“Nothing to learn,” the dour man grumbled, tucking his wallet into his pocket and fishing a set of keys out from under the counter. “Can’t imagine why you’re still here.”

“Right,” he grunted again, distracted. He moved a book and picked up the wallet beneath. “Do you need something? I don’t want to be late.”

“Hospitality?” the older man grunted, “you pay to stay.” Ray eyed the coffee and doughnuts, “black’s fine.”

Ray stomped in through the door at the back. He was wearing a suit that looked about as old as Marlowe. He muttered to himself, tying his tie, appearing to be looking for something. His shoes were shined until they were almost reflective, but they also looked old. They looked stiff and rarely worn. ...

RAY JENSEN The owner of the Maize Motel, Ray is a dour man in his 70s. An ex-military man, Ray returned to Maize to look after his elderly mother, taking the motel job to make the money needed to support her. After she passed, Ray continued working at the motel, and eventually bought the business af...