John Stallings was stuck. He knew he couldn’t leave this asshole clerk alone or he’d warn Dremmel in room 6. He called the sheriff’s office to send by a marked unit but knew he couldn’t wait. He grabbed the ring with room keys and pulled the reluctant clerk from the office and had him follow down the walkway as they approached room 6.

Stallings turned and asked, “There’s no back door?”

The sullen clerk shook his head.

“You wouldn’t be screwin’ with me again, would you?” He backed it up with a “no bullshit” look.

“Naw, no back door, and I think he’s in there alone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked in the office?”

“You’re a cop. Never help the cops.”

“I respect that kind of commitment. Now sit down right here and don’t move.”

The clerk sat in front of room 4 and crossed his legs. He coughed once, not bothering to cover his mouth. The smoker’s hack sounded toxic already.

Stallings drew his pistol and continued on toward the last room.

William Dremmel was almost asleep when he heard a loud, hacking cough outside. The noise made his eyes pop open. He sat up quickly, reaching for the stun gun on the small night table next to the bed. Then he saw the shadow of someone crossing the window in front of his room. There was no back door. His head swiveled to each side, then up and down searching for an egress. His heartbeat picked up as he felt the walls close in. How had he been found? He clutched the stun gun, stood up, and moved toward the bathroom looking for any possible crevice in the bare room in which to hide.

He swallowed hard as he saw the door handle to the room jiggle.

John Stallings found the key marked “6” and slid it into the lock, while he said quietly, “Is this the day that changes my life?” He had his Glock in his right hand and turned his head every couple of seconds to make sure the clerk didn’t move. His heart pounded in his chest as he considered what a bonehead move this was, but he had no choice. He couldn’t risk losing Dremmel.

As soon as he felt the door lock click open, he shoved the door hard and ducked low, out of the doorway, where he knew he’d be silhouetted by the streetlights. He scanned the room once quickly with his pistol out in front of him, trying to control his breathing.

There was no one here. Stallings rose slowly with his Glock still out in front of him and crept toward the bathroom and closet at the far corner of the room, trying not to give away his position. When he reached the short wall that separated the bedroom from the closet and bathroom he paused, took in a breath, and then darted around the barrier, gun up and ready to fire.

Still nothing. The small closet was completely bare.

He could see into the open bathroom and it appeared empty. He stood to one side and used his left hand to push open the door until it clinked with the wall. He flipped on the single light and checked all the way inside, letting his eyes sweep the tub, toilet, and back wall.

Clear.

Where could this asshole be? Had Stallings’s luck just run out and he missed Dremmel? Had he gone to eat?

He had turned to check on the clerk, when he noticed the paneling inside the bare closet. Something didn’t look right.

William Dremmel had pulled the loose panel back in place, covering him in the hole inside the closet just as the door to the motel room swung open. It was tight and dark, but he could stay in the narrow gap for a while.

He waited, knowing someone was in the room, then, after a few seconds, sensing the person move past the closet into the bathroom. It had to be a cop.

He gripped the stun gun up close to his chest and tried to breathe silently, which was harder than he expected when he concentrated on it. There was no hidden tunnel, just a gap in the wall where he pressed up against the drywall of the main part of the motel room. An insect scurried across his face, but he didn’t move or make a sound.

He heard the light and fan in the bathroom come on. Whoever it was, they were close. A tremor ran through his body as the events of the day caught up to him. He didn’t think his shudder caused any noise as he continued to sulk in his cubbyhole.

Stallings paused, peering into the closet as well as listening for anything unusual. He could hear the light traffic trickle by on the street and the far-off sound of a boom box as the bass pounded off buildings. Then he noticed it. A slight dip in the design of the wall where the ancient paneling didn’t match up just right.

Briefly he considered just unloading a few rounds into the wall. Instead, he reached in with his left hand and probed the panel. He stepped into the closet, pistol ready, and started to pull the panel when he saw some movement, heard a familiar clatter, then felt a tremendous jolt of electricity run though his arm.

The shock threw him back out of the closet as he lost his equilibrium.

Then he saw Dremmel burst out of the closet, leap over him, and dart toward the door.

Stallings rolled to one side, and, still disoriented, rose to his knees then onto wobbly legs.

He heard the buzz of the stun gun again and a scream, raised his pistol, and stumbled around the closet into the motel room.