'And what?' The weirdo's long body moved in a kind of springy wave, like he was about to charge the door again.
'Are you John Brown?' Riley asked.
'Huh?' The weirdo paused and stared at Riley.
'Is he the one with your girl?'
'I'm not him an' neither is he!' the weirdo said.
Riley gently touched his bony shoulder, preventing another assault on the door. 'We'll see,' he said, in the face of such determination. He knocked on the door. 'But you say and do nothing, understand?'
The weird guy nodded, but Riley didn't for a second believe him.
There was no reply to his knock.
'I don't want the other guests disturbed, you got that?'
Another nod from the spring head. 'Yeah. Yeah.'
Riley knocked again. Louder.
Still no response.
'Okay,' Riley said. 'You stay out here and I'm going in and take a look. For all we know somebody might be in there taking a shower.'
That seemed to really disturb the weird guy, but he said nothing.
Riley used his pass card on the lock and the door opened, which struck him as wrong, since usually by this time of night the guests had fastened their security locks.
He stuck his head in. The light on the desk was turned on.
'Hello? Anybody?'
Then he noticed the desk chair was gone. Then he saw it lying sideways on the floor near the bed. Then he saw the woman taped to the chair, and the phone off the hook and lying near one of her feet.
Riley charged all the way into the room, the skinny guy right behind him, almost pressed to his back. He heard the guy cry, 'Lauri!'
She was alive, at least, Riley saw, as he stooped beside the girl. Her eyes were wide and staring at him. As gently as possible, he peeled the duct tape from across her mouth. She drew in a deep breath through her mouth, worked her lips, licked them. Then she said something odd.
'Wormy?'
Riley pulled the small pocket knife he carried from his pocket and began cutting the tape that was binding her arms. The blade was dull from cutting cardboard and envelope flaps, and he had to saw with it frantically. It was slow going, but he was getting there.
'Call my dad!' the girl said, looking pitifully up at him. 'Please! He's in the duct.'
He frowned at her. 'Duck?'
'Duct!'
Riley stared at her. 'Your dad's in a duct?'
'Not my dad! Call my dad!' She spat out a phone number.
Riley wasn't listening. He was concentrating on cutting away the tape without damaging flesh, making sure the girl was all right. She was young like the skinny weirdo, probably not even twenty. Talking like she was on drugs.
'My dad's Detective Frank Quinn,' she said
Riley stopped cutting. 'Give me that phone number again.'
She did, then glanced beyond the ridiculous fringed epaulet on Riley's shoulder and saw Wormy wriggling his way up through the bathroom ceiling vent.
Neeson stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor and looked up and down the long, carpeted hall.
No sign of Riley.
The elevator door closed behind him with a soft rushing sound.
Neeson turned left, toward room 724. The hall was softly lighted by fancy-frosted glass sconces every ten feet or so. His shoes made no sound on the plush carpet as he walked swiftly and observed the even room numbers, making sure he was going in the right direction, unconsciously counting cadence.
Seven-sixteen.
Seven-eighteen.
Seven-
He saw that one of the doors ahead was open and he walked even faster, no longer observing numbers.
Now was the time.
Sherman somehow knew that all his celestial luck was with him in this single moment. When he felt like this, he'd never failed.
Careful to make as little noise as possible, he eased his body forward, lowering his head through the vent opening into the bathroom of Mom's suite.
Take your time…
He stuck his left arm through the vent, letting it dangle, and touched, barely touched, the white plastic shower curtain, simply to acclimate himself, to begin the process of becoming one with his surroundings so he could move with the necessary sureness and stealth.
The only sounds he could allow himself to make now would be his bare hands contacting the tile floor when he eased his way headfirst through the vent opening and the balance of his weight shifted, and then the soft thud of his stocking feet landing on the tiles. He had to manage to keep his balance. That would be the only real challenge.
It would be almost done then.
He'd move silently, through the partly open door to the bedroom, avoiding touching it so as not to risk even a hinge squeaking and alerting Mom.
Then the knife.
The knife.
70
Neeson entered room 726 cautiously, his gun drawn, and saw Riley kneeling alongside the bed. Then he saw the girl taped to the overturned chair.
Riley was pecking out a number on the phone, which was on the floor. He glanced over at the girl and said, 'You're gonna be okay, sweetheart. You're safe now.'
The girl, who looked familiar to Neeson, stared at him with wide eyes and said, 'Duck.'
'What?'
'Duct,' Riley said. 'She's Quinn's kid. Says whoever did this to her is in the ductwork.'
It took Neeson about three seconds to process this.
He holstered his gun as he crossed the room
'Give me the phone.'
Sherman emerged halfway from the ductwork, his upper body dangling from the vent opening.
Things had to happen fast now. Quietly, but fast.
He inched his body forward, and was about to lower himself into the bathroom, when he felt his right pants leg snag on something.
What the hell?
Cautiously he moved the leg, maintaining his precarious balance. He needed to free the material of his pants leg from the nail or screw or whatever it had caught on.
Wha-?
