It was only his third day at the hotel, but already it felt as if the walls were closing in. It was like the COVID-19 lockdown all over again, except then he hadn’t been alone. At least there was a sufficient supply of toilet paper this time. He was lonely and bored, his gloomy mood exacerbated by the dreary weather. He found himself humming the Eagles’ “Hotel California,” feeling, as the lyrics said, like a prisoner who could never leave. Ironic, since by hiding out here he was doing his best not to become an actual prisoner.
He’d shaved his head but not his face, doing what he could to begin transforming his appearance. According to the news reports, there’d been little advancement in the case. No suspects or even persons of interest had been identified. The car had not yet been found, either, though with the recent run of cold, wet weather that wasn’t a surprise. Not many people wanted to venture out in frigid drizzle. Seemed the police hadn’t determined a clear motive yet, either. Looked like they didn’t know about the cash. With any luck, they’ll never find out about it.