“Sure, he checked in about a week back,” the girl on reception volunteered as she worked stacking a pile of well-worn surfboards against a rack along one wall. “I was expecting all sorts of trouble, me being a female and dressed like this, y’know. But he didn’t seem to fix on it at all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, got a real balance about him too, you know what I’m saying? I thought he might even be a rider.” She laughed, a carefree, teenage sound.

“Crazy, huh? But I guess even up there they’ve got to have surfers, right?”

“Surfers everywhere,” I agreed.

“So you want to talk to this guy? Leave a message?”

“Well.” I eyed the pigeonhole system behind the reception desk. “It’s actually some thing I’ve got to leave for him, if that’s okay. A surprise.”

That appealed to her. She grinned and got up. “Sure, we can do that.”

She left the boards and came round to the other side of the counter. I dug around in my pocket, found a spare chargepack for the Rapsodia and fished it out.

“There you go.”

She took the little black device curiously. “That’s it? You don’t want to scribble him a note to go with it or something?”

“No, it’s fine. He’ll understand. Just tell him I’ll be back tonight.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want to do.” A cheerful shrug, and she turned to the pigeonholes. I watched her slide the chargepack in amidst the dust on ledge 74.

“Actually,” I said with feigned abruptness. “Can I get a room?”

She turned back, surprised. “Well, uh, sure …”

“Just for tonight. Just makes more sense than getting a place somewhere else and then coming back, you know.”

“Sure, no problem.” She prodded a display screen to life on the counter, scrutinised it for a moment and then gave me the grin again. “If you like, you know, I could put you on the same landing as he is. Not next door, it’s taken, but a couple of doors down, that’s free.”

“That’s very kind,” I said. “Tell you what then, you just tell him I’m here, give him my room number, he can come and buzz me. In fact, you can give me the hardware back.”

Her brow creased with the flurry of changes. She picked up the Rapsodia chargepack doubtfully.

“So you don’t want me to give him this?”

“Not any more thanks.” I smiled at her. “I think I’d prefer to give it to him myself, directly. It’s more personal that way.”

Upstairs, the doors were old-style hinged. I broke into 74 using no more skill than I’d had as a sixteen-year-old street thug cracking cut-rate dive supplier warehouses.