Free The Right and the Real by Joelle Anthony Page B

like a big deal.”
    “A girl alone in a car is always a big deal,” she said.
    “Yeah…I guess.”
    The weather gods chose that moment to do me a huge favor, and a gust of icy wind ripped through the parking lot. The light drizzle turned into a driving rain, and I put my hands up to shield my face from the stinging drops. “It’s only for a few hours,” I yelled over the wind.
    “Well,” said Salt, grabbing hold of his hat to keep it from flying off, “make sure you’re gone in the morning.”
    “I will.”
    “And lock your doors,” added Pepper.
    I dove into the Beast and huddled under my comforter, wide awake, for a long time. I couldn’t afford to be questioned by the police again because they might ask for ID and discover I was only seventeen and my dad’s house was less than three miles from here. They’d probably take me back to him, and if he said he didn’t want me, they’d ship me off to my mom’s in Los Angeles. Somehow I doubted they’d care that the last time I lived with her, not only had she been arrested for shoplifting beer, but they’d also found stolen lunch meat tucked under my Big Bird T-shirt. I had to find somewhere besides my car to sleep.

chapter 9
    ON SUNDAY MORNING, I PULLED THE BEAST INTO the grimy parking lot of the Regis Deluxe Motel. It was more like a strip of narrow spaces with faded white lines than an actual lot, and most of them were empty. McDonald’s and Burger King wrappers fluttered around, accumulating in little piles by some dead-looking bushes near the front doors. V ACANCY flashed in the window, but both the
C
s were burnt out. Below it was the sign that had caught my attention.
    CHEAP WEEKLY RATES
FRIDGE INCLUDED
    I got out and made sure all my doors were locked and set the alarm. I didn’t want the two guys in greasy jean jackets who were huddled together against the wind, smoking cigarettes, to get any ideas. I had to pass them, but they stared without comment.
    Inside, stale smoke had permeated the peeling wallpaper, leaving it yellow-stained. And when I walked by a dead palm tree near the door, it reeked of urine. I prayed the rooms wouldn’t be as gross as the lobby. A sign said to ring the bell, so I tapped it quickly and thenwiped my hand on my jeans. A thick tree trunk of a man lumbered out from the back.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked.
    I glanced around, looking for the owner of the voice because it sounded exactly like Marilyn Monroe, but we were alone. It had to be him. He wore two gold hoops in his ears, and a silky pirate blouse, but he was no woman. The handlebar mustache was a dead giveaway.
    “Ummm…,” I said, studying the MOTEL RULES AND REGULATIONS sign on the counter so I didn’t stare at him. “I’d like to see a room.”
    “See one or rent one?” he cooed.
    “Rent?” I said.
    “I have a strict no-runaway policy, darlin’. You eighteen?”
    “Yes,” I lied. “But I don’t have a credit card.”
    “I only accept cash up front. You got it?”
    “I can get some from the ATM.”
    “Follow me.” He sashayed down a threadbare carpeted hallway. His round, bald head balanced on his shoulders like a golf ball on a tee. “Name’s Stub, by the way.”
    “Oh. Okay. Uh…Jamie.”
    One lightbulb lit up the middle of the hallway, and an exit sign glowed over a doorway at the far end. “We recently installed security bars on the ground-floor windows,” he said, like it was a selling point. He led me into what amounted to an eight-by-ten-foot box. The walls were a dirty gray-white, and there was a metal-framed cot under the window with a filthy-looking, stained bedspread. There was also a dilapidated dresser, a table that leaned to one side, a rickety-looking chair, and a lamp.
    Stub opened the bathroom door, and the odor of rotten eggs wafted into the room. “Smells a bit,” he said, “but I cleaned it myself.That’s about it. It’s two-sixty-five a week, utilities are included, but if you bring a TV, it’s an