“There’s old, and then there’s disease.”
“Maybe we can spread all our clothes over it and lie on top.”
Nadine went in the bathroom. A shriek.
Frank ran. “You okay?”
She shook with tears.
He looked in the doorway and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The last guest was just a little messy.”
“And needed to be hospitalized.”
“I’ll go buy some cleaning supplies.”
“Where?”
“Saw this drugstore a block over that was still open.”
“Get bleach.”
Frank grabbed the doorknob.
Thuds against the wall from the next room. Screaming. Crash.
Frank turned. “Make sure to keep the door locked. And don’t unlock it until you’re sure it’s me.”
“I’m just going to stand in the middle of the room and not move.”
“Be right back.”
The door closed.
Nadine stood perfectly still. Except for flinching at every new thud from the neighboring room. She decided to turn on the TV, using a sock to work the controls. Snowy picture, halfway into the local eleven o’clock report. “… Police continue to dig under the house
…” She changed channels. “… A naked intruder armed with a sword…” Another channel. “… Robbers wearing beauty-parlor hair dryers over their heads as disguises…” The sock clicked the set off.
She went back to the middle of the room to wait. And wait. Time slowed down.
But not that slow. She kept looking at her watch. Eleven-thirty. Midnight. Twelve-thirty. One. Tried Frank’s cell phone twenty times. No answer.
Finally, a brave run down to the front desk.
“My husband’s missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gone. He went to the drugstore almost two hours ago.”
“But the drugstore closes at midnight.”
“That’s what I mean.”
The manager pointed at the wall behind him. “Sure he didn’t go to Bayside? Hooters is still open.”
“No! Do something!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call the police.” He picked up the phone, then under his breath: “Probably find him at Hooters.”
Lobby door opened. Three men strolled inside.
“What a great day we just had,” said Savage. “Especially your underbelly tour.”
“Glad you liked it.”
“I’ll never look at Miami the same.”
“Excuse me?”
They turned. The night manager had his mouth to the metal grate in the diffracting glass. “Could you come over here?”
“Me?” said Savage. “What is it?”
“I need your key back. Unless you want to lose your deposit.”
“But… my room.”
The manager popped a pork rind in his mouth. “You didn’t pay today.”
“Got busy.” Ted went for his wallet. “I’ll pay now.”
The manager chewed and shook his head. “Too late. Already rented it. Got your possessions in a bag back here.”
“But it’s my room.”
“Not anymore. Some couple from Pennsylvania.” He glanced toward a tearful woman standing off to the side.
“Why is she so upset?” asked Serge.
“Husband went to Hooters.”
“Any more rooms?” asked Ted.
“Sold out. Big shopping group from Trinidad.”
Ted turned to Serge. “What am I going to do?”
“Why don’t you stay with us?”
“But the rooms are so small.”
“Shoot,” said Serge. “They got ten people stacked in most of them. And Coleman usually doesn’t make it to the bed.”
T wo A.M.
Room 321 of the Royal Poinciana.
Serge jogged in place on the Star-Elite doormat.
Savage and Coleman sat cross-legged on the floor, taking turns sucking on an artificial leg with a Willie Nelson bumper sticker.
“Coleman?…”
Coleman looked up. “We made it a bong.”
Downstairs in the lobby: A small crowd gathered around a commotion.
“Ma’am,” said a police officer with an open notebook. “You’ll have to calm down if I’m going to understand you.”
Nadine Littleton took a deep breath. “I just know something terrible has happened to him.”
“What about his personal habits?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has he ever done anything like this before? Strip clubs?”
“No!” More sobs.
“Ma’am, just routine. I need to cover all bases so we can find him faster… Does he have insomnia? Take any late-night walks?”
She blew her nose in a tissue and shook her head.
“What about enemies?”
“Oh, yeah. Lots.”
“Really?” The officer got ready to write. “Who?”
“Everyone at the sales office since he got the new parking spot.”
The officer clicked his pen shut. “We’ll get a bulletin out. If you can think of anything else, please give us a call.”
A second officer returned. “Nothing at Hooters.” He looked at Nadine. “Mind if we keep this picture you gave us.”
“Please just find him.”
“We’ll do everything we can.”
“Thank you, officers.” Nadine Littleton of Beaver Falls took the elevator back up to room 318.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Next Morning
A TV correspondent stood on the side of Biscayne Boulevard.
“… And that’s the latest from Bayfront Park, with the summit just two days away. Back to you, Jane.”
