Pierce saw her notebook.
“And the journal.”
Nia pulled it closer.
“It’s mine.”
“Hotel property.”
“I bought it at Walgreens.”
“Dale, check her pockets.”
Even Dale looked uncomfortable.
Pierce smiled.
“Or I tell police exactly what she was doing in my back corridor.”
Nia’s face changed.
Not fear for herself.
Fear for her mother.
The insurance.
The medical bills.
Walter saw it.
He made a decision.
Not yet.
He would let Pierce think he had won.
Because sometimes the only way to expose a man completely was to let him become comfortable.
Walter looked at Nia.
“Come on.”
Pierce waved them toward the side exit.
“Both of you.”
Outside, Nia called a cab.
Walter asked where she was going.
“Home.”
“What will you do?”
“Tell Mom.”
“Then?”
“Find another job before the thirty-first.”
“What happens on the thirty-first?”
“My insurance runs out.”
Walter said nothing.
The cab arrived.
He gave Nia the red scarf.
“Keep it.”
“My mom made it.”
“She makes one every month.”
Walter smiled.
“Thank her anyway.”
Nia helped him into the car.
Before she closed the door, Walter said:
“Thank you for the door.”
She shrugged.
“I wasn’t waiting until one.”
He almost told her.
Almost.
Then he saw her exhausted face.
If he revealed himself now, Pierce would prepare.
Records would disappear.
People would change stories.
So Walter gave the driver another hotel address.
As the cab pulled away, Nia stood in the snow thinking she had just destroyed her livelihood for an old stranger.
She had no idea the stranger was already planning to give it back.
With interest.
Camille opened her hotel-room door at 1:18 a.m.
Her father stood there wearing a wet coat and someone else’s red scarf.
She stared.
“You look ridiculous.”
“Good evening to you too.”
“Dad, you’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re seventy-four.”
“I was seventy-four this morning too.”
She pulled him inside.
“What happened?”
Walter sat near the heater.
For a moment he simply let warmth return to his fingers.
Then he said:
“I worked that front door six years.”
Camille stopped.
She knew.
Walter rarely talked about those years.
“1978 to 1984.”
He looked toward the window.
“Came and went through the side door.”
“Why?”
“Manager’s rule.”
Camille sat across from him.
“Why didn’t you tell Pierce who you were?”
Walter laughed softly.
“Wet old Black man says he owns the hotel. What happens?”
“They call the police.”
“And Nia gets arrested for helping him.”
Camille waited.
“What if he believed you?”
“Then he apologizes.”
“Yes.”
“And does the same thing to the next man.”
Camille leaned back.
“So what do you want?”
Walter looked at the clock.
“Nine o’clock. Every employee in that lobby.”
