Michael pulled his neon orange shirt and dark blue jeans off the towel rack. The hotel shower wasn't an excellent wash machine alternative, the complimentary shampoo wasn't a great detergent alternative, but it got rid of the stench. He pulled the shirt over his head and slid the pants over his legs. The socks he pulled off the air conditioner were still damp and squished with each step. Michael walked to the door and turned to look at the alarm clock: two minutes early. After what seemed like an hour, the clock ticked to 10:06 am. He pulled the door open and immediately locked it behind himself.
"Good morning, buddy," Stuart said as he locked his own door.
The pair jogged down the stairs. "Good morning Redrick," Stuart said without looking as they turned to the door.
"You are the strangest guests I've ever hosted." The concierge responded as the hotel door shut behind them.
They scanned the street. A couple was walking on the far side. Thank goodness. People were good; it was empty streets they’d grown to fear.
They strolled side by side as the couple turned to stare at the odd pair in the neon shirts. Stuart gave them a nod as they passed and let out a "Howdy partner."
The shirts had been a problem. In this small town, everyone wore plaid. They felt like sightseeing attractions. Everyone turned to look. With everyone watching you, it's hard to figure out which individual was watching you because they wanted to kill you.
They approached the Chase County Courthouse and turned left onto Pearl Street. The same man they saw every day was outside his house, watering his lawn. Stuart waved as he always did, and the man stared back.
"Good morning Clifford!" Stuart yelled. It was their fourteenth day in Kansas, and the man had never answered. They had no idea what his name was, but Stuart found amusement in how much the man seemed to hate him. They continued down the street and made a right on Walnut, the city's only two-lane road.
They walked in the grass beside the road. Three workers at the auto repair shop stopped working to stare at them.
"I think they're starting to like us here." Stuart joked.
At the intersection, they crossed the street and made their way through the tiny parking lot. The bell to the Dollar General dinged as they stepped through the door. The old lady and store’s lone cashier, turned and smiled.
"Stuart, my handsome boy, how are you doing?"
Stuart grinned widely. "Mrs. Weatherly, have you lost weight?"
Michael had thought the comment was inappropriate considering the lady was overweight, but Mrs. Weatherly smiled every time Stuart said it.
"Stop it. You're just flattering me for a discount."
"Ten cents for a pack of Ramen has really been busting my wallet, think I can get them for six?"
The two laughed at the counter as Michael quickly made his way around the shop. His route had become muscle memory. Aisle two for milk. Aisle three for stale bread.
As he turned down aisle seven for tuna, he collided with a man. The man was short and skinny with evil beady eyes. He looked at Michael and squinted.
"I'm sorry, sir," Michael said and continued past him.
"I'm going to kill you and your friend." He heard the man mumble just loud enough for Michael to hear.
Michael quickly turned down the next aisle and hustled to back to the counter, leaving his basket and all the items on a shelf.
"We have to go." He grabbed Stuart's arm.
"But Mrs. Weatherly was just telling me about how she lost that tooth."
Mrs. Weatherly opened her mouth wide and pointed to one of her missing canines.
Michael pulled Stuart to the door. The bell rang again as it slammed shut behind them. "We need to go now. The guy's in there."
"What guy?" Then suddenly, it clicked. After fourteen days, Stuart had become comfortable, forgetting the reason they were in the godforsaken town, to begin with.
They took off in a jog, back up Walnut passing the garage. The pale white mechanic stared. Then they turned left onto Pearl, where Stuart couldn't help himself and yelled, "Good afternoon, Clifford!" to the man who stared back blankly.
They quickly made their way up Broadway and into the hotel. Redrick gave them a strange glance as they hustled up the stairs but promptly went back to reading. He was glad Stuart hadn't stopped to try to make terrible conversation as he typically did.
"So he said, 'I'm going to kill you'?" Stuart said, pacing in Michael's room.
"He said he was going to kill both of us." Michael clarified. "I didn't see a weapon on him, but wasn't going to take the chance."
"Ok, that's good. Small and skinny is good too. Unless I'm trying to hit him with a precision shot, then tall and fat would be better, but we don't have a rifle, so it's good." Stuart continued rambling. “Do you actually think it’s him? I mean what type of hitman just tells you that he’s going to kill you?”
"I don’t know, but it’s the only things we’ve seen since we’ve been here. It’s got to be him.” Michael interjected. "We have enough food to survive a few days.Tonight, let's search the hotel for a weapon. Redrick's probably got a shotgun stowed someplace, right?"
"We searched searched it before and didn’t find anything," Stuart replied.
"We scanned it before and gave up. Redrick was up so we couldn’t look thoroughly. Let's split shifts sitting outside our door, listening for him to leave. He has to sleep at some point." Michael suggested. Stuart nodded in agreement. “I’ll take the first two hours. Once he’s gone, we’ll search this place up and down.”
“What if he comes to the hotel before we find a gun?” Stuart asked.
“Well,” Michael started, “I’ll probably get shot.”