“Good man,” Barbara said, and patted his back.
“Guess you’re right,” Pete admitted. “If they got themselves raped and murdered while we were in there, boy would we feel like a couple of heels.”
“Exactly.”
“Real cute,” Jean said, borrowing not only Barbara’s phrase but also her disdainful tone.
“What do you say?” Barbara asked her.
“They’ll hold it against us forever if they can’t go in on our account.”
“Admit it,” Pete said. “You’re dying to come with us.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Barbara said.
Larry gave the flashlight back to Pete and followed him into the hotel. In spite of the closed doors and boarded windows, sand had found its way into the lobby. It made soft scraping sounds under their shoes.
“We probably shouldn’t leave the door open,” Jean said. There was a tremor in her hushed voice. “In case someone comes by.” Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door, shutting out most of the daylight.
Light still came in around the doors, spilled through cracks and knotholes in the planks across the windows — pale, dusty streamers that slanted down to the floor. Pete turned his flashlight on, its beam pushing a tunnel of brightness into the gloom. He swept it from side to side.
“Boy, there’s a lot to see in here,” Barbara whispered. “What a find!”
The lobby was bare except for a registration counter. On the wall behind the counter were cubbyholes for mail or messages. Over to the left a wooden staircase rose steeply toward the upper floors.
“Should we check in before we have a look around?” Pete asked.
“Probably no vacancies,” Larry whispered.
“A couple of real comedians,” Jean muttered.
Pete led the way to the counter, pounded its top and said in a loud voice, “How does a guy get some service around here?”
“Creep. You want to hold it down?”
“What’s everybody whispering for?” He vaulted the counter, dropped into the space behind it and ducked out of sight. He reappeared, rising slowly, the flashlight at his chin to cast weird shadows up his face. Where the beam touched him, his skin gleamed with sweat.