The face peering through the blinds vanished. The motel door was opened and a man peered out at Alistair and Sam. He was an older Black man, perhaps in his sixties. He had a lean frame that had once been athletic, but he moved with a carefullness. His salt and pepper hair was closely cropped and he wore a denim shirt and black pants with the Dickies label clearly seen.
"You're not with the Sherrif?" The man inquired, his eyes flicking to Alistair for a long beat and then moving to Sam. They linger on Sam.
"I already told those boys I'm paid to see to the upkeep of the hotel and thats all that I aim to do."