Old Man Madden sat at the front desk, looking out the window at the empty parking lot. He had a cigarette going, and a second cup of coffee in front of him. Mostly, he was glad to be around for another day. You never knew...
A pair of black hands sailed up. Gloves, actually. Leather, such as the motorcyclists liked to wear. One of them slapped money down on the counter, jaunty as anything.
Madden nodded at them, and smiled.
The left-hand glove shot him an easy salute, and then they went away.
As usual, he couldn't see the man who was wearing the gloves - but there had to be one, because obviously gloves didn't just float around all by themselves.
He put the money in the till, vaguely annoyed that he didn't know which room had been paid for. It all seemed to work out, though. His weekly rate was one hundred and ten, but all the customers ever seemed to have was twenties. And they never asked for change. He'd tried to hand a bill back to 'em, at first - since they were obviously sticking around, week after week - but their gloved hands would always wave it away...
Young swells always were careless with their money. Out to impress people.
Really, though, he was very happy with the crowd currently staying in the place. They weren't chasing bimbos up and down the halls, or breaking things.
It occurred to Madden that the front windows, right by the door, could stand to be washed. So he stood up, and went to the janitor's closet.
Everything was shipshape in there, too. Plenty of toilet paper, soap - all the supplies. Obviously the hired help was coming through, in a big way. Their faces were hard to remember, and at times he thought he might be confusing them with employees in the past.
Oh, well. Whistling quietly, he got out a spray bottle and some clean rags.
Yessir. It had turned into a fine-looking day...
So his mind wasn't what it used to be. Madden could admit that - at least to himself. His son never let him forget it. But the hotel was clean, wasn't it? And most of the rooms were full. So what if details were fuzzy? Things got done. The proof was all around him.
He wasn't sure why business had picked up. The interstate was only four miles away, but it was easily twice that to the closest exit... unless they'd added one recently. He hadn't been on the freeway in a while. But this year he had no complaints. Rooms started filling up, and everybody paid in cash.
At first, it had bothered him quite a bit that he couldn't make out the men - but their gloves were always easy enough to see. Some trick of the light, maybe. He kept forgetting to make an appointment with the eye doctor.
It wasn't worth worrying about. When the sheriff's deputy stopped by, Madden could see his face well enough. Deliveries were left under the back awning, just as they had been for years, so he didn't know if the truck drivers were also invisible, or not...
Aw, that was all crazy talk. He didn't need to call a plumber or electrician all that often, but he could remember what they looked like. And whenever he went into town, Madden recognized everybody just fine. So he just wrote it all off to being a dotty old coot. After fifty-eight years of being discreet - that is, acting as if he didn't see some of the goofy things people did - he'd apparently gone ahead and quit seeing 'em altogether.
There was no special need to tell anybody. As long as he and the customers got along just fine, Madden decided it wasn't anybody else's business.
His employees made all the difference. Madden hadn't actually seen them, lately... but the bills were always paid, and every room that didn't have one of those "do not disturb" signs hanging on the doorknob was clean as a whistle. Why, hell, there wasn't even so much as a cigar butt in the lobby ashtray, and he knew these boys liked to smoke. The trash was always bagged up, nice and neat - with quite a few cardboard boxes in the dumpster, most times.
He'd long since quit giving it any extra thought.
The staff sure was a shy bunch, though. Just like the customers. But some people were just that way.
Coming back inside, he needed to use both hands to get the main door open. It was fairly new, and quite a bit heavier. Some kind of metal. The outside had a fresh coat of brown paint, matching the building, and it looked real nice. Had enough locks on it to stop an army, though. In fact, all the new doors leading outside were... serious. He didn't remember ordering new doors, but there they were, hung level and shined up. A new ring of keys had been set on his desk blotter. He didn't have any reason to lock the doors anyway. There must've been some new law or something. Good thing the handyman was on the ball. No workman was going to hang a door without permission, so it had to be just another one of those things he forgot about.
Quite a bit of remodeling had taken place. Quiet as a mouse - why, not one single customer had complained about the noise. Even the redecorating was top-notch. Thick, luxurious wallpaper. The only thing he could find fault with was the weatherstripping. Most of the room doors opened and closed like... well, like bank vaults or something.
