Writerly Wednesday: Undertow progress report

Shamelessly stolen from nathreee 

Word count: 17326
Items of note: Ethan is trying to quit smoking and drinking. He's about two hours in and on the verge of killing a dude. Mutt is waiting in the car. It's for the best. The Voice is fighting to be heard over the antipsychotics Ethan's taking.
Upcoming fun: A local pub for local people. Ethan will probably get into a fight.
Teaser: 

There was nobody at the reception desk but a radio played country and western. Another bad sign. There was no handy bell to ring, so I slouched against the desk and imagined I was smoking. It wasn't anything like as good as actually smoking.

Luckily, after a few seconds an old man pottered in. Smoking a pipe.

Fucker.

"Help you out, son?" he asked, peering at me over the top of oversized glasses.

I inhaled the smell of tobacco like a junky. It just about covered the briney smell of the place. "I'm looking for someone. She's had a room here for a while. Heather Brooke-Blair."

He scratched his balding head with yellowed fingernails and smiled brightly at me. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"You do work here, right?" I asked suspiciously. He shuffled behind the desk in answer, smile fixed in like his mouth had rigour mortis.

"I've worked here all my life, son. Don't remember a Heather Brooke-Blair."

My temper frayed, just a little. "So how come she told her husband she was staying here? This is the Seaview Motel, right? There another Seaview Motel in this shitty town?"