"Suitable," van Alen said.
A thick eyebrow lifted. "Will you boys be needing a double bed?"
"What the hell do you mean—" Kesley began hotly, but van Alen cut him off and said in a calm voice, "Twin beds will be fine, if you've got them."
"Of course," the proprietor said. "Beg pardon." He reached behind him and fumbled on a board laden with keys, mumbling cheerfully to himself. Finally he decided on an appropriate room and unhooked the keys.
"Three-fifty," he said.
Van Alen placed four one-dollar pieces face upward on the desk. The hotelman looked at the coins, grinned, and scooped them up, putting a fifty-cent piece in their place. Van Alen ignored it, and after a moment the hotelman scooped that up as well.
"Come this way, please."
He showed them to a room on the third floor, which was the topmost. It was a boxy, green-walled room with a single naked fluorescent running along its ceiling. Kesley had vaguely hoped that the room would have floor-to-ceiling luminescence, as some of the oldest city hotels were reputed to have, but no such luck. This one had been built since the Blast; no fancy trimmings here.
There were two beds, both without spreads. The part of the sheet that was visible at the top was gray and frayed, though apparently clean. A slatted screen stood folded between the beds.
"Cozy, isn't it?" the proprietor asked. He seemed to be oozing filth. "It's one of our best doubles."