But that was the only gripe Madden had, because overall it really was fine work. The new pole barn, way out back - now that had been a surprise. The customers had been parking out there anyway, and now they always used it. He did get a kick out of the empty front lot, when he knew the place was almost booked up. It was funny.
Out of sight, out of mind - at least where the law is concerned. And he couldn't really blame them. All those cars and trucks and motorcycles sat out there, nice and safe, and the new barn hid 'em just fine. It reminded him of the old days.
A free man was entitled to his privacy, as far as Madden was concerned.
He sat down behind the counter, and looked at the windows. Nodded. Now everything was shipshape...
Few things were more important to him than respect. He wasn't nosy. There was only one time when his curiosity got the better of him - and that had only come about because he didn't see one of those doorknob signs.
It was the middle of the morning, and he was he already inside when he smelled old smoke. "Whups," he said automatically, looking at the bed -
But the man didn't stir. Out like a light, and snoring away. Head thrown back, looking peaceful, long hair and a couple weeks' worth of beard. All stretched out across the mattress...
As soon as Madden realized the man was naked as a jaybird, he looked away and started backing out. Oh, there were quite a few cardboard boxes, and some funny-looking exercise equipment in the room - but people were all concerned with big muscles and what-not, these days. All kinds of leather duds, everywhere. Belts and wristbands. So he figured the man belonged to one of the motorcycles out back.
Madden shut the door quietly, real glad the customer hadn't woken up.
Walking down the hall, looking for something he couldn't remember, he heard a man laughing. Room 14. Wild, and happy as you please.
Madden smiled. The day before, it had been room 5. Laughing to beat the band. It could hardly be heard, through the door, but the fellow went on and on...
It had to be those shows on the TV, Madden decided, though he didn't find too many programs all that funny anymore, himself.
The noise was reassuring to him. Down-to-earth types could get loud, and they liked to raise a little hell. Nothing wrong with that. If they usually turned in early, he couldn't say anything against that either - not long after dinner he was usually yawning his head off, these days.
Except for hearing the laughter now and then... and the black gloves slapping money down on the counter, they were a fairly shy bunch. Work hard, play hard. Apparently they liked to stay in and drink, which only made sense considering the hotel was a few miles outside of town. None of 'em ever gave Madden any trouble, or their fellow customers.
They were honest, too. Most of the rooms were paid by the week, and at least three of 'em were paid month-to-month... Several times, a fair amount of cash had sat there all day, right on the counter, with nobody bothering it. The sheriff didn't like that too much, but he didn't own the place.
None of them ever wanted a wake-up call, but that was fairly typical of these nomad types. Some of the folks in town were afraid of motorcycle riders - but their money was green just like anybody else's. Salt of the earth. Rich people were snooty and changeable, but Madden was a simple man himself. It was worth keeping the hotel open for decent folk who needed a place to rest from the road, who paid their bill and didn't smash things up. He was proud to keep the welcome mat out.
During the afternoon, the young sheriff's deputy stopped by. He wandered in every other week or so, supposedly for a cup of coffee, but Madden appreciated his thoughtfulness. They'd talk about the weather, or how the Braves were playing. He saw no need to brag about all the customers he had - and not one of them had ever showed up when the deputy was around. Madden had no good reason at all to draw attention to them.
Except for the rare visit from a plumber or electrician, other visitors were downright rare. He didn't especially mind that, being one of those lone wolf types. Always had kept to himself. His boy was like that too. Oh, Madden was friendly and all, but in the last few years most everyone else acted as if they were embarrassed for him. They never asked how business was, anymore... so he never told 'em.
The sheriff brought him some news. Madden's son had just arrived in town, on the bus.
"Well... maybe I'll just go fishin', then," he joked. "Leave him in charge."
The sheriff nodded, with a big smirk on his face. He was only a couple years older than the kid, but they'd never really gotten along.
A pickup truck pulled up about a half-hour after the sheriff left, and the prodigal hopped out... carrying a suitcase. Madden watched him nod at the driver, who peeled out.
The boy was sneering as he walked up.
The old man sighed. Sometimes he wondered how such an uppity snot could've come out of his loins. Wrapped way too tight. The kid wouldn't recognize a good time if it bit him in the rump. Big-city dreams, but he never had been willing to work or get his hands dirty. He'd washed out a couple times before, slinking back into the "old dump" as if his shit didn't stink.
