Credit Risk

The man looked nervously from left to right before hurriedly fitting the key to the locked door. Once safely inside he secured the door behind him. He quickly crossed the few steps to the bed and dropped the cloth shopping bag on the discolored spread.

He then turned and walked toward the window and carefully parted the curtains. Spreading the bent metal slats apart with his fingers, he peered outside.

The parking lot was empty, which gave him a clear, unobstructed view. From his vantage point he recognized the distinctive distorted shadow of the huge, silo-like sign. Its tall, half-tilt diamond-shaped marquee was unlit. The wet, mirrored surface reflected the dreary, overcast sky.

The man's watchful eyes moved left and right, searching both sides of the empty parking lot. He tensed as movement in the  near distance caught his eye. But relaxed when  a squirrel quickly scurried out from under the hedges and scampered up a tree. While watching the antics of the rodent he noticed  the white picket-like fence surrounding the deserted pool glistened with raindrops from the  recent  shower.

He saw nothing out of the ordinary, so released the slats and straightened the curtains. He pulled the curtain's threadbare edges till they overlapped. Satisfied no spying eyes could see inside, he turned and picked up his discarded sack,  putting its contents away.

"Were you followed?" she asked.

Rising, he turned to face his wife. She stood in the doorway of a steam-filled bathroom. Despite the long shower her full face showed signs of stress. The anxiety was visible in her tired green eyes.

"I don't think so," he answered. " I took the side streets and alleyways. On the main street, I used the reflections in the window to watch for suspicious movement. I didn't spot anyone following me."

"You never see them," she said.

After speaking, she wrapped a towel turban-like over her wet dark hair. Then she secured the loose flap of the large towel that covered her exposed breasts.

The man walked toward the small round table in the corner of the room.   Grabbing the handle, he picked up the battered suitcase. He toted it a few feet before setting it upon the dresser's top. He unzipped it, and laid it's two sides apart. He gripped the drawer's knobs, jerked it open and began to put his clothes inside.

"I  took every precaution" he said. "We're registered under fake names. I paid for the room in cash,..cost me more. But, the desk manager finally agreed."

"There's no paper trail-"

He grunted with frustration, wrestling with a stuck drawer. Free, he slammed it shut with a solid thunk.

"There's no way anyone could track us here. This sleazy motel is the last place they'd suspect," he said.

"Bill and Samantha tried to run," she replied. "No one has heard a word from them."

"Who's that?" he asked.

Head bowed, she dried her hair vigorously with a large towel.  Muffled by the towel, her voice sounded distant, hollow.

"You know Bill and Sam," she said. "We invited them to dinner, he was balding. Samantha was in my bridge club."

Standing erect, she freed her face from the confines of the towel. She fluffed up her still- damp hair.

"I still don't recall them," he said.

She snatched a hairbrush from the vanity and combed her hair. Holding the brush, she sighed. "Short woman, with red hair. She wore cheap perfume. You said it gave you a headache,"