by Davis Bunn
“Loupe doesn’t know what I’ve got. Unless you told him.”
“Do I sound like a rat? You think somebody working both sides would be telling you to run?”
“No.” Terrance breathed. Or tried to. “No.”
“Loupe will get what he wants out of you. It’s only a question of how hard he’s got to ask before you talk.” Her gaze had gone blank on him. Just two empty glass voids, windows to nothing. “If Loupe starts asking, you tell him whatever it is he wants to know. Tell him fast.”
“This can’t be happening.”
“Exactly. So we run. Now.” Wally stood so close they might have been lovers. She whispered with the coarse burr of shared terror. “So Haines is still out there. So what? Last I heard, Barbados doesn’t extradite.”
“How can you be so sure about this? Loupe hasn’t said a thing.”
“I know these guys. Okay? Not Loupe. His kind. The boss. I’m into one of them for a lot of money. More than that. He owns me. This deal, it’s my only hope of getting free. So it’s in my own best interest to keep you alive and get you out while we still got legs to carry us.”
“I have to contact Don. He’s got to go along with this.”
“Call him from thirty thousand feet. We run now, we just might live to . . .” She caught sight of something behind them and straightened. “Heads up.”
“What now?”
“We got company.” The hard mask was back in place. Wally stepped away. “You just be ready for my signal.”
THEY CAME OUT OF THE PANTRYAND STARTED DOWN THE HALL. VAL just managed to see above the pile of bathrobes and fresh towels in his arms. They came around a corner to find two dark-suited bruisers standing outside a suite entrance. Dillon tensed but played his part well. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
The pair eyed Dillon and Val like they would a free lunch.
“Right, sirs. Anything you need, just ring room service, I’ll be up in a jiffy.” Dillon guided Val to a halt at the neighboring doorway. “Six eighteen, this is where the lass said to do the drop.” Dillon knocked, then asked the bruisers, “You know if anybody’s around?”
“He’s out.”
“Makes our job tons easier, that.” He knocked again just to be certain, then used his passkey. He let Val enter first, then said to the pair, “Trainee.” And sniffed.
Dillon flipped on the light and called, “Housekeeping.”
The room was empty. There was a closed door to Val’s left, no doubt leading to the suite’s parlor. Val could hear the soft murmur of voices.
Dillon shut the door and released a shaky breath. “Dump that lot in the bathroom.”
When Val came back Dillon was doing a professional job on the bed, straightening the cover and plumping out the pillows. “Do what you got to do, mate. I can only keep this up for so long.”
Val moved to the desk. The file opened on top was useless, all travel documents. The drawers were empty. He moved to the closet. Terrance’s shoes were lined up like polished soldiers on parade. The two suits hanging overhead smelled slightly of their occupant.
The briefcase was set behind the shoes. Val slipped it onto the bed and knelt. The catches refused to give.
“Move aside, mate.” Dillon flipped open a switchblade and jimmied the lock. “You didn’t see me do that. And if you did, you won’t tell Audrey.”
The briefcase was new and almost empty. A series of files contained official documents related to the missing funds. Passport. More travel documents. Backup credit cards. Notepad. Silver Dupont pen. Val felt around the edges. “Is there a false bottom?”
“I’ll have a go.” But the switchblade did nothing save slit the threads connecting the leather base to the backing. “This isn’t looking good, is it?”
In response, voices rose in the adjoining room. Both Val and Dillon looked up, frozen in the headlights of very real fear. A voice barked once, like a verbal gunshot. Beside him, Dillon jerked like he took the hit himself. “We can’t stay here much longer.”
The suite’s door banged open and shut. They crouched and listened to footsteps thunder down the hallway outside their room. Then nothing.
Val shut the briefcase, stored it back in the closet, and cast frantically about the room. Then he found it.
The safe was tucked inside what formerly must have held a miniature fridge. “Can you open it?”
