“Here we are. It’s clean and got cheap rates.”

“Thank you,” said Robin. He quickly left the truck and dashed under the roofline. From the corner of his vision, he caught Dusty strolling over to a vending machine without a care about the weather. The young man pushed his hair back, plastering it against his scalp with the rain.

The office door handle rattled under Robin’s grip. “It’s locked,” he groaned. On the door, a little plastic card depicting a clock announced a return at eight. It was currently eight-thirty.

“George is known to run late.”

Robin jumped in his shoes as Dusty came up behind him. He hefted his backpack. “Just my luck.” 

A wind blew, sending the rain to assault them at an angle. Robin squinted against the pellets blurring his glasses. He heaved a deeper groan.

“Hey, I don’t want you to soak through. Come on, my room’s right over there.”

“You’re staying here?”

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I live here—for the time being.”

Wanting out of the freezing night, Robin lifted an arm out. “Lead the way.”

The pair walked down a parade of doors with streams of water drizzling at their flank. Dusty wasted little time connecting key to lock. With a flick of a switch, a modest room with a single bed flashed into existence. The dry warmth came with a side order of stale cigarette smoke embedded in the plaster walls. A cheap table lamp casted a stale glow over the accommodations. Still, Robin welcomed the reprieve from the weather. He quickly took a seat at the flimsy desk in the room. The small office chair held fast against his weight, grime denying its wheels any freedom of movement.

“Home sweet home,” said Dusty as he opened his bottle of soda. The pop and fizz released a pleasant aroma of citrus as he stepped past the young man.

“Some bachelor pad,” Robin reveled with an optimistic sarcasm.

“There are unopened cans in the fridge,” offered Dusty as he meandered to the bathroom. “Just ginger ale, though.”

“I’m good, thanks.” While his gaze crept over the room, Robin’s head continued to whir with questions.

Dusty emerged from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his hair. “Where you heading anyway? You’re obviously not from around here.”

Robin looked down at his backpack in his lap. “I’m traveling north to Seattle.”

“Flying there never crossed your mind?”

“Sure, but the torture isn’t worth it.”

“Train?”

Robin tipped his chin forward. They were strangers both. Perhaps if he answered enough of the older man’s questions, he wouldn’t be rebuffed in turn. “Yeah, there’s one with direct service.”

“Well?”

The chair squeaked as Robin leaned backward. “Dude, that’s over thirty hours in like a slightly bigger airplane seat. Maybe a private booth would be okay, but it’s still rocking all the way.”

Dusty nodded. He grabbed another towel from the bathroom and tossed it to the young man. Surprised at first, Robin took but a moment to accept and start drying his hair.

“Buses are better for me,” continued Robin. “They’re closer to solid ground. Plus the drivers take breaks so I get breaks. I’ll head to the station tomorrow morning and get my next ride.”

Quenching himself with a large gulp of soda, Dusty jerked his chin toward the bathroom. “I got tape, tweezers, whatever you need for your splinters.”

Robin popped up, entirely forgetting about his new minor inconveniences. “Oh, thank you, but I think I’m all right.”

The older man settled at the foot of his bed, crossing a leg. “I try to be prepared for any sort of situation.”

A half snort left Robin’s nose. “Can you cook? I was hoping to eat back there, but guess I’m missing dinner tonight. That barbecue sure smelled good.”

“Smells better than it tastes. You saved yourself some disappointment. I have some leftover meatloaf in the mini-fridge. Go ahead.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already helped me out a lot.”

Dusty waved a hand. “You put in your effort against the idiots.”

“Thanks!”

Traveling so long and so far had worn down Robin’s guard. In a state of transience, any hospitable gesture was an easy take. He paused for a moment before the mini-fridge. A bit of paranoia snapped into his consciousness again.

“I’m not gonna end up in future crime documentaries, am I?”

The older man held up both of his hands. “Perish the thought.”

As the container of meatloaf rotated within the stained chamber of the microwave, Robin peered at Dusty. A faint scar interrupted the pattern of iron and silver stubble on his jowl while another crossed the flow of creases over his brow. The older man snatched his gaze. Robin startled and shifted his focus to the microwave. His fingers fiddled with a sealed set of plastic utensils he had grabbed from a pile on the tabletop by the mini-fridge.

“You mind if I turn on the TV?”

“It’s your place.”

Dusty reached for the remote and the set turned on with a low buzz. The current channel broadcasted an entertainment news program. It was decent background noise, and the older man left it.

Turning from side to side on the office chair, Robin casually glanced at the TV. “If the barbecue’s so bad back there, why do you go?”

Dusty swigged his soda. ”They do cheese skirts on their burgers and their drinks are decent.”

“Fair enough.”

