Quickly he left the lobby to the sound of laughter.
'Dimwit could do with a couple of thousand volts up her ass,' he assured himself.
Directly across the entry drive ran a walkway that led into the
parking lot. From there he followed the side of the building, past bougainvillea shrubs arranged to add a little privacy to the rooms on the ground floor. At the rear of the hotel the grounds were laid out like an exclusive garden, verdant with golf-course-perfect lawns and bursting with color in the proliferation of flowering plants. The grounds contained a private swimming pool.
There were a couple of female guests sitting out in bathing suits, drinking from glasses smeared with lipstick. Cain sneaked a peek at them. Ordinarily he might have lingered and enjoyed the show. Sadly, neither of them was pretty enough to hold his interest. He paid them no attention, searching instead for the stairway the receptionist had mentioned. He saw it within seconds, a tiled staircase leading up to balconies on the two higher floors. Chancing a stiff neck, he craned upward, seeking door numbers. Then, happy with what he saw, he rapidly moved away, skirting the building and returning to the parking lot.
Time for plan C.
He took the scaling knife from his jacket pocket as he approached the SUV. Kneeling down by the rear tire, he thrust the blade into the rubber seal next to the wheel hub. Pulling the knife out again, he noted that the narrow slash was barely detectable, but the almost inaudible hiss of escaping air was encouraging.
'That'll hold you for a while,' he whispered. A flat tire would royally piss off someone who couldn't even be bothered to rub a little dust on the license plate.
He dropped the knife back in his pocket and straightened out his clothes as he returned to his own vehicle. The vintage VW Beetle had gone the way of the dinosaurs. Not that he required the intervention of a planet- destroying meteor; he'd merely dumped it in a dry canal bed, then set it ablaze. It was quick work to replace it with an undistinguished light blue Oldsmobile.
On the rear bumper was a sticker some might think pathetic: i brake for wildlife. Though he tempted discovery by leaving such a distinct identifier on the car, he'd allowed it to stay in place. For one, it added to the disguise he'd adopted of a meek-mannered salesperson, plus it was a statement that actually resonated with him. Though he had no qualms whatsoever about butchering those of his own species, he had no desire to harm any other living creature. Faced with running down a rabbit or swerving into a line of children on a Sunday school outing, there would be only one choice in his mind. Sunday school would be missing a number of snot-nosed brats next week.
The temperature inside the Oldsmobile was a lot cooler than anticipated. When he'd driven the car here, the sun had made the heat inside almost intolerable. That's the drawback when appropriating an older-model car: no climate control. Plus the driver's window had a fault and he'd been unable to open it with the rotating arm. Oh how he suffered for his art!
When he'd driven into the parking lot, he'd left the car beneath a stand of palm dates to conceal it from the view of traffic on the interstate. His fortuitous choice had also brought him some welcome shade.
Settling in the driver's seat, he prepared for a long wait. To pass the time, he took one of the film-wrapped packages from his pocket and teased the contents within. Kind of gnarly now, but they'd polish up nice. He imagined that the fingers were those of the rosy-cheeked receptionist. Yes, he could be in for a long wait, but he was happy to do so with his mind thus engaged.
15
harvey had done a decent job of monitoring the movements of Sigmund Petoskey. True to Harvey's word, as soon as the third-generation immigrant finished his daytime business, he headed out to the derelict building Rink had shown me earlier. He left in an entourage of three vehicles that snaked their way from the opulent business center to the run-down building, driving in a fashion that said he wasn't concerned about police patrols pulling him over. In our rental car, Rink and I followed at a discrete distance.
When Petoskey ignored a red light, we pulled up; it wasn't necessary to keep a close tail when we knew where he was headed.
The lights were reflected in Rink's gaze.
'You up for this, Rink?' I asked.
He sniffed. 'Ready.'
'Things could get messy,' I said. 'But I can't think of a better way to shake Petoskey than raiding him in the place where he feels safest.'
'You take guns into a man's house, things always get messy.' He gave me a melancholy shake of his head.
'Been a while since you done any wet work?' I asked.
'Been a while, yeah. But it never leaves you, Hunter.' Rink looked across at me, and for a moment didn't have to say more. Only those who have taken another man's life would know what we were imagining. He was right. It doesn't matter how hard you try to bury the memories, they never leave you.
The green light saved us further agony.
When we arrived at the old redbrick building, Petoskey's entourage had lined up in the lot to its right. As well as the original three, they'd been joined by a further two cars and a van.
A couple of bored guards stood to one side, nonchalant as they sucked at cigarettes. They weren't expecting trouble. They were there for appearance's sake.
These guards were of no immediate concern. We'd be going in via a different route and would not be seen by them. I was more apprehensive about the number of street people who wandered around the area. We were strangers, and they'd be suspicious of us. None of us knew— Harvey included—if the bums were belligerent to Petoskey or not. It'd ruin our chances of bearding King Siggy in his castle if any of them went running to him. I doubted anyone would do that out of loyalty, but the promise of a reward would be too much of a temptation for some.
Discretion