Dillon flipped open his wallet, pulled out a metallic blade like a shiny credit card. “Last time I did this, it earned me eleven months inside.” He slid the card through a narrow slot running underneath the numeric keypad. Then he hit six numbers.
The safe pinged and the locks slid back. “I can’t redo his code,” Dillon warned. “Soon as he tries to enter, he’s going to know.”
“We’ll worry about that later.” Val flipped back the door. “Bingo.”
Inside was a wafer-thin mini-laptop. As Val scooped it out, voices rose once more from inside the parlor. Someone shouted angrily.
Val slammed the safe door shut and punched in random num- bers and hit the lock button. He handed Dillon the computer. The young man hid it under his jacket, catching it in place with this belt. He moved to the bath where he bunched up towels to make them look soiled and crammed them into Val’s arms.
Dillon stepped to the outer door, opened it, and said loudly, “You got to speed things up, you want to keep this job.”
They entered the hallway.
Dillon continued scolding as they hustled down the hall. “I’m telling you, mate, you got thirty rooms to turn down, you can’t be crawling around like you’re in some tortoise-and-hare race.”
They were almost free. Two more steps and they would have turned the corner and been in front of the service lift. Punch the button and step inside and away.
“You two! Hold it right there!”
Val hissed, “Fire escape.”
Dillon needed no second urging. He rammed open the stairwell door. Just as Val moved to follow, however, the elevator doors opened down at the hall’s far end.
The day’s discordant screech rose to a fever pitch. Val had no choice but to yell in reply.
Wally didn’t like the way the pair hustled them toward the elevator. “Let go of my arm.”
“The boss wants to see you.”
Wally was not particularly large. But when she planted her heels in the lobby’s carpet she put enough force into the act that the guy gripping her elbow jerked around. “I’m not asking you again.”
“Look, the boss—”
“He’s not the guy doing the grab here. You are. You want your fingers to stay intact, you let go of the merchandise.”
The guy looked pained. His mate said softly, “There’s people watching.”
“That’s right, boyo.” Wally’s face was stone, her eyes blank glass. “Listen to your pal. We don’t want to make a scene, do we?”
The guy dropped his hand.
“Right. Now once more from the top. My friend and I are standing down here having a nice little chat, when you front us.”
“The boss wants a word.”
“So let’s go.” Wally gave him a meaningless smile. “See how easy things are when you play nice?”
Terrance tried to match Wally’s easy tone and blank wall of a face. But he was certain his thundering heart showed. He could feel the muscles beneath his right eye begin to pull down in tight little jerks. Like the strain of not screaming had to come out somewhere.
He walked alongside Wally to the elevators. One of Loupe’s guys moved a half-step ahead, the other a half-step behind. In tight, but not touching. Close enough for Terrance to feel the heat and the threatening force. Whatever the boss wanted. No question. Those guys would do it and not blink.
The doors slid open. They stepped inside. The guy who had released Wally’s arm hit the button. He glanced at the woman. “The boss didn’t like knowing you two were down here alone.” Almost apologetic now.
Wally shrugged. Like it was nothing. “Nice to know
he’s so concerned about our well-being.”
The guy turned back and faced the doors. Overhead the elevator’s speaker droned a tinny version of The Girl from Ipanema. Terrance glanced at Wally. Her warning had bruised his psyche. He wanted to convince himself that it was nothing. She had to be wrong. It was his money, his job, his work. They would finish this bit, take Val Haines out of the equation, and leave.
Then he saw it.
A tiny bead of sweat pressed out by her temple, penetrating Wally’s stonelike mask. It trickled down the side of her face. Wally either did not notice or did not want to draw attention to it. Terrance could not take his eyes off the moisture until it disappeared into her collar. Wally glanced his way. Her eyes looked glazed with all the other sweat she was trying hard not to release.
Terrance turned to face the doors, as scared as he had ever been in his life.
The doors pinged open. Loupe’s two men stepped out.
There was a shout from somewhere along the hall. Wally still had enough of the cop in her to want to be in open space if there was trouble. But the only person visible was a bellhop just this side of where the hall jinked around a corner.
