He pointed at the floor between the double beds. Steve, facedown, three entry wounds in the back of the skull. Serge’s shoulders sagged. “We’re screwed.”
“Steve’s the one who looks screwed.”
“He was my ‘in.’ I worked hard on surveillance, intelligence and counterintelligence. Now I’m on the outside again.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“Who else? The.gang.”
“Think they found out about your plan?”
“Hard to say.” Serge grabbed the deceased’s cell phone off the dresser. “When you’re a fuck-up like Steve, you could get whacked over any number of things. Still, the timing so close to our meeting at the Orbit is a bit too’coincidental … We better get out of here. Don’t touch anything …”
Serge tucked the pistol back in his waistband and opened the door. He took one step into the hall, then jumped back, crashing into Coleman.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t believe it.” Serge peeked his right eye around the doorframe. “Down the hall, telephone repair uniforms. Long, stringy hair. They’re going in our room.”
“We’re back on?”
“Dang it. We were only gone five minutes. There goes our ambush.”
“What do we do now?”
“Plan B.”
“What’s that?” “The anti-plan.”
They headed quietly down the hallway. Coleman ducked under an air freshener. Serge reached the room first and placed his ear to the door.
“Hear anything?” asked Coleman.
“Just rummaging.” Serge removed a small black tube from his pocket.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Off a law enforcement website. Used by police extraction teams before they charge in.” Serge placed one end of the tube over the outside of the door’s peephole. “Series of lenses reverse optics so you can see everything going on inside a hotel room.” Serge put his right eye to the other end of the tube. “Also picked up a bunch of plastic wrist straps, cheaper by the dozen.”
“What’s going on?”
“The painting’s off the wall with back ripped open-right where I said the stones would be.”
“Guess Steve had the room number after all.”
“They’re busy taking the place apart, the perfect diversion.” Serge stuck the tube back in his pocket and pulled a gun from his waistband. “Extraction team ready?”
“Ready.”
Serge silently slipped his magnetic room key in the slot. A green light came on. He burst through the door. “Freeze.”
They stopped where they stood. “We’re here to fix the phone.”
Serge pulled a pair of wrist straps from his back pocket and handed them to Coleman. “Both of you: Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“We want a lawyer.”
Coleman finished and stepped away. Serge walked up to test the tightness of the straps. “Lawyer? Why? Drawing up a will?”
“You’re not cops?”
“You wish. I mean that earnestly.”
“So you’re really a courier?”
“Strike two.”
“Then who are you?”
“Very close personal friend of Howard Long.”
“Howard?”
“Florida souvenir guy. Intensive care thanks to you.”
The hostages shot each other a knowing look, then over their shoulders to Serge: “That was never supposed to happen …”
“It’s our boss …”
“He’s crazy!”
“Bet I can give him a run for his money.” Serge opened the lower dresser drawer and removed an empty yellow legal pad. He clicked open a pen. “I’m going to need the names and addresses of everyone in the gang, your fences, where you’re currently staying, everyone you’ve hit in the last six months, who you’re planning to hit next, the location of all stashed gems, and personal preference: Ginger or Mary Ann?”
“What?”
“Threw that in to see if you’re listening.” Serge leaned over the pad with his pen. “Ready when you are …”
“He’ll kill us …” “We’re not telling you shit…”
Serge dragged a pair of chairs in front of the entertainment center. “Wilma or Betty?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Told you. Time’s up.” Serge waved his gun toward the chairs. “Have a seat. We now proceed to the consolation round.” He opened the drawer again and removed a second legal pad. This one covered with crude drawings. Serge rapidly flipped pages: deep pits full of snakes, vats of acid, catapults, homemade guillotine, jugs of poison with skulls on the side, mad scientist giant laser, large pool with circling shark fins-all containing bloody stick figures, some in pieces, others with flames or electricity bolts. Serge tapped his chin with the pen. “What will it be?…”
Water was running in the bathroom sink. Coleman’s voice: “I can’t get the stink off.”
Serge stopped tapping his chin and looked up with big eyes. “Coleman! That’s it! You’ve done it again!” He tossed the legal pad back in the drawer and kicked it closed with a foot. “This way I don’t have to use up any of my ideas. They’ll all still remain eligible for the playoffs.” He ran to a suitcase, pulling out several coils of rope and rolls of gray adhesive. “Duct tape again-I should buy voting stock … Hold still. This won’t take long.”
“What are you planning?”
“Ever watch Flip That House?”
“What?”
