The old-fashioned fan rattled as it spun on the ceiling.
In the pitch-black room, a pair of pale golden eyes opened to a narrow slit.
Hoffa slowly woke from the blazing summer heat, still somewhat groggy.
Knock knock.
A light knock came from outside the door.
It was not a familiar sound. Hoffa reached a hand out from beneath the slightly mildewed covers and fumbled around on the bedside table for a moment.
Before long, he found a pull cord.
Click.
He tugged it.
Dim orange light illuminated the shabby bedroom: an old four-poster bed, a mattress stained with dark spots, battered gray wooden furniture, and cobwebs accumulated over the years on the ceiling, constantly swaying in the breeze from the fan. Startled by the light, a rat darted away.
On the wall directly opposite the four-poster bed where he slept were several peeling English letters.
[Morse Motel]
He froze for a few seconds as the remnants of sleep gradually faded.
There was another knock at the door.
Knock knock.
"Coming."
Hoffa rolled out of bed, frowning as he muttered his way to the wooden door and twisted the slightly rusty handle.
Dawn was only beginning to break, with a faint fish-belly white visible in the distance.
The person knocking was a young woman. She smoked a cigarette and wore cheap leather shorts, fishnet stockings, and a low-cut top. Her thighs were thin, her cheekbones high, her lipstick thick, and her smoky makeup so heavy that her real features were almost unrecognizable.
Seeing that the one who opened the door was a small boy with strange pale golden eyes, she was taken aback. Then she habitually brushed back her hair and smiled. "Hey, handsome. Want to try something new?"
The answer she received was the bang of a door shutting.