The Hacker's Con Artist

Chapter 6

- - - - - - MARCH 16, 1929- - - - - -

Cement City, Texas 11:45 p.m.

ROWAN TUGGED OPEN the door to the lobby and held it open, trying his best to hide a wince at the loud squeak of the poorly oiled door. Landon nodded his gratitude and entered, holding back a grimace himself at the state of the cluttered front desk, a couple dirty, faded lounge chairs that looked like they'd been used about a hundred too many times, and the thick layer of dust that seemed to cover every surface.

The door shut behind them with a loud smack, rustling several of the papers scattered on the desk. A few of them blew onto...was that a person?

"I think our concierge is sleeping," Rowan hissed. He was closer to the front desk than Landon was, but even he could see the hunched back of a man fast asleep.

"Seriously?"

Landon didn't know why they were whispering. If the sound of the door opening hadn't woken him up, whispering was the least of their concerns.

"Maybe if I just..." Rowan trailed off, pushing aside various items on the desk in a clear search for something.

"What are you doing?"

Rowan made no indication that he'd heard. Instead, his eyes seemed to catch on something shiny beneath a stack of papers. Knocking it off with a hand, the gleam of a welcome bell caught the dim light. The glint in Rowan's eyes was mischievous, so much so that Landon immediately knew what he was planning to do. He froze and stared, wide-eyed, as Rowan hit the bell button not once, not twice, but five times in rapid succession. The man shot up in his chair with a loud snort, papers flying all over the place. He was a bigger man, with an impressive beard as well as an equally impressive set of marks across his face from the book it seemed he'd fallen asleep on top of. He didn't seem angry, only disoriented as he blinked at Rowan and Landon through droopy eyes.

"Can I help you?" He muttered groggily.

Beside him, Rowan snickered under his breath. Even Landon couldn't help the smile that was pressing against his lips.

"We need a room, please."

"Sign in here." The man—the name on his crooked lapel said Richard—searched around his desk for several moments, eventually finding a clipboard and sliding it across the desk. The paper had clearly had at least one liquid spilled on it, evident by the stiff feel of the edges. What was also evident was the lack of other guests on the sheet.

"Slow business?" Landon risked asking.

"We're in a depression," Richard replied stiffly. "One bed or two?"

Landon cast a nervous glance at Rowan, who just shrugged a shoulder and continued writing. He was taking too long to respond, obviously, since when he met the concierge's eyes, one eyebrow was raised.

"Two," he decided, unsure why the answer came so hesitantly.

Richard fished around in a nearby drawer and pulled out a wide key with a number 5 on it, handing it out to Landon. "That'll be ten bucks," he said.

Landon reached into his pocket for one of the bills, but ended up pulling the entire stack out of his pocket, the cash falling into a crumpled heap on the floor. He bent over and picked it up clumsily, fishing through it until he found a ten-dollar bill. If it was even possible, the concierge's eyebrow had lifted even farther up his forehead. Landon couldn't blame him for being suspicious. If he lived in a poor suburban area during the Great Depression, some stranger walking into a dingy hotel with this much cash would have raised his suspicions too.