Because of the bloody murder.
The motel had temporarily closed.
Returning to the motel.
Brian walked to the counter and rang the bell.
Momentarily.
The owner, looking like Dave, came down from upstairs with a broom in hand, "Officer, is there anything I can assist you with?"
Not sure if it was an illusion.
Brian felt the owner's pale face had become even whiter.
This whiteness was not the color of skin.
But the pallor of skin after losing blood.
Brian didn't look further, yawned, and spoke lazily, "Buddy, what's your name?"
The owner put the broom down, slowly wiped his hands, before finally speaking, "Alba, but my friends call me Dilam."
"Dilam?"
Brian somewhat awkwardly repeated, "That pronunciation doesn't sound like it's from the United States, does it?"
Alba nodded,
"Yes, it's French from the Empire, meaning 'idiot.'
