Well, that was totally going to wreck my hair.
Around the corner was a dank empty alcove. Goose bumps pricked my neck and arms. I stepped into the small space; on the ground were a torn business card and a trampled peacock feather. There were scuff marks on the pavement where things had clearly been dragged.
“Farley?” I knocked at the wall. “Mr. Tso?” My voice echoing through the steam was making a creepy situation even creepier. What had happened here? Where did everyone and everything go? There was no door, no “Back in five minutes” sign. You would never have known that a shop bursting with a million curiosities had been here just the day before. This town was starting to give me the creeps.
I took a quick pic of the feather and card on the ground and tried to text it to Uncle Mick. Seeing as he and Farley were friends, on some level, maybe he could shed some light on this weirdness.
Angry voices echoed from behind a doorway, and I thought I heard footsteps slapping the damp cement. My phone chirped about lack of signal and a voice in the back of my head said, Maybe you should get the heck out of the dark alley where things seem to disappear. Soon my inner voice was drowned out by the sounds of my boots hitting the pavement as I hightailed it toward the street. I almost dropped my satchel, and wasn’t even sure if I would have gone back for it.
When I burst back onto the street, my hair frazzled from steam and impromptu jogging, I could see Steve parked across the way. He seemed to have put down his book and picked up some knitting. Relieved to be back in the sunlight, and to have a signal, I made sure to send the picture of the naked alcove to Uncle Mick, emphasizing that I was counting on his contact to get Vera’s item and could he get back to me ASAP, adding that I had given Farley Tso six hundred dollars of Vera’s money. I had been hoping to get some shopping done in a few of the amazing vintage stores San Francisco has in droves. And I was also looking forward to taking some pix in Delores Park. Cheesy as it was, I wanted a shot of the Painted Ladies to send to Lance and Tiff, because, let’s face it, all us people of “a certain age” watched Full House. Don’t judge us, there was little else on. Looked like the shopping and photo-snapping items on my bucket list would have to wait for another time. Farley Tso was possibly dead. The shop was gone and so was the cash. It made me really sad and it meant I needed to put some distance between me and this place.
Although I didn’t want to involve myself in whatever happened to Farley, I took time in the cab to enter Officer Martinez’s information into my phone. Because you just never know.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Look up and sideways, but never look down.
—The Kelly Rules
THE SCHOOLGIRLS WERE heading out from the hotel, and the Tilley hat ladies seemed to have arrived just when I did. The ladies waved extravagantly. I waved back and grinned. The beautifully exotic students didn’t take their eyes off their screens. The bickering couple had just left in a taxi.
I stepped out of the cab, walked across the street and took a picture of the hotel with my phone. For fun, I captured the Tilley hat ladies fussing with a map and what looked like a guidebook. I’d find a way to send them the pix afterward. The students were still there, both fascinated by their phones. Click. For good measure, I took a photo of the doorman and one of Steve the Uber guy with his book. I could send that to him later. The doorman seemed to have an issue with Steve. Steve in turn pointed to me. I waved and hurried back over. “He’s helping me and I asked him to wait.”
With all these cabs and unexpected activities, I was going to have to dip into Vera’s cash. I’d be replacing that along with the chunk of change that had vanished with Farley Tso. Poor little college fund would take another blow.
I swept through the lobby, phone to my ear, pausing to take discreet photos as I waited for the elevator. I got the registration desk, the bellman, the concierge, and just as the elevator opened, I thought that I should really get a shot of the manager. I pivoted and made my way to the front desk. I spoke to the nice young man and asked to see the manager.
If asked, I would have had to classify the look on his face as furtive.
I smiled and waited.
“Um, he’s not here.” He was looking a bit paler by the minute.
“Oh. When will he be back?”
He glanced around nervously. “I don’t think he’s coming back.” He blurted out, “Apparently there was a serious mistake made.”
“Is there someone in charge?”
“Um, yes, she’s in the office.”
“Can you tell her I’d like to speak to her?”
“We have orders not to disturb her, at least for now.”
“Well then, I’ll try later.”
He leaned forward. “It’s just that you weren’t supposed to have that upgrade. He wasn’t authorized to give you that suite or do anything that he did.”
I said, “But what will that mean for us?”
He shrugged. “Don’t quote me, but I think they’ll have to honor his commitment. But he’s out of a job.”
* * *
I HEADED UP to the suite and slipped through the doors, I flicked the safety latch. This time there had not been a mauling of the contents and our possessions. But there were subtle signs that someone had been there. My raincoat was not quite where I had left it. A small writing pad had been moved from the desk.
I took out my phone to call Smiley. This wasn’t quite as straightforward a visit as I’d thought. Should I take the video devices with me? Should I call him? I should really decide what to do before calling him and having him make the decision. Not my style.
I changed into skinny jeans and a clean tee while I decided. The best thing would be to take the device from the living room and at least find out who’d been there. At least it would still be recording if there were more “visitors.”
