Free Desperate Measures by David R. Morrell Page B

with increased dread when it occurred to him that without a way to keep his bearings, he might wander in a circle until his pursuers came upon him. Immediately, in the distance to his left, he saw moving lights, but not those on the carts. These were larger, brighter. Their beams probed deeper through the rain. The headlights of a car, or maybe a truck. They moved parallel to him, then disappeared.
    A road.
    "Car trouble."
    "Man, look at you shiver," the motel clerk said. "Got soaked finding a pay phone to call a tow truck. The garage says my car won't be ready till the afternoon. I need a place to get dry." guess you're not from around here." The clerk was paunchy, in his forties. He had thick red beard stubble and strained features from working all night.
    Pittman shook his head. "I'm on the road a lot, selling college textbooks. Left New Haven last night for a meeting in New York."
    "Looks like you're not going to make it."
    "I didn't have to be at the meeting till Monday. Figured I'd spend the weekend having a good time. Shit. "
    Pittman gave the clerk his credit card and filled out the registration form, making sure to claim a New Haven address. He felt strange lying, but he knew he had to. The clerk needed a reasonable explanation for Pittman's drenched appearance, and the truth certainly wasn't acceptable. "Here's your card back. Here's your key." Pittman sneezed. "Man, you need to get out of those wet clothes."
    "That's all I've been thinking of."
    The name had been appealing: Warm Welcome Motel. Pittman had found it among several other motels a half hour after he'd hurried, shivering, from the golf course area. Houses had been dark, streetlights widely separated. Whenever he saw headlights, he had darted toward the shelter of bushes or a backyard before he could be seen. He'd had a vague idea of which way the thruway was. Fear had spurred him.
    Now, as he locked the motel door behind him, the last of his energy drained from him. He sank into a lumpy chair and sipped the cardboard cup of bitter but wonderfully hot coffee that he'd bought from a noisy machine at the end of the concrete-block hallway. The room's carpet was green and worn. He didn't care. The walls were an unappealing yellow. He didn't care about that, either, or about the hollow beneath the dingy orange cover of the mattress on the bed. All he cared about was heat. Need to get warm. His teeth chattered. Need a hot bath.
    He turned the room's thermostat to seventy-five, then stripped off his wet clothes. After arranging his trousers, shirt, and suit coat on hangers, he left the closet door open in hopes they would dry. He put his soaked shoes near the baseboard radiator, draped his socks and underwear over the back of a chair, and twisted the hot-water faucet on the bathtub.
    For an instant, he was afraid that the water would be only tepid. Instead, it sent steam billowing around him. He leaned over the gushing tap, luxuriating in the heat. Only when the tub was nearly full did he add any cold water, just enough so he wouldn't scald himself as he settled into the exquisitely hot bath. He slid down until the steaming water came up to his chin. The tub was so full that water trickled into the overflow drain. By shifting sideways, he managed to tuck his knees under so he was almost completely submerged.
    He exhaled with pleasure and felt heat penetrate his skin, his muscles, his bones, dissipating the heavy chill that had gathered at his core. Gradually his arms and legs stopped quivering. He closed his eyes and realized that he hadn't enjoyed a physical sensation so much since ... His mind balked but finally permitted the thought.... since the night Jeremy had died. He had felt so guilty being alive while Jeremy was dead that he hadn't been able to tolerate even the simplest, most basic of pleasures. The taste of a good meal had become repugnant-because Jeremy would never again be able to enjoy that sensation. The soothing feel of clean sheets, the