at any second.
“One moment.” The clerk said.
Turning around, the woman strode into the kitchen. “What is all this goddamn ruckus!” The violence in her outburst startled Hank, his body tensed ready to run.
“Sorry about that.” She said nonchalantly as she reentered the room. “Can’t let them walk all over you or that’s all they’ll do.” She folded a small switchblade and placed it on the desk. Hank closed his eyes and for a moment entertained the possibility of asking her where she was the night after last. In a low voice, he asked: “She didn’t stay here then?”
“Depends. You got a name?” The clerk said quickly. “We get a lot of one nighters and weekend guests.”
Guests? The woman made it sound like a resort.
“She probably would have skipped the spa and gym and just found a place to sleep.” Hank said drily.
“You are unbecoming sir.” The clerk responded.
“Sadie Fuller.”
The woman bent down until she was nearly touching the paper in front of her. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “No. Nothing under that name.”
Hank heard but his mind was elsewhere. It was likely that Sadie wouldn’t use her real name. She may have even put on one of Freya’s wigs as disguise.
“She would have been wearing gloves.”
“Gloves?”
“Yes, gloves.”
“What sort of gloves? It ain’t snowed here ever.”
“Not the snow kind or the boxing kind. Just gloves. To cover her hands, she doesn’t like germs.”
The clerk frowned. “Well, I don’t know. We see so many…”
Hank stood throughout her whole performance resisting the urge to grab the ledger out of her hand. “She wouldn’t have ordered room service or a movie. Probably just stuck to herself.”
It was the wrong thing to say. The clerk looked up sharply and slammed the clipboard onto the desk. She quickly stood and went to the door.
“I think I’ve answered your questions.”
Hank stepped out and zipped up his jacket. “I won’t be giving this place a four star review.” He muttered.

“I should think not.” She relied curtly.