I was reaching for the phone to tell Smiley all was well when I thought I heard voices from the hallway. A knock on the door followed, then a man’s voice. “Miss Bingham? This is”—a muffled name—“the manager. I need to speak to you.”
“One moment.” The manager? But I’d just been told the manager was a woman and this was definitely a man’s voice. I scrambled to pick up my camera and stuffed it in my deep orange satchel. “Just need to get changed. Can you give me a bit of time?”
“I’m afraid I need to speak to you now. You are not authorized to be in this suite and we need you to vacate it now.”
“No problem with that,” I shouted. “But how do I know you are who you say you are? I’m calling the police.” I put a little shake in my voice. I tiptoed to the door and held my phone up to the peephole in the door. I was able to see a distorted image of two large men in the hall. Even though they were wearing suits, I doubted that they were hotel officials. The former manager was a small man and this definitely wasn’t him. I snapped a couple of shots and stepped back. From their heights and builds, there was a good chance they were the two who had terrorized us at Gram’s house. They weren’t wearing masks now, probably because that would be highly suspicious in a hotel corridor. I was relieved that I’d been able to get pictures of them. Maybe they’d be good enough to identify despite the distortion of the peephole. I tried not to add in the thought “if my body was found.” My hands were shaking as I sent the photos to Smiley and for good measure to Lance and Uncle Mick. I couldn’t really think of anyone else until I remembered Officer Martinez. My hands were shaking as I sent them to her as well, with the note:
I think these are the intruders. Now on ninth floor of La Perla Hotel.
“You have two minutes,” the voice said.
“Perfect,” I trilled. “That’s all I need. Oh, maybe make it three, please. I need to use the bathroom.”
I grabbed the portable telephone receiver and dashed toward the bedroom and the balcony door. Out on the balcony, I closed the door firmly behind me. I told myself not to
think about the fact it was the ninth floor. Of course, that instruction had the opposite effect. I didn’t know for sure the two guys in the hall were our home invaders, but it seemed like a pretty good bet. And they were at least as scary as the drop from the balcony. With my orange bag slung by its strap around my neck, I climbed over to the adjoining balcony. The noise from the seagulls was drowned out by the pounding of my heart. I landed with a thud on the cement floor. I jumped to my feet and tried the door to the next room. Ours had been the corner suite. My guesstimate told me that this one should be a standard room.
The door was locked.
With my breath still ragged, I prayed that my room phone would work from that distance. I called the front desk. It did. “There are men with guns on the ninth floor. Please send security and call 911.”
“Is that you, Miss Bingham?”
“Please, they’re trying to break down my door. You know I’ve been attacked before. Security and 911. Now, or it’s on you.”
Time to take my life in my hands again. I probably had seconds left before they realized that I had escaped through the balcony door and followed. If they caught up with me out here, it would be a long way down. I went over to the next balcony. At least there was one of those large square concrete planters to hide behind. If this door didn’t open, I would have to keep going. The good news was because of the stories about Uncle Seamus’s exploits, I knew it could be done. The bad news was that after this, there was only one more balcony before a blank wall projected. Behind me I could hear shouting and footsteps. Unless I was going to try an Uncle Seamus and go down, I had to get in this door.
By a miracle, it opened. Who besides me worries about locking the door on the ninth floor?
I saw a shadow move behind me and barely stifled a scream. A woman stood in the bathroom door, her mouth open in an “O.” She wore a towel and a look of terror. And she wanted to scream too.
I put my fingers to my lips first and then whispered, “Help me until security gets here.” I turned and locked the balcony door.
“What—”
“It’s the second time I’ve been attacked in this hotel. I climbed over the balconies. I need to hide. Don’t let anyone in. Call the desk and say you hear sounds of a violent struggle. I need to hide.”
Her hands shook as she called. Her voice warbled with fear. She was good. No doubt the desk clerk believed her.
I began to pull the cord to close the blinds. My new roommate’s eyes opened wide and she turned toward the balcony and screamed, long and loud. She was a world-class screamer. She wasn’t faking it. I was frantically searching for something that could be used as a weapon. Somehow the floor lamp wasn’t going to do the trick.
“Is it a big man in a suit?” I whispered.
She nodded and went back to screaming. She stopped as suddenly as she’d started and said, “He kept going.”
“Did he see you?” My knees felt like melting wax. I struggled to fake being calm.
She swiveled, horror written on her face. “Oh. My. God.”
“No no, it’s good. He knows what I look like and he knows you’re not me. They want me. I don’t know why.”
She said in her shaky voice, “He tried the balcony door. I don’t know why he didn’t come in.”
“It was open when I got here, but I locked it behind me.”
“He could have shot at it and shattered the glass,” she said practically.
“Let’s just be glad he didn’t. He’s looking for me. I’m sure he doesn’t want to kill half the hotel.”
“But what does he want with you?”
“Wouldn’t I like to know that.”
