Quinn surveyed the room. In the corner was a bed. Someone was lying on it. Orlando had glanced at the bed, too. Quinn could see it in her face, the disappointment and continued fear. The person on the bed was far too big to be her son.
Quinn finished his sweep of the room. To the left were two doors, side by side. Next to one of them was a heavy-looking dresser with a TV on top.
'Where do those go?' Quinn asked, pointing at the doors. 'Closet and bathroom,' the clerk said from his position on the floor. Quinn looked back at the man in the chair. 'You carrying anything else?' The guard hesitated, then pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a Walther PPK in an ankle holster. 'Pull it out slowly and toss it over here,' Quinn ordered.
The man did so.
'What else?' Quinn asked.
The man shook his head. Quinn walked over, grabbed the Uzi off the table, and slung it over his shoulder. He then turned his attention to the person lying on the bed. A Caucasian male, mid-twenties.
Nate.
Quinn looked back at his three captives, then motioned to the closet door. 'Inside. You two in the
closet,' he told the guards. 'And you,' he said as he looked at the clerk, 'you can have the bathroom.' The clerk and the guard on the floor got to their
feet and started toward the closed doors.
'You, too,' Orlando said to the injured man.
It took the man a moment to stand up, but he was soon following the other two across the room. The guard who hadn't been shot opened the closet door, and he and his partner squeezed inside the tiny chamber.
Quinn walked over to the door. 'Phones,' he said, holding out his hand.
Once the guards had given him their cell phones and he'd stowed them in his pocket, he closed the door.
The clerk was already in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid.
'You got a phone?' Quinn asked.
'No,' the man said.
'Are you sure?' Quinn asked, his eyebrow raised.
'No phone,' the man said quickly. 'It's downstairs, under the counter.' Quinn shut the door, then with Orlando's help, he dragged the dresser in front of the two doors.
Quinn carried Nate in a fireman's hold across the empty hotel lobby, through the main entrance, and into the night. Orlando raced ahead of them and threw open the back door of the car. Carefully, they placed Nate onto the seat.
'Quinn?' Nate looked up at him, his eyes barely open. 'It's okay,' Quinn said.
Nate began to mumble something else, but his eyes closed and his head fell back.
Quinn shut the door. 'I'm sorry,' he said to Orlando.
'Where are we going to take him?' she asked as if she hadn't heard him. Quinn was silent for a moment. 'I know a place.' They climbed back into the car. After Quinn
started the car, he turned to Orlando. 'We'll find Garrett, too.' Her only response was a quick, empty smile.
Sophie was in the doorway to the bar, saying good night to one of her customers, when Quinn drove up and parked at the curb.
'I didn't think you were coming back,' she said after he got out of the Mercedes and came around to the sidewalk.
'I need your help,' he told her.
She took a few steps toward the car, but stopped as Orlando opened the passenger-side door and climbed out.
'Who's she?' Sophie asked.
'A friend,' Quinn said.
He walked to the rear passenger door and opened it. With Orlando's help, he lifted Nate out of the back. 'What's wrong with him?' Sophie asked.
'He's hurt.'
'I can see that. How?'
'It's not important.'
'Did you . . .?'
'No.'
Nate groaned as Quinn shifted his position to get a better grip.
'I don't understand,' Sophie said. 'What's going on?'
'My friend's been drugged,' Quinn told her.
'And given a beating, too.'
