assistance.
Then he saw them. He wasn't sure at first that it was Detective Stella Bonasera and Dr. Hawkes. He had to take off the sunglasses to be certain, but there they were, heading toward him through the crowd.
It was almost certainly over. He had run out of all but one option and that was more a dramatic gesture than a sincere probability. Still it was a possibility. He reached into his carry-on, took out a small bottle filled with almost clear liquid, removed his watch from his wrist and fumbled for a small length of twisted wire.
When Stella and Hawkes were standing in front of the wheelchair, Charles was ready. He looked up at them and said, 'How did you find me so damned fast? No, hold that explanation.'
'It's over,' said Stella.
'I was just thinking that myself,' Charles said. 'But I'll try this just the same.'
He pulled down the blanket in his lap to reveal a small bottle wrapped in thin wires. The wires were attached to a wristwatch.
'I'd like to leave now,' he said.
No one around them seemed to notice.
'I'm sure you would,' said Stella.
'It's not going to happen,' said Hawkes.
'What have I got to lose?' asked Charles. 'Do you really want to take a chance?'
'No chance,' said Hawkes. 'That's not a bomb. It's shampoo.'
'You're sure?' said Charles. 'You willing to risk innocent lives?'
'No risk,' said Hawkes.
Stella stepped forward and took the wired shampoo bottle and attached watch from his hand.
'This is the way the world ends,' said Charles, shaking his head.
'Not with a bang but a whimper,' Hawkes supplied.
'I don't know if I'm insurable,' Keith said as he and Jerry walked across the lobby of the Gronten Hotel toward the elevator.
There were six people in the small lobby. One of them, the one with his hands folded over a paperback novel in his lap, was definitely a cop. The cop looked a little weary, but he was doing his job. Keith could sense the man looking at him and the insurance salesman from Dayton as they stepped into the elevator. There would be another cop outside of Ellen's room. He would deal with that.
'Everybody's insurable,' said Jerry as the doors closed. 'The only question is, how much will it cost and is it worth it?'
Keith was blessed with great peripheral vision. He was looking at Jerry and nodding as if the salesman had just said something profound, but Keith could also see the cop in the chair looking in his direction.
They were the only ones on the elevator. Jerry pushed the button for the sixth floor. Close enough. Keith would have only two flights up to get to Ellen Janecek.
'Your leg, right?' asked Jerry as they rose.
'My leg,' Keith agreed. 'Army's covering treatment but what about complications down the line? My mother, Dotty, you know her?'
'Don't think so,' said Jerry.
'She died last year. Left me financially but not physically comfortable.'
The elevator doors opened.
'Let's see what we can come up with,' said Jerry with a smile.
Room service. Coffee. Toasted bagels and cream cheese and within fifteen minutes Jerry was preparing a policy. He couldn't believe how easy it had been to sell it. It was a good policy, but it wasn't cheap. When he finished making changes, he passed the four-page document across the small table to Keith who signed and initialed in all the right places.
Keith looked at his watch.
'I've got to go down to my room for a few minutes. I'll be right back with a check.'
'Fine,' said Jerry. 'I'll just call my office and get the paperwork rolling.'
Keith went to the door as Jerry picked up his cell phone and pressed a button.
Keith liked him. After he killed Ellen Janecek, he could come back and talk to him for a while, get him to accompany Keith out of the hotel. That was the plan in any case. He hoped he would not have to kill Jerry.
Ellen waited.
She wanted, needed to see Jeffrey. The television was on. The sound was off. She didn't want to miss the knock she was expecting on the door.
He would be coming soon.
The room was small. Two uncomfortable chairs with arms. A bed. The television. A single window with a mesh screen and beyond it a view of a dirty brick wall. Bathroom. Long dark lightning-shaped crack on the tile floor. The other hotel had been better, but he, the one she knew as Adam, had found her there. Yes, it was partly her fault. No, it was completely her fault, but 'fault' wasn't quite the right word. It was her responsibility, and the consequence of her decision to tell him where she was had led to this small room.
But it was going to change.
And it was going to change now.
The knock at the door was gentle. Two raps. Ellen stood.
Keith stood in the hall. He was ready. He was lucky. There was no cop in the hall. In a few seconds, this part would be over. The circle would be complete. The letters of his brother's name would be carved in bloody gashes. A-D-A-M. This time all four letters in her soft, white flesh. Their bodies, what he had left of them, would forever be the reminder of Adam's death and their own unclean actions.
The world was a shitty place. There were decent, innocent people born into it, people like Adam. They were defiled.
Keith's hand was in his pocket touching the cool metal handle of the knife. She would open the door. An instant of recognition on her pretty, vacant face and then click, jab under her arm, push her back, close the door, take his time, but not too much time.
He knocked again.
The door started to open.
Knife out. No one in the narrow corridor.
The door swung open.
Mac had heard the knocking at the door. He had sent the officer in street clothes guarding the corridor down to the lobby. Mac came out of the bathroom, moved past Ellen Janecek, who he motioned to back away. More knocking. Flack had called him less than half an hour ago. Mac had arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later.
When he had quickly told Ellen what he planned to do, her only question was, 'Is Jeffrey all right?'
Mac, gun in his right hand, reached out for the door with his left, and threw the door open.
Keith stood there, knife in hand.
'Drop the knife,' Mac said gently, both hands on the gun now.
Keith looked over the shoulder of the man in front of him, the man with the gentle, firm voice and the gun. Keith could see Ellen Janecek's face across the room. He wanted to tell the man with the gun that he had to kill her, that he couldn't leave this unfinished. He had a feeling that the man with the gun would understand, but he also had the feeling that the man with the gun would shoot.
'You don't understand,' Keith said calmly. 'She killed my brother. They all killed or destroyed my brother and other brothers, sisters, children, grandchildren. You have to understand.'
Keith took a step forward, knife still in his hand. Mac could feel the man's pain, a horrible frustration. Mac took a step back and said, 'Put it down
Keith tightened his grip on the knife. Maybe, just maybe he could surprise the man with the gun, make a
