“Right,” said Serge. “I coined that phrase myself, Barracuda hookers …” His left arm shot out to the side, grabbed the hair on the back of Steve’s head and smashed his face down into the bar. “… Don’t take this the wrong way,” he continued into the phone, “but have you personally ever been to Florida?… Then that explains everything… Traveling down here demands an entirely different skill set … Yes, like backing into hotel parking slots … No, I don’t think you do know your customers aren’t fugitives … How’d you ever get your job? Sleep with someone?-“
Serge held the phone in front of his face again and slowly closed it.
“What happened?” asked Coleman.
“He hung up.”
“How much are we getting?”
“Coleman, he hung up. In business, that’s Morse code for zero.”
“But you worked hard on that report.”
“He said we won’t get paid unless we use their checklist.” Serge looked down and raised his elbows. His eyes followed a tiny river of approaching red liquid back up the bar toward the empty stool between him and Story. “Where’d all this blood come from?” He turned to his left. Story was looking back at him, but this time with a brand-new expression.
Coleman tapped Serge’s shoulder. “So we’re going to start using their checklist?”
“Absolutely not.” said Serge. “It’s a double test.”
A man in maintenance overalls stood in a hotel hallway, playing a brief game of charades with the maid.
“Oh, si, si.”
She produced a card and opened the door.
“Gracias.” He went inside and made the usual quick check in case someone was planted on the toilet with a loud exhaust fan. The walkie-talkie on his waist squawked: “Number two, we’re getting off the elevator. How’s dinner?”
He keyed the mike. “Ready to serve.”
Seconds later, a barely audible knock on the door. He checked the peephole and opened up. The rest of the team rushed inside. Three men in unmarked white jumpsuits slipped hands into thin gloves. One pulled the blinds shut; others turned on lamps and went to work with slot screwdrivers. Faceplates came off all the power switches.
“Find anything?”
“No, you?”
“Nothing. Sure we got the info right?”
” ‘Light switch.’ Couldn’t be more clear.”
“Maybe the guy varied his hiding routine like the one in Fort Walton …”
A secondary, wholesale search began. Dresser drawers, under mattresses, behind nightstands. Then into professional thoroughness: cover off the ironing board, taking apart the toilet-tank assembly. Someone stood on a chair and checked in the drop ceiling with a metal baton flashlight, which yielded three binders of nineteenth-century half-dollars and a few modest gold pieces.
The one with his head in the ceiling clicked off his flashlight and jumped down. “What do you think these are worth?”
“We’re supposed to be looking for stones.”
“But these look good …”-flipping plastic display pages- “… we could pawn them on the side.”
“Forget it,” said a colleague, checking behind paintings. “First, the Jellyfish would kill you for even saying that. Second, he might do us anyway if we don’t come up with the gems … Where the hell are they?”
A pillow unzipped. “What on earth were we thinking hooking up with that Jellyfish character anyway?”
“To make money.”
“I just signed up to boost gems; not roll with a sociopath.” The battery compartment came off the back of the TV remote. “We’re facing murder charges.”
“Not if we don’t get caught,” said the one with the coin binders. He set them aside, clicked the flashlight again and slid under the bed on his back like an auto mechanic. “Just keep looking-“
A cell phone rang. The lead maintenance man pulled it from his pocket. “Hello?… Oh no!” He clapped it shut.
“What is it?”
“The mark left the bar early. Everyone! Clear!” Before they could move: the sound of someone fumbling at the door.
“Kill those lights!”
The gang dashed around the near side of the bed and bunched together in a hiding spot created by the bathroom wall. The last one leaped from view just as the door opened.
Nonchalant footsteps and whistling indicated that the pulled blinds had prevented the room’s occupant from noticing the ransacked interior.
The whistling stopped. He just noticed. The two parties were still out of sight from each other, mere feet apart around respective sides of the bathroom’s corner. The burglar nearest the edge pressed himself as hard as he could against the wall and clutched the baton flashlight to his chest in a two-fisted baseball bat grip.
The unseen room occupant: “Oh my God!” He took a slow step forward. Into view.
The flashlight came down.
Stars.
The crew stood over him. Business clothes, tie askew, coin-show name tag: HENRY.
“Why’s he back from the bar so soon? Our guy was supposed to keep him there for at least another hour.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Call it in.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You want to explain to the Jellyfish why we waited around doing nothing and not calling? Better to take our lumps now.”
“I’m not calling it in.”
“We can’t just stand here until he wakes up.”
