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Oh God. This was so unexpected.
    “Anyway,” he continued weakly, “Stassy freaked out and ran. I tried to call him that night, to tell him, hey, it’s no big deal, I thought maybe meant yes and I was sorry, but he didn’t answer and the next day he disappeared. So when Ivan asked me to go look for him, I figured it was sort of my job anyway.”
    “So was it really no big deal?”
    “It wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t run away,” Carson said honestly, and Florida nodded like he could accept that. Arrogant little prick, right?
    “Hm… you really are at least a Great Lake.”
    “Yeah, well you’re like the Loch Ness, all smooth and dark on the outside, but there’s got to be a monster in there somewhere.”
    Florida’s laugh rang through the courtyard as they turned the corner, and Carson shot him an annoyed glare. At least he tried for annoyed. What he was pretty sure happened was that he looked turned on.
    They cut across the big green that opened toward the ocean, their route forming the third side of the isosceles triangle partially formed by the hotel. A defunct kids’ playground rotted in the middle, the hard fiberglass faded and big chunks of the structure missing and yellow ropes declaring it a hazard. An outdoor pool sported lots of fallen debris and a haphazard sign that told people to swim at their own risk. Carson had seen an indoor pool in the building next to the outdoor one, but Carson didn’t know what you’d catch if you swam there.
    Some of the upstairs rooms had wind chimes hanging outside and window decorations, and Carson got the feeling this place was a home to more than the cockroaches. As they neared room 113, though, that’s not what he was thinking.
    What he was thinking was, wouldn’t it be awkward if Stassy opened the door, embarrassingly happy to see him, and declared he, Carson, was the love of Anastacio Malinowski’s life? Especially given how appealing Florida’s laugh was becoming and how Carson kept turning his head just so, to see if he could catch a hint of the guy’s sweat. (Pathetic. Just pathetic. When did that become a turn-on?)
    He didn’t have time to think about it long because they were there, and he didn’t believe in dithering because of a little bit of mortification, otherwise he’d never get on the stage.
    He knocked crisply, and although he wasn’t surprised when nobody answered, he was a little bit surprised when the door swung quietly open.
    “Jesus,” he muttered. “Seriously. These people don’t believe in a goddamned locked door? Is that some sort of Florida thing or some sort of weirdo parrot place thing?”
    Florida was suddenly right on his back, and Carson shrugged his arm. “We don’t know each other that well—”
    “Aren’t you going to go inside?”
    “Well, I was gonna call out first, but… oh my God, what is that smell?”
    Florida wasn’t backing off, so Carson literally stumbled into the room and tried not to gag.
    The room looked like it had been cleared out in a hurry: chair knocked down by the little table, towels all over the floor, and papers too, a copy of A Separate Peace upside down and open by the bed. Carson catalogued these details like they would help him not look at the corpse on the bed.
    “Uhm, Carson?” Florida said, sounding as shaken as Carson felt, which was a blessing.
    “Yeah?”
    “Tell me that’s not your broom closet guy.”
    “Stassy wouldn’t be caught dead in neon green.”
    “Well, good.” Carson kept staring at the book, like somehow it would make the guy with his head caved in less real, and Florida kept talking. “Any idea who that is?”
    “Not a clue. But I gotta say, it’s more proof that room service sucks.” The corpse was old, old enough to be covered in bugs, both alive and dead, as well as, strangely enough, big dusty coats of lye on the carpet and the bed, which was probably why the room smelled but the entire surrounding area did not.
    Carson remembered the fumigation