“The cleanup crew will disable the cameras when they get here,” I said, “and confiscate all tapes of the last twenty-four hours.”
She closed her eyes a moment, thinking things through.
“If you’re about to ask me how they do it, don’t waste your time,” I said, “Because I have no idea. I only know they’re clean freaks—not like your Aunt Ethel, who doesn’t like a messy home. No, these guys want to clean a crime scene like Rainman wants to see Judge Wapner. They’re abnormal, they’re sick, and look about as professional as Nick Nolte and Mel Gibson after a hard night on the town.”
Alison looked as though her mind was unable to process the thought. “Two guys are going to remove two bodies and clean this room of all evidence?”
“They’re really unusual guys,” I said. “I could write a book about them. Maybe I will, after I retire.”
Quinn laughed.
“What?” she said.
“I was just thinking about something that happened one time.” He chuckled again.
“Do I want to hear this story?” she said. I looked at Quinn. “This the one about the new guy and the maggot trail?”
“Jesus, guys,” Alison said.
Quinn laughed again, harder. “That one’s a classic,” he said. “No, I was talking about the 400 pound naked fat guy they couldn’t push out the window.”
“The one they had on his knees, belly stuck in the window frame, butt hanging out facing the door? That guy?”
“Yeah. And every time they pushed his ass—what’d they say? Sounded like the attack on Baghdad?”
I grinned. “Shock and awe.”
“Right. So they get a can of Crisco, then the new guy calls from the lobby, and they decide to play a prank on him?”
“The initiation ceremony prank.”
Alison held up both hands. “Please. This might be funnier in another setting, like—oh, I don’t know—the boy’s bathroom in junior high school?”
Quinn threw his head back and roared. It was good to see him happy; though I worried that hotel guests might report the unusual sounds.
After the laughter subsided, Quinn and I exchanged a silent conversation wherein I looked at him and raised my eyebrows and he shrugged in response. Which meant, “Do you think she’ll ask about Hector?” and his shrug meant that he wasn’t sure. Or didn’t care.
Alison opened her eyes. “What am I supposed to tell Hector? He’ll be calling me any minute now.”
“I think not,” I said.
She gave Quinn a look of disbelief. “You killed him, too?”
Quinn shrugged.
“I need a drink,” she said.
I went to her room and brought her a miniature bottle of vodka.
She took it, saying, “I may have touched some of the stuff in the fridge.”
“The cleaners will take care of it.”
“They’ll still have a record of us being here. You may have checked in with a phony credit card, but I didn’t. They’ll fi nd me and question me.”