Terrance was the last to exit the elevator. He had a sudden urge to take Wally at her word. Use this chance to slip away. Hit the lobby button and flee as fast as he could for the airport and the waiting plane and Jamaica.
But no. She was wrong. She had to be.
Terrance stepped out.
The doors pinged and began to close.
But before the doors could slide shut, a crazed bellhop raced forward. He tossed his pile of towels into Wally’s face.
One of the bruisers started in with, “What the—”
The bellhop slammed into Terrance. And drove him through the closing elevator doors.
Then the fist smashed into Terrance’s jaw. And suddenly he was fighting for his life.
VAL WAS SLIGHTLY OFF WITH HIS FIRST BLOW. HE KNEW BEFORE IT connected that his aim was worse than his timing. He was still running when the rear wall of the elevator stopped Terrance up short and bounced him back into Val’s incoming fist.
Even so, Terrance’s eyes fluttered slightly as his brain went through the scramble brought on by taking one on the chin. Terrance flapped one arm up to protect his face. The other wrapped around Val’s neck.
Val got one quick jab into Terrance’s gut. The guy grunted, but again Val was off. Terrance gripped Val’s neck harder and shortened the distance to nothing. Val tried to swing his fist around to the side, shoot off a kidney punch. But Terrance sensed it coming, or perhaps he was just thrown off balance. Whatever the reason, he caromed them over to the side wall. The elevator boomed from the impact of two bodies locked in strangle holds. A bell went off somewhere. The light flickered. The idiotic music faltered, then started back up with the elevator’s downward motion.
Terrance clawed at Val’s face with his fingernails for talons. The fingers felt like iron rods, jamming hard for Val’s eyes. Val ducked down onto Terrance’s shoulder, still going for the kidney shot. Terrance rammed him against the doors and the elevator bonged again. The alarm bell came on and stayed on.
“Where is Audrey?”
Terrance had no chance of answering. He flayed at Val with all limbs now. Their bodies were locked into a parody of dance, a vicious waltz to the music of rage. Val kneed Terrance hard enough to break the man’s hold on his neck. He shoved Terrance against the side wall, bonging the cage so hard the brakes came on. The alarm bell was constant and shrill.
Val hooked Terrance on the ear. But his intent to slaughter his opponent left his own face open. The next thing he knew, an unseen hammer smashed into his wounded temple.
The sudden pain stunned him, and he fell forward into Terrance, who tried to shove him away. Val clenched harder, shaking his head. Terrance hissed in his ear, a shrill sound one note lower than a scream. Terrance pounded him in the ribs and got in two solid knees before Val’s vision cleared. Partially, that is. Blood flowed anew from his wound, drenching his right eye. Val flipped it clear, spraying the wall and Terrance both.
The elevator started moving again. Terrance dislodged Val’s grip enough to shove them slightly apart. But this time Val was ready. He jammed his arm between their bodies and got off two solid punches to Terrance’s chin. The eyelids fluttered once more.
“What did you do with Audrey!”
In response, Terrance yelled with a fury to match his own and shoved.
Only the doors had opened, and there was nothing behind Val to halt his motion.
They careened out of the elevator and into a crowd of people drawn to the elevators by the alarm and their shouts and banging. Val’s fall was softened by landing on a hotel manager and two bellhops. Terrance remained intent on locking his hands around Val’s throat, his voice reduced to a constant beastly screech.
Val could feel his strength drain along with the blood flowing from his head wound. Thankfully, the blood kept Terrance from gaining a solid grip. Val got off one more hammer, putting everything he had into one solid right to Terrance’s ear. When he felt his enemy’s grip slacken, Val broke Terrance’s hold and rolled away. He shoved his way free of the milling bodies scrambling with them on the lobby’s carpet. He crawled to his feet and kicked hard at the hand gripping his ankle. Once free, Val lunged for the revolving glass doors.
Only then did he hear the tumult. The entire lobby was an arena of waving arms and shouting voices and running feet. Someone behind the desk was shouting for the police.
