A Humble Citizen

Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine

“This is why,” Wallace wrote, “after learning what a disgrace this man has been to his family and to God, we cannot let this criminal spend another year as our Mayor. The rules should apply to everyone. EVERYONE”— His hand hovered over the keyboard like a magician casting a spell. Finally, he found the exclamation point. He pressed Shift first, which he usually forgot. Then three happy taps on the number 1 to drive home his enthusiasm. He signed the letter to the editor as he always did, “WS, Local business owner and humble citizen of the town of Romney.”

Wallace ordered the document to print, just as a pair of headlights rolled up in front of the motel. He peered out the window, cupping his eyes against the glare. He didn’t recognize the car. It looked fancy, some kind of two-door foreign thing. He made a quick check to see that he had switched on the “No Vacancy” neon in the office’s window. He had. But of course, he thought, someone driving a car like that wouldn’t bother to notice.

Wallace was bent over the drawer of his desk, looking for a stamp, when the office door opened with a jingle.

“Can I help you?” He asked before looking up. He figured it would be some young business type, passing through on his way to or from DC. Or maybe a divorced dad who had a kid at one of the nearby colleges playing football.

“I know your sign says no vacancy, but seeing as I’m desperate, I thought I’d ask.”

The voice sounded shaky and urgent, and it made Wallace’s head catapult up.

“It’s you.” He blinked his hard eyes in disbelief and looked back down at his computer screen. “You’re here.”

“We haven’t met, but I’m—”

Wallace held up his hand.

“Stop. Say no more. I know who you are.”

He walked out from behind his desk, knocking the check-in bell off its perch in his haste. It made a sad clang as it hit the floor.

The man made a turn toward the door, but Wallace stepped in front, blockading the passage with the girth of his body.

“Please,” the man swallowed hard. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“No intrusion at all.” Wallace placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and felt a thinning layer of padding between the pinstriped outside and sateen inside. “Now look. I’m out of rooms right now, but I can give you the pullout couch in my living room. My place is just next door. It isn’t much, but it’ll keep you safe for the night.”

The man tried to make a quick study of Wallace’s face, searching for a reason, or a hint of insanity.

“I’ve been there, brother.” Wallace said, as if hearing the mans unasked question. “Just take the couch for the night. No questions asked.” He grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake, then winked.

The man reached into his pocket and produced a money clip with several bills folded between its golden lips.

“Please! I couldn’t. It’s on the house.” Wallace beamed. “I’m just ashamed I can’t rent a proper room to the Mayor when he shows up to my motel.”