This conversation was conducted in the lowest of whispers. We both knew they were out there. One was on the balconies. What if the other one was in the corridor? They’d probably ruled out this room as my refuge as there was a hysterical woman who was clearly not me in it.
I thought I heard the splintering of a glass in the room next to us. They’d be in there searching for me. If help didn’t arrive soon, they’d invade the room on the other side and then they’d be back. They’d know I couldn’t get far. Security should be here any minute, if they weren’t in on the whole thing. The police would still need a couple of minutes. As long as the desk had really called the police.
I could tell that the woman whose life I had crashed in on had the same reaction. We didn’t have much time and we had a lot to lose.
Sure enough, there was a bang at the door. “Let’s go,” I whispered, grabbing another towel. She clutched hers closer and shook her head.
I took her hand. “No choice.” We hurried to the balcony door, opened it, closed it behind us. Even with the door closed, we could still hear the sounds of the door being battered in. What were they using?
“Don’t look down,” I said. “Look ahead to safety.” We climbed over to the balcony on the right and then into the room next to our suite, the one they’d already checked. Unlike me, they didn’t lock doors behind them. They’d ripped the shower curtain and the bedspreads off looking for me. Tossed over the chair and broken the television, just for fun, I suppose. Or maybe it was as an outlet for their frustration.
I figured they’d go through them all and then check again because they knew about the balconies as an escape route. Most likely they would return to this one once they found my new friend’s room empty. I peered into the hallway. It was now or never. “We have to run for it. It’s just a few feet until the turn in the corridor.” And run we did. We raced around the corner and along to the staircase exit. She was sobbing behind me as we clattered down the stairs and onto the eighth floor. Would we be safe there? Who knew? A siren shrieked nearby and then we heard a few whoops. Police, at last.
A maid looked startled at our panicked appearance, especially my nameless, weeping friend in her not-roomy-enough towel. Uncle Seamus always spoke highly of hotel staff. I recognized her as the friendly person who’d delivered our towels, back when I thought the suite was a luxurious and happy solution. “Don’t scream,” I said, “there’s a man with a gun. Let us into a room and you stay too. Put your housekeeping cart in with us. We’ll all be safe there.”
“I could lose my job. We don’t put the carts in the rooms.”
“You could lose your life if they find us. Please, let’s go.”
We scurried into the closest room on the opposite side from where our rooms had been, the street side. I made my way to the window—no balconies on this side—and looked down. A trio of police cars were parked randomly in front of the building. My new friend sat on the bed and burst into tears.
I said, “I’m pretty sure we’ll be safe here on this floor. We just have to wait it out.”
The maid said, “And hope that the people do not come back while we are here.” That would be the worst thing.
My towel friend gasped. “We’ll be arrested. I’ll go to the police station in a towel. I can’t think of anything worse than that.”
I thought that being shot or taken away by the men who were trashing the ninth floor in search of me would be considerably worse, but I knew better than to say so. My companions were already pretty stressed out. That got worse when we heard banging and shouting in the hallway.
“Police!” I motioned the others to hide in the closet. I put my eye to the door again and spotted two armed police officers. I decided that my pursuers didn’t have uniforms or they would have pulled the stunt before.
“What is it?” I said. “What’s going on, Officer?”
“Open up.”
I did as I was told with my heart thundering. The shake in my hands was real as the officer pulled me from the room. “What’s happening?”
“Have you seen any males with weapons?”
I said, “Yes. We were on the ninth floor. We ran here to hide.”
“Who else is in the room?”
I hesitated. “I’m with two women. One terrified guest from the ninth floor and a chambermaid. They have nothing to do with this. But I can tell you what the—”
“Get them out because we’re going in.”
“But I saw the armed men. They were on the ninth floor. They broke into my room and I saw them—”
My pathetic attempt to describe the would-be killers got me nowhere. I found myself staring at the officers’ drawn weapons and decided to cut my losses. These guys were the foot soldiers, not detectives. Just as I was about to call the other two women, the crackle of voices came over the radio. The officers backed away and lumbered toward the stairs. At least my new companion wouldn’t have to go to the police station in a towel. I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to go back to her room yet, though. Back in this room, the maid was shaking even worse than I had been.
I felt a wave of guilt. I’d brought this poor woman into this. Who knows what a group of armed men meant to her. On the other hand, she’d have still been standing in the hallway with her cart when the armed cops arrived and that would have been awful. At least with me and my towel friend, she had company and support, such as it was on this bizarre day.
“My name is Elaine,” the woman in the towel said.
“I’m Jordan.”
“Ana Maria,” said the chambermaid.
I was glad we at least knew one another’s names.
“They’re gone,” I said inanely.
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. To the stairs. I think to the ninth floor.”
“We need to find out where they’ve gone and go the opposite way,” Elaine said. “Well, as long as that’s back to the ninth floor.”
“I don’t plan to stick my head into that stairwell until we know that they’ve cleared the building. It can’t be that long. We’re as safe here as anywhere.”
The Hammett Hex Page 19