Well, he was in for a surprise. Madden Inn had plenty of guests, now, and they seemed happy enough. Laughing all the time -
"What's with the door?" is the first thing the kid said. "You afraid all the customers are gonna get out?"
"Hello to you too," Madden replied, trying not to frown.
"This place stinks."
"Nice talk."
"No, I mean, it really smells." He sniffed. "Cigarettes. And sweat. There's some other stench... like a jail or someth- Uh, it's repulsive."
The old man had to wonder how his son knew what a jail smelled like. "Not to me. Or the customers. They seem happy enough."
His son eyed him. "Customers. Yeah, right." Then he looked outside. "They all walk here?"
"Check the pole barn, out back. Brand new."
"What? Aw, you didn't. How much money did you - no, don't tell me. I don't even wanna know. A barn. Yeah, that'll be real good for business. Pack 'em in."
That got the old man's dander up. If the boy wouldn't listen to reason, there was no need to hit him over the head with the facts. He just got himself a cigarette going.
Right on cue, the little punk waved his hand in front of his mouth, as if a little smoke was going to kill him. "I give up. Look, Dad... we gotta have a talk."
Madden knew what that meant, from the tone. The kid was eager to sell the place - and stick the old fart in a rest home, most likely. "No we don't."
He hit a bullseye, because the boy got all frustrated. "You won't even listen, will you? No common sense. I'm glad Mom isn't here. This would break her heart." He looked around the lobby, shaking his head a little.
Well, enough was enough. The old man opened his mouth, closed it again - and reached down. He picked up a room key and held it out. Room 10.
"Here."
"Huh?"
"Take it."
"What's wrong with my bedroom?"
"Nothing's wrong with it. I suspect you'll be... happier in there." And me too, Madden thought. He didn't want to go off on the kid, the same day he walked back in, and give him the tongue-lashing he'd long deserved.
The kid glared at him for a few seconds. "Fine." And he snatched the key.
Madden felt old, and tired. The joke he'd made to the sheriff came back to his mind. He could go fishing.
Well, why not? The hotel would be fine, what with the hard-working staff taking care of it so well. Let the kid stew in his own juices for awhile. "I might even go up to the cabin," he said testily - realizing at the same time that he meant it. Until the punk learns how to show me a little respect, he thought to himself. As spur-of-the-moment plans went, it was better than most.
"Sure," the kid shot back. "Stay up there."
He marched off. Madden took a deep breath or two, biting his tongue. Alright then. Let the kid run things for awhile. He'd settle down.
Room 10 was six doors down, on the right. It was one of the rooms that had been remodeled. Looked real nice.
He could barely heard the door open - and his son made one loud noise. Disgust, likely as not. Then the door slammed shut.
Madden smoked for another minute or two, thinking. Finally, he got up and went into his own rooms.
He got a new trash bag, and put a few changes of clothes into it. The market was right on the way to the cabin, so he started thinking about what food to buy... and some hootch. He could stand to relax some.
Coming back out to the counter, he saw a pair of black leather gloves there. One had a cigarette tucked between its fingers - And the other slapped down some twenties.
"Keep it," he said suddenly, amazed at himself. Then he thought for another moment, and chuckled...
On the back of a registration slip, he wrote "GONE FISHING" in permanent marker, and tore off a piece of tape. It felt surprisingly good to walk over to the window and put that sign up. He turned around to get his clothes -
The gloves were still there.
"That sign isn't for you guys," Madden said quickly. "It's for my son."
Slowly, they gave him the thumbs-up gesture.
He nodded briskly, and looked at them. "I'm tired," he told 'em, sighing. "If anyone needs me... Well, if my son gives you any attitude, I'll be out at my cabin, on Anderson Lake. The number's written on the bottom of the phone."
Both gloves curled up into fists.
"Don't you worry. You can handle him. He's not much, I know. Thinks he's the cat's meow. Too durn serious. But I still have hopes he'll turn out to be ... a well-rounded man. He could take a tip from you boys. Enjoy himself more."
Madden reached for the door handle - and the gloves raced over, opening it for him.
"Much obliged. You'll pass the word along, won't you? Don't you let him give you any guff. If something needs doing, ride him. And stay on him. You got my permission. He'll come through, eventually. And you boys can feel free to call me back in, anytime you want."
