The jet landed on a dirt airstrip that branched off the northeast corner of the small city. Instead of an airport, there was a house. Nobody met them as they stepped off the plane into the sticky summer heat. The area around the airstrip was flat except a large cornfield off in the distance lined with a small grove of trees.
The three made their way towards the house. As they approached the house, the jet sped down the strip behind them and took off into the sky, leaving them stranded.
"This is ridiculous," Stuart complained, gesturing to his over-sized neon green shirt. "I look like a Sir Isaac Lime otter pop." Michael was sporting his own bright orange shirt that was two sizes too large.
Christine ignored them as she walked up the porch of the two-story house and rang the doorbell. A man in a sweat-stained off-white tank-top opened the door. She handed him a brown paper bag. He gave Michael and Stuart a questioning look before handing Christine a key, then turned and disappeared into the house.
Michael and Stuart followed Christine off the porch to the garage. As the garage door lifted, they could see the man pulling the string from the inside. Once the door was open, he turned and left again.
There were two cars inside the garage. An old beat-up pickup truck and a small black Lexus that looked as if it'd come off the lot the day before. Christine climbed into the Lexus.
They drove North on Airport Road and stayed straight as it changed to Cedar. The neighborhood was quaint and quiet. There were no sidewalks, just yards that disappeared into the poorly paved street. The houses were old, and the cars on the lawns even older. Old Chevy's seemed to be a reoccurring theme throughout the flat town.
They made a ninety-degree turn right, then a ninety-degree left. As the car turned onto Broadway, the road changed from old dusty pavement to dusty red brick.
Broadway had an old-time USA feel. Small stand-alone shops lined the streets in a row of connected buildings. A couple was walking a dog without a leash and turned to observe the car as it slowly rolled past them. The man lowered his glasses and pulled the cigarette from his lips for a better look at who might be driving the fancy car.
At the end of the street, Christine pulled into a slanted parking in front of the last of the connected shops. A sign hung above the door that read, “Grand Central Hotel and Grill.”
"This is where we part," Christine said, keeping the car’s engine running. "They have the reservations inside." She said, turning to face Michael and Stuart in the back seat. "Take this." She reached out a card to them. "Forty dollars will be transferred into this account every day."
Stuart took the card. "Thanks, Christine, you're the best." He rolled his eyes, "Once Michael's dead, how do I contact you?"
Christine ignored him. "If Gary's close you have the button, just be smart."
Michael and Stuart climbed from the car and entered the small two-story hotel. There was a dining area to the right set up with fifteen small tables. The color scheme was beige, navy, burgundy, and yellow. A set of large steer-horns was mounted to the back wall.
"May I help you?" the concierge asked from a tiny counter to the left of the dining area. He was an older man with a long black and gray speckled mustache. He wore a red and black plaid button-up. His hat hung on a hook to the left of his workspace. He had large thick glasses that made his eyes look twice as big as they were.
"Yessir," Stuart answered, "I believe we have a reservation here for Michael Robinson."
"Yes." The man responded, "Two single rooms is that correct?"
The man pulled out two keys and slid them across the counter. "They're both upstairs, rooms 5 and 6, just follow the stairs located down that hallway. Do you need any help getting your bags from the car?"
"We don't have any luggage," Michael responded.
The man looked them up and down, "You're going to be wearing that for a month?" He watched Michael and Stuart look at each other, but neither responded. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you," Stuart said, grabbing the keys.
They walked around the tables. Each one had a set of utensils and a tri-folded navy napkin. Stuart wondered how long they'd been sitting there and at what point you have to rewash non-used forks.
They found their rooms immediately up the staircase to the right.
"Let's plan to meet at 8:00 am tomorrow, ok?" Stuart stated.
"Sounds good," Michael stated.
"You've been in a bit of a mood recently. You're a grown man, what would Victor think?" Stuart laughed at his own joke, then turned, entered his room, and closed the door behind himself.
Michael entered his own room and found it charming, roomy, and decorated with an old Western theme. He climbed onto the queen size bed and watched the ceiling fan spin.
Someone in this town had his name. Someone in this town was looking for him. Had the hitman already seen him? He doubted it.
Michael had a lot of uncertainties but knew one thing was certain; a one-month reservation meant the company was going to leave him here until something happened.