The girl was a northerner, Walt DuVane knew before she even handed over her ID, he could just tell, always could. She had a troubled, impatient look about her.
Not a tweaker’s impatience, he could smell that, did his best not to rent ‘em rooms.
Attractive girl, she was, looked like the world had beat her down a bit, snatched a little beauty and run off with it like the gremlin they claimed lived in Roster Pond.
Felt bad askin’ her if she was a pro, didn’t usually feel bad ‘bout that.
That was Smirk’s orders.
“Warn ‘em first that it’s an extra charge.”
Girl wasn’t a pro, weren’t expecting no Tinder date, nothing.
She wasn’t on vacation, whatever she was doing.
Walt was tired, wanted a drink. Girl probably did too.
She’d be happy when he told her that the Coke machine at the Rocky Valley Motor Lodge could provide that for her.
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