They stared at each other for a long moment, their hatred enough to warm the room.
'So what happens now?' Karch finally asked.
'What happens now is that we still need someone to disappear with the money. Someone Miami can send their people after.'
'And that would be me.'
'You were always a smart man, Jack.'
Karch shook his head. The shortsightedness of Grimaldi's plan was staggering.
'And you always thought small, Vincent. Short range. You should have just gone along with the plan. That bag of money would have been just a drop in the bucket once Miami got the license and got into this place. You sold off the long run for the short end; one bag of money. That was stupid.'
Instead of getting angry, as Karch expected he would, Grimaldi laughed loudly and shook his head as if amused by a child's na‹vet‚.
'You still don't get it, do you, Jack?'
'Get what? Why don't you tell me, Vin-CENT?'
'Miami will never get the license. Don't you see? There never was going to be a payoff. This is the new Las Vegas, Jack. Miami will never get in here. I set this up from day one. Me, Jack! I called Miami and said they had a problem and it would cost them five million to get it fixed and to get in here. Half up front and half after the license app was approved. They're greedy and they went for it. Just like you.'
Now Karch saw it. A perfect plan. Grimaldi would get away with two-and-a-half million and Miami would forever search for Karch – only he'd never be found because he was about to be escorted out to the desert on a one-way trip. Karch dropped his eyes to the floor. He no longer wanted to look at Grimaldi.
'You know what your problem was, Jack?' Grimaldi asked. He was so full of himself and his success that he couldn't help but turn the knife further. 'Your problem was that you thought too long range. I know all about you. The looks, the comments behind my back, the bullshit. You wanted to get to me and you thought this was the way. I knew that and I used it, man. I played you like a fucking piano and now the song's over. So fuck you, Jack. Tonight you sleep in the sand. We're gonna take the service elevator down and then we'll use your car – it probably knows its fucking way. You already have the shovel in the trunk, right, Jack of Spades?'
Grimaldi waited for Karch to respond but there was only silence in the room. Grimaldi then delivered his last turn on the knife.
'We'll pick a nice spot for you near your mother.'
Now Karch brought his eyes back to Grimaldi's. The older man nodded.
'Yeah, I know all about it. You and your old man – the favorite spot out there. But here's something I bet you didn't know. I was the one, Jack. I took her away from him. Ten years I was with her behind his back. But she wouldn't leave him because of you. I loved her and then he… Tell me, what kind of kid helps his old man bury his mother? You sick fuck. I'm going to enjoy this. Let's go.'
Martin and Romero took two steps back and maintained a safe distance as they escorted Karch out of the suite. As Karch walked his mind grew dark with pain and rage. He concentrated his vision on the man walking in front of him. Vincent Grimaldi. Now Karch knew every last secret.
The four men moved down the hallway until Grimaldi directed them through the push doors into the housekeeping station. Martin hit the button and they waited for the elevator. Karch had his head down and still carried the cloth napkin in his right hand like a flag of surrender. Grimaldi saw it and smiled.
'How was your last supper, Jack?'
Karch looked at him but didn't answer. When the elevator arrived Romero stepped on first to hit the door-open button. He kept the black hole of his gun's muzzle focused on Karch's body the whole time. Grimaldi then stepped on, passing for an instant between Karch and Romero. It was the instant Karch had been waiting for. He raised his right hand toward Martin, who stood to his side. Martin watched the hand holding the napkin come up toward his face.
There was a pop as the. 25 hidden in the napkin and Karch's hand was discharged. Martin's head snapped back in the same instant, the bullet catching him in the left eye and entering his brain. At the same moment he was falling lifelessly to the floor of the housekeeping station, Karch was swinging his arm over Grimaldi's shoulder. He fired the first shot at Romero too early. The slug hit the wall of the elevator, a foot to the right of Romero's face.
Romero straightened his shooting arm but hesitated. Grimaldi was in his shot. The delay in his action was all the time Karch needed to correct his own mistake. His second shot hit Romero on the left cheek. The third hit his forehead, snapping his head back. The fourth shot hit the soft underside of Romero's chin and went up into the brain. He dropped to the floor of the elevator without ever getting a shot off.
Karch grabbed Grimaldi by the tie and yanked him to the door of the elevator. Karch had his foot firmly planted against the bumper so the door would not close. He drove the. 25 up under Grimaldi's chin so that his face was angled upward while his eyes looked downward and back at Karch.
An evil smile slowly spread across Karch's face.
'So, Vincent, how's the short range looking now?'
'Jack… please…'
'Be sure to say hello to Mom for me.'
Karch waited for the comeback but there was none.
'You don't know, do you?'
'Know what, Jack?'
'Let me tell you a quick story. About ten years ago the old man got sick. Cancer. It was shot through him and the only way he was going to make it was if he got a bone marrow transplant. I wanted to do it and they took my blood for the match test.'
Karch shook his head.
'No match, Vincent. I told them to do a few other tests and they did. I didn't match because he wasn't my father.'
Karch just stared into Grimaldi's eyes.
'Thanks, Vincent. Back in there you filled in the last part of the story for me.'
'You mean – '
Karch squeezed off two quick shots and watched Grimaldi drop on top of Romero's body. He then looked down at his hand and saw the napkin as well as his fingers and the gun bathed in blood. He felt a tremendous rush move through him. Three against one and he had beaten the odds. He looked around as if hoping someone had seen the magic act he had just performed and would applaud.
And what was more stimulating than the adrenaline blitz of surviving was the release and relief of knowing he was leaving one of life's rooms and going through the door to the next.
He dropped the napkin and reached down and wiped his bloody hand and gun back and forth on Grimaldi's white shirt until they were reasonably clean. He then tucked the gun back into its pocket in his pants and jerked the gym bag out of the dead grip of Grimaldi's right hand.
Karch backed up, grabbed one of Romero's legs and pulled his body out into the elevator's threshold so that the bumper would hit it and the door wouldn't close. He then moved from body to body checking pulses and pulling his Sig Sauer out of the waistband of Martin's pants. He checked the weapon to make sure there was no blood on it and then holstered it. He patted Martin's body until he found and removed the silencer from a front pants pocket.
Finally, he looked around the housekeeping station and saw in the fenced enclosure there was a large laundry basket on wheels. He checked the door but it was locked. He stepped back and shot his leg out, his heel striking the fencing just above the key lock. The door snapped open and inward and he went in for the basket, turning it over first and dumping several stacks of fresh towels onto the floor.
It took almost all of his strength to load all three bodies into the laundry cart. He then used some of the towels to mop up the blood. When he was done he grabbed a blanket off one of the shelves and used it to cover the cart. He pushed it into the fenced enclosure and closed the door.
