“Hi, Michelle.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bryson,” Lucy said.
Bryson pulled out his wallet. “Let me just pay for my beer.”
“Get out of here.” Orson pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket and tossed it on the bar. “It is so good to finally meet you, Rich.”
He patted the man on the shoulder and pulled him away from the bar.
As they rode up in the elevator, Lucy marveled at the persona Orson had adopted: an attentive, personable book reviewer who was utterly fascinated with the life and work of Richard Bryson. She didn’t know how he controlled himself, because as the doors opened and they walked off the car onto the fourteenth floor, her body was beginning to buzz with anticipation.
At last, they reached the door to 1428, and Lucy pulled the keycard out of her pocket, her hands trembling.
She swiped the card as Bryson said, “You should ask me about my publishing company, too. I hate the big New York publishers, so I’ve decided to…” He stopped talking as Lucy pushed the door open, and she knew exactly why. A subdued but foul odor seeped out of the room into the hallway.
“After you, Rich,” Orson said. He was glancing up and down the hallway, which for the moment, was empty.
Bryson hesitantly entered the hotel room and Lucy and Orson followed after him. Lucy heard the subtle click of Orson locking the door.
“My goodness,” Bryson said. “Smells like something died in here.”
“You can smell that?” Orson said. They had all passed the closed bathroom door and now stood in the dark bedroom. “It must be that sandwich half I threw away last night. It sure went bad quickly.”
Bryson took off his sports jacket. “Do you mind if I use your restroom before we get started? That beer is moving right through me.”
“Of course. Right through that door.”
Lucy stood next to Orson, watching Bryson disappear into the bathroom.
“Where’s Luther?” she asked.
“About to have some Luther fun.”
She could see the light come on under the door, the sounds of Bryson shuffling around inside.
“Orson?”
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let’s just enjoy this moment together.”
Bryson said, “Oh God!”
Something crashed to the floor, and through the door came the sound of a desperate struggle, something banging into cabinets and walls, and then the meaty thud of hard punches.
Bryson went quiet, but there was still movement inside the bathroom. After a minute, the door opened, and Luther walked out smiling.
“Come see,” he said.
Lucy hurried over to the open door.
Bryson lay unconscious on the floor, hog-tied with zip-ties, and a ball-gag in his mouth.
“Nice work, Luther,” she said.
“You should’ve seen his face. He sat down on the toilet to take a dump, and just as he was starting to notice all the blood, I swept the shower curtain back and had Mark Darling waving to him. Good thing he was on the toilet, ’cause he shit.”
“Can I have my straight razor back?” Lucy said.
Orson glanced down at her. “Of course. But you know we aren’t just going to kill him right away.”
“Why not?”
He smiled. “Sweet, Lucy. So much to learn.”
Richard opened his eyes fifteen minutes later, naked and shivering. The balls of his feet just barely touched the dead man sprawled beneath him across the shower tile. His wrists were stretched far above his head, the zip-tie between them hanging from an anchor bolt that had been screwed into the ceiling. A giant ball had been wedged into his mouth.
Orson sat across from him on the toilet. Lucy stood beside him, and Luther sat on the surface of the sink.
“I just want to thank you again, Richard, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to sit for this interview.” Orson smiled and looked at Luther. “I think we should let Lucy go first. Okay with you?”
“As long as we get to stay in here and watch. Lucy?”
“What?”
Luther patted a red Craftsman toolbox. “I know you have a straight razor, but if you’d like to borrow anything in here, you’re welcome to it.”
“Look at you,” Orson said. “Sharing.”
Lucy saw Richard’s eyes bug out when Luther opened the box. Hers did too. “What in the world?”
“I collect ancient surgical tools.”