Thumbs up, again... more enthusiastic that time. The cigarette was shifted from one glove to the other - quick and easy - and the right glove came closer.
He figured it out, and took hold. A strong grip - reassuring, and respectful. Shaking hands with him, which was more than his own son had bothered to do. "Thank you again for your patronage. You can all stay just as long as you want. That's what the place is here for."
Feeling a bit emotional, he walked right out. The door closed - and kept clicking as if the door had a few locks in it. That didn't make sense, because there was only one lock before. He almost turned around, then... but he was so tired. Hearing things. Why would that customer go and lock the door? And besides, it could be that the new door always sounded that way when it shut. Yeah, his old ears were probably playing tricks on him.
His car was at the far end of the building, where he'd always parked - so the customers wouldn't have to walk all that way.
Noise...
Room 3. A guy was cackling his head off.
Right next door, somebody whooped a few times. There was something just so uninhibited about the sound. The old man stood there, listening - and he felt better. Happy customers... As an innkeeper, it appealed to him somehow. He'd done his job right.
Rough snickering - and then it almost sounded as if the customer was trying to talk. He just couldn't stop laughing long enough, but he kept trying to yell something.
Yep, that was one happy guy in there -
Madden looked at those drapes, in room 4, and realized they were open just a little bit. Why, the customer could glance over at the window and see him standing there. He sure didn't want to look as if he was snooping, so he immediately stepped back.
The man inside room 4 wailed, then. The loudest noise he'd made yet.
Madden frowned. That was a bit too noisy. If he kept it up...
There was another wail, not as loud. It went on for awhile. Then the customer started to wind down, but he went on hooting and snickering as if he was making up for lost time.
Well, there was no law against that.
As he started his truck, the old man remembered something - the exterior lights. They had to be turned on manually, at the circuit breaker box...
Without them, the place didn't stand out at all. Enough people had told him so. They managed to drive right by and miss the turn even when the sign was on, and the entry lights. But most of 'em appreciated the way his place didn't stand out too much, hiding in the trees.
His son would remember to turn on the lights. After all, that had been one of his chores when he was little, and he still had the habit the last time he blew into town.
It was time, Madden decided, to quit fussing about it. His boy was back home. Let it be his concern.
Now all Madden had to do was remember to stop at the market. Haul in a few armfuls of wood, and hit the hay. Maybe he'd get up before the sun, and go catch himself a mess of smallmouth.
Crawling into bed, Madden told himself that staying away for a while might be just the thing to do. He'd never tried it before... and his son wasn't a complete fool. Left on his own, the boy would get a whole new appreciation for the place. Anyway, the staff would still be there, doing all the real work.
It was probably too much to hope for, but the old man very much hoped that the attitude of the happy-go-lucky customers would rub off on the kid. Cheer him up.
Madden needed more sleep than he used to.
He didn't go out anymore, but that was fine by him. The cabin was cozy enough. Plenty of firewood, hot meals...
People stopped by to help out. Every day. He couldn't see any of them, but his eyes weren't all that they used to be. And he never heard 'em talk. They all wore black gloves on their hands, even in the summer. He'd been seeing those gloves for so long - and only the gloves, on most folks - that it didn't seem peculiar anymore. It was a wonder how much they could get across, just with gestures and such. He was used to having whole conversations where he was the only one flapping his gums.
He'd met them somewhere. It didn't matter anymore, because they showed up like clockwork and took real good care of him. Well, his memory was plumb gone. It was all he could do to walk down to the lake and back, and that was no more than fifty steps.
The rest of the world could just go on without him, because he was doing just fine by himself. He got to snooze by the fire and smell his fish being cooked for supper, hear the pans rattle and potatoes being chopped up. Or a noise outside, which went on for a while - and then the door would open and a bushel of firewood would be carried in.
Whoever it was wearing these gloves, they were awful good to him.
And they were downright happy. He could tell by the way their hands moved around. Never a single complaint. They did whatever needed doing, brought him supplies, and once in a while they had papers for him to sign. There was a bottle of whiskey next to the icebox, and he always had a pack of smokes in his pocket.
They'd been there to help, like clockwork, for at least a couple years...
And some of them could even beat Madden at checkers.
On to Episode 3
or go back to Episode 1
18nov03