IX: Lobby (Red)
Red stood and stretched as the hour struck two.
Jerry, already in his jeans and windbreaker, broke for the door with a speed that he never tapped into while working. "Night, big guy," he called out with a jaunty wave.
"Tip money burning a hole in your pocket, huh?" Red said sardonically as he put on his own jacket.
Jerry's eyes went wide. "Something like that," he mumbled self-consciously. "See ya tomorrow," he said pushing briskly through the door and almost bowling over Tom, the gray-haired graveyard shift manager in the process.
Tom shook his head and laughed. "That kid's always in a hurry..."
Red just smiled. "The old girl's been pretty quiet tonight, Tom," he said, picking up the briefcase that contained his book, a newspaper, and the large brown paper bag which had held his lunch.
Tom slipped out of his overcoat and took his place behind the desk. "Why do you work this shift, Red? With your time in here you could work anytime you want?"
Red smiled enigmatically...the Grande had stories to tell twenty-four hours a day, this he knew, but those it held at night were special. "I already am working the time I want," he said simply. "Good night, Tom."
And Red O'Malley walked into the early morning darkness without another word.
Tomorrow...tomorrow he would be back on duty...back where he belonged...back with all the sad, sweet, wondrous souls wandering through the nooks and crannies of his late night Grande Hotel.
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