For a moment, I thought that she could see it in my jacket pocket, but then I realized that she was just buying time. She came close to me and said in a low voice, “The cops-“
“They won’t be on my side,” I said. “Get over in that corner. Get as low as you can.”
She did. Someone was still pounding on the door. They’d be inside in just a minute or two, as soon as someone with a key turned up.
I leapt to the other side of the bed and knelt on the floor. I jabbed the ghost knife into the floor, holding it by the barest corner so it would reach as far as possible, then I slid it along the floor, cutting a rough circle.
The circle didn’t drop through to the floor below. I heard jangling keys on the other side of the hall door. “What are you doing over there?” the woman whispered. I wished I knew her name.
They’d be inside in a moment. I could have taken Cabot’s gun from my pocket, but I didn’t. Instead, I jumped onto the circle I’d just cut. I heard the lock disengage.
Wood splintered, and I fell through the floor.
I fell about ten feet and struck a tiled floor. My knees jarred, and I rolled to the side. It hurt, but I’d managed not to twist my ankle.
I rolled against something soft. It was a big, soft pile of sheets and bedcovers, and I missed it by two feet. There was a smear of red blood on several of the sheets, and it took me a second to realize that it had come from me. My hands were covered in blood.
I was in a laundry room. Three big industrial washers and dryers stood against the outside wall. There were no windows.
“Sweet sainted Mary!” A tiny old woman with a thick brogue stared at me. I stood and ran past her toward the door.
“Keep away from the hole,” I told her. “Men with guns are going to be coming through in a moment.”
I ran past the dryers and saw that they ran on natural gas. I stopped. The gas line joined the machines at the top. I yanked open the dryer doors, shutting off the flames. Then I traced the gas line along the ceiling to where it disappeared into the wall. There was a shutoff valve there. I cut it out.
The old woman gaped at me.
“Gosh,” I said to her. “You have a gas leak. Better tell those boys upstairs with the guns.”
I saw shadows move in the space above the hole. I turned and ran through the double doors. The old woman was shouting something, but I didn’t know who she was shouting at. I just hoped she had the sense to pull the fire alarm.
I recognized this hallway. Beyond the opposite wall was the little restaurant where Phyllis had drugged me. I ran toward the stairs. I would rather have avoided the casino, but that didn’t seem possible.
Two men came up the stairs. One of them was Floyd. He pointed at me with his bandaged hands, and the guy next to him lifted his weapon.
I ducked to the side as the gun boomed. I didn’t feel the bullet hit me, but there wasn’t a lot of cover in the hallway.
There was a door next to me. I yanked it open and dove inside. Another shot boomed, and something tugged at my pant leg. I didn’t feel any pain.
I was in a linen closet. Neat stacks of folded sheets lined the walls around me. I pulled the door shut, and the darkness gave my animal brain a moment’s comfort, tricking it into thinking I was hiding.
I knew the wall in front of me led to the outside world, but it was also three stories from the ground. I wouldn’t make that jump.
I lay down and cut another hole in the floor. This time, I angled the ghost knife outward so that it wouldn’t catch.
Gunshots tore through the closet door. The sound was terrifyingly close, and splinters rained down on my back. I cursed and resisted the urge to draw Cabot’s gun and shoot back. That would be a losing game for me.
I finished the cut, and the section of floor fell away. At the same moment, the fire alarm went off.
I looked down through the hole. As I’d hoped, I was just above the mezzanine. I slipped through the hole and landed on one of the poker tables.
The fire alarm was clanging loudly, and everyone stood around and looked at one another. No one wanted to be the first to head for the exit. Hadn’t they heard the gunshots?
I jumped off the table, pushing aside a man in a UPS uniform who had a nice stack of chips beside him. I glanced over at the long flight of stairs. Rev. Wilson, still without his shirt, led several men toward the exit. They were carrying Bobby, Tiffany, and the dead chubby guy and walked straight across the floor in full view.
I turned toward the exit I’d seen earlier. There was one man standing there. He wasn’t looking at me and didn’t seem to have seen me come through the hole in the ceiling. I rushed toward him, taking out Cabot’s gun to get his attention.
When he did turn toward me, he looked unhappy. For a second I thought he would jump the rail.
“Hold still,” I snapped at him. “Give me your gun.”
He gave me his.38. Henstrick must have bought them in bulk. “Hey, man-“
“Shut up and get these people out of the building. There’s a gas leak. Hurry!”
I pushed past him and went through the doorway. The night was no darker than it had been two minutes ago. I started down the metal stairs, just as exposed as I was before, but as I’d hoped, there were no shots. The trip was shorter, too.
It would have been nice to lose myself in a crowd of people fleeing the fire alarm, but the patrons were too