A bell chime cut through the drone of the TV. The aroma of warm meat wafted from the plastic container as Robin popped open the lid. A silent rumble possessed Dusty’s belly. He inhaled. Normally the smell of meat would be a great comfort among a sea of discordant scents: oil, asphalt, people. This meatloaf still gave his brain a palliative stroke, but Dusty realized that he was already unbothered.

The stench of Jared and his friends lingered on his arms, however, their traces were quickly fading. Dusty’s eyes slipped to Robin. This young man did not have a strong smell. He sniffed. Rather, this young man did not stink. Dusty slowly blinked.

He had met many people over his lifetime. Most would either offend his olfactory system or exist with a noticeable acrid or sour tinge. Few were ever mild enough to go unnoticed. Fewer still were pleasant to smell. Dusty suppressed a smile in the shadow of lamplight. Robin ought to count himself lucky.

The older man’s study did not go unnoticed. Robin coughed around a forkful of meat. “So where’s this meatloaf from?”

“Dottie’s Café. They only open from six to two, unfortunately.”

“Shame.”

Then came a rapping on the door.

“Dusty! I know you’re in there,” called a voice outside.

Recognizing it, the older man stood and eyed Robin. The young man gulped, suspending his meal for the unexpected guest.

The shape of a police officer materialized from the night as Dusty opened the door. Water dripped from the brim of his hat as he stepped a boot over the threshold.

“Dusty!” The boom of his voice barreled into the room. “Getting into trouble again?”

“Justified trouble, Valdez.”

Valdez peered past the older man’s frame and caught Robin staring from the desk. He pointed a finger casually yet loaded with intent. “ID, please.”

Robin dug into his pant pocket to produce a worn nylon wallet. He tossed it to the officer who deftly caught it past Dusty’s arm.

“Robin N, G? Neg? Ing?”

“Sure,” replied the young man.

Valdez raised an eyebrow. “You got an LA address. What’s your business here in our little town? You with Dusty?”

“No. I’m just passing through, sir.”

Valdez motioned to return the wallet with a toss, but Dusty interjected and took it from his hands. The officer twitched his nose. “Keep on going. Before anyone else starts something with you.”

“That’s the plan, sir.”

Nodding, Valdez then shot a stern look at Dusty. “And you. I suggest you lay low for a few days. Let them boys cool off. Christine ain’t too happy with the ruckus you caused in her establishment either.”

Dusty grumbled. “Jared st—”

A beleaguered sigh rattled up through Valdez’s throat. “I know you’re not looking for enemies, but I’m a peacekeeper here. I have a community to hold together. Residents before transients.”

A flicker of a flinch ghosted over Dusty’s jowl.

“I don’t wanna visit you again.”

The smallest whiffle left Dusty’s nose. “Course.”

“All right, you two stay outta trouble now.” Valdez hitched his belt as he turned to leave. “Good night.”

Dusty closed the door with a slam against a gust of wind.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Robin remarked.

“George should be back by now.” Dusty handed the wallet back to Robin.

“Right,” said the young man, “I should grab my own room before I overstay my welcome.” He pocketed his wallet and curled his fingers around the tray of meatloaf.

“You can take the whole thing. I won’t miss it.”

Robin stood, shouldering his backpack and balancing the loaded tray with his plastic utensils. “Thanks for everything. The save, the food … I promise I won’t tell. Hell, even if I did, I doubt anyone would believe me.”

Dusty nodded. “It was good meetin’ ya.” He held out his palm for a shake.

Taking it awkwardly with his nondominant hand, Robin tried to impose a good impression. He might have grasped it for a little too long, but he issued a firm grip.

“Safe travels,” said Dusty.

Robin opened the door and left into the rainy night.

The smell of the officer cloaked the threshold as Dusty retreated to the haven he had adopted. While old cigarettes put off many noses, the smell reminded him of his father, a stoic comfort. His eyes drifted to the TV without focus. The room was as it was when he had woken up this morning, but what had came and went morphed it into something entirely new.

Dusty crumpled onto the bed, swearing at himself. In all his fifty-three years, he had managed to keep his condition a secret from humans. But this transient whelp managed to best him. Granted, many would scatter from the emergence of an active patrol car, but for the young man to follow him directly into the woods was unforeseen. Dusty had done all he could to shake him. He had to absolve some of the guilt gnawing his stomach.

It was a fluke that this young man washed up in town. Stranger still was his reaction to his shift. There was fear, as to be expected, but there existed an awe and fascination. Dusty had imagined many times before what it would be like to be found out, just to prepare himself. In all of his imagined scenarios, the reactions ranged from frightful disbelief to absolute horror. He hadn’t anticipated this realist acceptance from Robin. Perhaps the older man ought to count himself lucky.