Rex ran his finger down the ledger and stopped at the first name not crossed out. He didn’t look up.
“Grimm, party of three.”
His voice was dry and gritty, like sand swept across a worn wooden floor.
No one answered.
Rex cleared his throat, looked straight ahead, pushed the words from his belly.
“Grimm, party of three.”
The lobby of The Seguaro was empty. The Tuesday night crowd whispered their secrets. The special of the day curled its scent into his nose.
Some sort of fowl. Rabbit, maybe.
“Grimm, party of three.”
The house rule was, you called for a party three times, then moved on to the next.
But there was no next.
Rex wondered where the Grimm party had gone. They certainly couldn’t have sneaked by anyone.
Three tall, gaunt men in green suits, all in a line. The one in the middle towered over his companions and spoke for the group.
“Grimm. Three,” he had said to Rex . Whiskers bristled from his face like an angry porcupine.
“It’ll be about ten minutes,” Rex had said. “Wanna sit at the bar? Wet your whistle?”
“Nope.”
And then they just stood there, their shadows falling over Rex .
No, they couldn’t have gone anywhere without him noticing.
And yet, the lobby was empty.
Rex frowned and looked down at the ledger again.
Light blazed off the sheet of rock, blinding him and scorching his face in the reflection. He gasped and stumbled backward, crashing to his backside on the desert floor.
Hot wind purred in his ears and licked the last drop of moisture from his tongue.
Three arms reached high into the spotless sky and splashed their shadows across his legs. A jackrabbit lay rotting at the base of the cactus
Overhead, a buzzard contemplated his evening menu.
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