THE WAGES OF HATE - CHAPTER III: HOTEL, OR SO THE SIGN SAYS.

Abdul got me maneuvered back down the sidewalk and into the car, no mean feat considering my emotional state at the moment.

After making sure I was strapped in, REALLY strapped in, we set off for the Grand Hotel, although grand it wasn't and hotel was a bit of a stretch, but it was the only one in town and reasonable.

After the check-in process was done, and I laugh, we went upstairs to our rooms. A 3-story affair and to be fair not that bad. There seemed to be about 6 rooms on this floor and one was a commons room. I imagined the 3rd floor was probably the same.

The rooms were fair-sized, clean and the bed seemed very comfortable. Oh well, this was hopefully not going to be a career move so...

I had one room and Abdul the other. I think he figured I was going to be hysterical or something most of the night and he was I am sure tired.

We had inquired about food and since the hotel did not have a restaurant (Continental breakfast only from 6am to 9am...which turned out to be surprisingly good), we decided to check out a local eatery just down the street.
  
Actually EVERYTHING was just down the street or so 
I had decided. Hahaha. Small towns are small towns everywhere. 

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It wasn't bad, actually. The name above the front door was in Arabic but Abdul said it said (name of the town) and Restaurant. Obvious but functional. During dinner, Abdul told me he was going to do some snooping. He knew of a local bazaar and bar and after depositing me back at the hotel he would be heading out. I offered to come along, but that jarred him. 

"No, Mister Dusty. Not a good idea. They don't get many tourists here. None, actually and NEVER Americans. Better to let me go alone. At least for now. I will make sure you are safe.

Harumph, but oh well. He was probably right and if something happened to me too, that wouldn't help Mustafa.

So that is what happened. After dinner, he walked me back to the hotel and upstairs. I was afraid he planned on tucking me in, but no. 

Then he left. There was TV, but in Arabic or Urdu or whatever so it was useless to me. Radio, but I just wasn't in the mood. What I was in the mood for was FINDING MUSTAFA, but also sleep. Who would have thunk it, but suddenly all the stress and tension had hit me and I went out like a light, until I awoke to the sound of knuckles pounding on my door.

OOPS?