7. A man coming out of Amanda’s room (room 12)

As you leave room 10, you see a tweaker looking guy leaving room 12. That’s new to you. You haven’t seen him around before. He gives you a nod and there’s something about him you feel you recognize.

Just then, the door opens behind him, and Amanda, the 30 something mom, leans in the doorway. “Hey,” she says, “that wasn’t enough.”

“Oh,” he pulls out his wallet and hands her what looks like a $20. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Amanda closes the door again.

You look down the way and see her two kids in the main office. One’s reading one of the pamphlets and the other seems to be watching something on a phone. Suddenly something clicks.

You jog down to the main office. “Andy!” You call out.

The scrawny night manager pokes his head up from behind the desk sleepily, “yeah boss?”

“How long those kids been here?”

“Uh… idk, like 45 minutes?”

“That your phone with the girl?”

“Yeah… they were like… throwing the pamphlets.”

You nod, “ok, take overtime Andy, I’ll be back soon.”

At that he seems to perk up a little, “sure boss.”

You run back down the row of rooms to room 12 and fling the door open. Amanda is counting money into a shoe box, and it seems she's been making good money from something. You slam the door shut and lock it. When you turn around, she’s stashing the shoebox under her bed.

You push her out of the way, “what the fuck are you dealing?”

“Dealing?” She stumbles, catching herself only just, “I ain’t dealing anything! Hey!”

You lift the bed up and grab the shoe box, tearing it open.

“Hey! That’s my money!”

“Drug money is more like. And with kids? In my motel?”

“I’m not dealing! And I send the kids out when I’ve gotta… work.” She trips over her words.

You throw the shoebox onto the other bed, the one her kids clearly sleep on. You stare her down and only now do you take a deep breath in. Inhaling a familiar scent, you realize what you saw in the tweaker: a familiar well fucked look.

“Oh. You ain’t dealing. You’re whoring.”

“Please, Mr. Davis–”

“Naw, shut up. There’s no whoring on my property, Amanda. You’ll have to pack up. Now.”

“Wait, no please, not during spring break! We’ll never find somewhere else.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you started whoring out of my motel.”

“Please, Mr. Davis, can’t we… Can’t you cut me some slack? I pay you every week. I’m just getting back on my feet. Please…”