A hand gripped him from behind, one strong enough to wheel him about. Val half turned and faced one of the well-dressed killers.
Val clawed for something, anything. He caught hold of a brass ashtray standing by the nearest pillar. Val gripped the supporting rod with his free hand and whirled about.
The heavy was reaching for something under his jacket. Val reacted instinctively. He lowered his swing and batted the man’s shoulder.
The man grunted in pain. His fingers flopped uselessly.
Val wrenched himself free and swung again, two-handed this time. He connected with the elbow that came up to protect the man’s forehead, driving him back a step.
He was armed now, and his prey was still crawling out of the morass on the carpet. Val took a step toward Terrance and took aim.
But before he could unleash the blow, a woman slammed out of the stairwell beside the elevators. Her lips were drawn back from small animal teeth. She charged.
Val reaimed and caught her square on the shoulder, driving her to one side. She collided with another heavy, and they went down in a tangle of scrambling limbs.
People shouted and pointed and raced in every direction, just so long as it was away.
Two of the bruisers were rising to their feet, watching with deadly expressions. Val dropped the ashtray and sprinted with the others for the exit.
He shoved aside the bellhop who tried to halt him. He banged through the revolving doors. His head scarred the glass surface with red trails. Then he was through and lurching down the street.
His legs refused to obey his commands. They merely stumbled when he wanted to run.
Then Bert’s van roared up alongside, climbing over the curb. Val could not make himself stop. He rammed into the side and stayed there as the door flew open and hands gathered him up and bundled him inside.
Dillon pulled Val into the seat beside him and stared aghast at Val’s bloody face. Bert wrestled them off the curb and roared away. Only when they were three streets out from the center did Bert risk a glance and a grin in Val’s direction. “My guess is you won’t be offered a second chance at that job, mate.”
Val remained silent. He bent over his legs, the aftershocks sending weak tremors through his frame. He was still being assaulted. Only now it was by memories.
Dillon stripped off his own bellhop jacket and handed it over. “Stick that on your face before you bleed to death.”
Val pressed the jacket to his te
mple. The pressure did nothing to stem the flood. He remembered.
Bert demanded, “What’s the matter, mate?”
Val straightened in stages. “Do either of you have friends servicing the rentals around here?”
“What, you mean cottages to let?” Dillon looked askance at Bert. “I might do. Why?”
When Val explained what he wanted, Bert laughed out loud. “I’m ruddy glad we didn’t meet up back before I took the straight and narrow, mate. You’re a right one with the planning, you are.”
“You just watch the road,” Dillon said.
Bert paid him no mind whatsoever. “Our Val is covered in it, and all he wants to know is, can we help him with what comes next.”
Dillon asked, “What do we do now?”
“That’s simple enough,” Bert replied for him. “We’re off to save the lady. Isn’t that right, mate?”
Val only pressed harder at his temple. But the mental torrent would not abate.
He remembered everything.
THE STORM HAD NOT YET ARRIVED WHEN VAL LEFT GERALD’S STUDY. He walked through the kitchen, easing his shoulders and wincing at the bite of new bruises. Dillon and Bert were busy at the stove making a late supper nobody much wanted. They must have seen the frustration in his face because they did not speak. The pressure of time and unspoken terrors weighed heavily upon them all. A pot of coffee had been sitting on the eye long enough to almost congeal. Val poured himself a mug and stepped out back.
The greatest source of anxiety was that no one had called. No threats had been made. No ultimatums. Nothing.
The hillside was a dark silhouette cut from sunset and the impending storm. The horizon was a solid wall of black cloud. The air smelled of coming rain, heavy and sweet. Thunder rumbled low and menacing. The chalk veins glowed faintly, as if the heat Val felt fulminating inside his heart lay exposed and gleaming.
He yearned for love. No incoming barrage of memories could change that. He yearned for the touch of a good woman. A lady who cared enough to see in him what only love could illuminate. What he had denied himself for far too long.
