I used my teeth to grab the glove’s edge, peeling the latex off sweaty skin. I was careful not to bite into the bloody area. No matter how hypnotically red, I was well versed with potential infections, diseases. I didn’t need a lewd aliment to slow me down after all this time.
The gloves went into a bag, which was tossed into a tote, which was then promptly shoved into my suitcase. There was enough cleaning supplies to rival the hotel maid, enough of something else for a life sentence. I pressed my knee onto the top of the luggage bag, zipping until fingers reached the very end without an obvious bulge. The handle was extracted and I rolled my luggage toward-
“Oh, for god’s sake…” I eyed the knob with a tight mouth. The door. It was always the door I forgot about. I never had this problem in the garage.
I never had to clean immediately afterwards, either.
Hands still soggy from medical gloves, I maneuvered my foot against the handle. On the second attempt the door opened, my sneakers a purposely larger size making the exploit easier. I moved to stand in the doorway, giving one last sweep of the room. It looked occupied- clothes laying around on careless piles, tooth brush still wet by the sink, sheets recently tussled on the bed. It was like Joseph Kelly still occupied the room, like he was still spending the weekend in Jendale at Mountain View hotel and decided to go out for an early lunch.
I placed the do not disturb sign on the door with a flick of a wrist, and began my languid stroll down the hall with luggage rolling behind. It was a nice place, the sort of place made for those on corporate business trips. Red walkways with golden embroidery. The reception hall was probably used more than the rooms. Though the rooms were exceptionally easier to gain admittance to without an invitation than a suburban home, it required more scrutiny. Security cameras, basic layouts, witnesses, and my least favorite; obscurity. You couldn’t tell how a person lived by their hotel room, except maybe, how they slept at night. Inside their home, their bedroom, was an invasion, it was a personal attack where hiding under ones bed just cornered them further.
The elevators were in a row of three in the middle of the building, and I situated myself by the very end, pressing the button. It emitted a soft ding just a few seconds later, though it wasn’t empty like I assumed.
My immediate step back was polite, a quiet apology, though really, it was candid shock. I stared ahead as the man and woman stepped out and passed me. Their uniforms were pressed, polished, blaring in the near empty hallway. I stepped into the elevator, turning and adjusting my carrier as I pressed the button for the first floor. A glance at the retreating police pair wasn’t suspicious, though the woman chanced a glance back and met my own. It was fleeting, insignificant. The door closed as the woman looked away. I looked down at my suitcase.
“Think they’re going to see you, huh? Buddy?”