“It’s all I ever wanted,” she said.
“Then, lucky day.” To Quinn I said, “You packed and ready to roll?”
He nodded. We moved our suitcases to Alison’s room and watched her finish packing. Then we went back into the room with the dead guys, or as we say, “the Bernies.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Alison said.
I waited.
“What are you going to do with the dead guys? And when can we get out of here?”
“That’s two questions. But the answer’s the same: we wait for the door knock.”
Alison said, “I’m new here, remember?”
“What I mean is our cleanup crew is on the way. In addition to the bodies, they’ll eliminate all trace evidence. When they get here the three of us will move to your room and leave with our luggage.”
“No offense,” she said, “but you can’t possibly get away with this.”
“Why not?”
“Umm, gee, I don’t know,” she said sarcastically. “Dead bodies? Security cameras?” She tilted her head, spread her palms out, gave me a you-can’t-be-serious look.
“The cleanup crew will disable the cameras when they get here,” I said, “and confiscate all tapes of the last twenty-four hours.”
She closed her eyes a moment, thinking things through.
“If you’re about to ask me how they do it, don’t waste your time,” I said, “Because I have no idea. I only know they’re clean freaks—not like your Aunt Ethel, who doesn’t like a messy home. No, these guys want to clean a crime scene like Rainman wants to see Judge Wapner. They’re abnormal, they’re sick, and look about as professional as Nick Nolte and Mel Gibson after a hard night on the town.”
Alison looked as though her mind was unable to process the thought. “Two guys are going to remove two bodies and clean this room of all evidence?”
“They’re really unusual guys,” I said. “I could write a book about them. Maybe I will, after I retire.”
Quinn laughed.
“What?” she said.
“I was just thinking about something that happened one time.” He chuckled again.
“Do I want to hear this story?” she said. I looked at Quinn. “This the one about the new guy and the maggot trail?”
“Jesus, guys,” Alison said.
Quinn laughed again, harder. “That one’s a classic,” he said. “No, I was talking about the 400 pound naked fat guy they couldn’t push out the window.”
“The one they had on his knees, belly stuck in the window frame, butt hanging out facing the door? That guy?”
“Yeah. And every time they pushed his ass—what’d they say? Sounded like the attack on Baghdad?”
I grinned. “Shock and awe.”
“Right. So they get a can of Crisco, then the new guy calls from the lobby, and they decide to play a prank on him?”
“The initiation ceremony prank.”
Alison held up both hands. “Please. This might be funnier in another setting, like—oh, I don’t know—the boy’s bathroom in junior high school?”
Quinn threw his head back and roared. It was good to see him happy; though I worried that hotel guests might report the unusual sounds.
After the laughter subsided, Quinn and I exchanged a silent conversation wherein I looked at him and raised my eyebrows and he shrugged in response. Which meant, “Do you think she’ll ask about Hector?” and his shrug meant that he wasn’t sure. Or didn’t care.
Alison opened her eyes. “What am I supposed to tell Hector? He’ll be calling me any minute now.”
“I think not,” I said.
She gave Quinn a look of disbelief. “You killed him, too?”
Quinn shrugged.
“I need a drink,” she said.
I went to her room and brought her a miniature bottle of vodka.
She took it, saying, “I may have touched some of the stuff in the fridge.”
“The cleaners will take care of it.”
“They’ll still have a record of us being here. You may have checked in with a phony credit card, but I didn’t. They’ll fi nd me and question me.”
“You’re staying somewhere else.”
“Oh really? And where might that be?”
“Don’t know yet. The cleaning crew will bring your key. Your credit card history will show you checked into that hotel today instead of this one.”
She looked at the door, as if mentally calculating her odds of escape. “Who
Quinn said, “It’s complicated.”
Alison finished her drink and placed it on the table. I said, “Augustus, tell me what you can about the Bernies.”
Still looking at Augustus Quinn, Alison mouthed the word “Bernies?”
Quinn said, “You know the show? Weekend at Bernie’s?”
She nodded.
“When we’re stuck babysitting dead guys, we call them Bernies.”
“Of course you do,” she said.
While Augustus picked up one of the Bernie’s forearms and studied it, Alison asked, “Why would Mr. Quinn know anything about these men?”
“They’re ex-cons.”
“So?”
“Prison tats.”
Chapter 32
