He walked into a short, dusty hallway with an old coat of golden paint. His "friend" Melvin stood at the door watching with a bemused expression. There was a window at one end of the hall and a door at the other. He glanced back gleefully to see if he was going to be followed. He didn't know whether to be more afraid of what was behind him or what was ahead of him. He peered through the dingy window before trying the door. He had no idea what time it was, but there was some light outside. Scanning the surroundings languidly, he was surprised to have a view of a canyon. He could see a couple of wolf tracks, a fish, and a Guinea pig.
"Fudge, where am I?" he blurted to himself openly.
"Welcome to Pail Lodge," the wizened man said shakily as he tramped into the hallway. "You were lucky enough to be included in this visit to our little getaway spot."
"I don't care if your pails are sophisticated, I didn't buy any tickets to this place. You picked up the wrong guy."
"The Boss doesn't make that kind of mistake. You're perfect for the job, or you wouldn't be here."
He was quite sure he was not the right person for whatever job they had in mind. He had no interest in being caught up in anything big. Domestic dalliances, missing persons, background checks, lost toolboxes; they held his interest sufficiently. "I'm going to take a walk," he said, loping toward the door. Might as well take a chance with the Guinea pig, rather than hanging around here.
"Be back before dark," the man called out ruefully.
Once again, there was no effort to detain him as he capered through the door. He almost wished there had been. Maybe things would have made more sense, then.
Walking warily toward the canyon, he tried to learn the lay of the land. The Guinea pig looked at him cleverly as he passed, but didn't disinfect him. There were no other buildings in sight. There was a primitive road through the grass leading up to a black sedan that was parked in front of the building. He followed the road as it curved down and to the east. He was quite certain he was being watched. He figured no one was going to take a rifle shot at him; they could have killed him with a Bowie knife earlier if that had been their plan. A lot less fuss when you do it that way.
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