Good question. We have a holding cell in the back of the security office, but I don’t want them this close to the lobby. Can’t put them downstairs in one of the meeting rooms because I’m sure someone will complain about storing dinosaurs so close to the trillionaires.
But the bunker underneath the hotel has a big heavy door and is just being used for storage. I relay that to Nik, tell him to grab his and meet me downstairs. Getting two down will make the third easier to deal with. Nik takes off for the lobby, and I move toward the luggage cart. The woman sees me coming and says, “Oh thank god, finally, doing your job.”
The little dinosaur is still somewhat intently trying to eat this woman’s foot—which, Nik was right, it’s adorable to watch, like a kitten trying to eat a giraffe—but I want its eyes on me, so I clap my hands hard and yell, “Hey.”
It turns. I can’t be sure, but I think it is the same one who looked at me when I had my slip getting off the elevator. Same little weird tilt of the head, its beady eyes focused uncomfortably on mine. It lingers for a moment before charging. The thing is fast and my heart leaps into my throat, because even though it’s small it’s still a damn dinosaur. And it could probably take off a finger if I’m not careful, so I sidestep, let it dive past me. Figure I should be grabbing it from the rear, away from the end with the teeth.
I was hoping it would double back and focus on me, but it keeps going, straight toward the lobby, so I chase after it, yelling to Ruby, “Lockdown. All guests to rooms, all staff to offices.”
The fire alarm goes off, filling the hallway with bursts of white light, and Ruby’s voice comes in over the intercom, soft and calm.
All guests please proceed to your rooms. All staff please report to the nearest office with a secure door. We apologize for the inconvenience. This will be over shortly.
The message repeats a few times as I duck and dodge my way past scattering guests. And Brandon, who is standing off to the side, laughing his stoned ass off. The lobby is a bad place to do this; it was designed to be circular, to evoke the eternal nature of time, according to the woman who designed it. Really that means there isn’t anywhere for me to corner the tiny lizard, so we’re just going to run around in circles.
I catch a glimpse of Nik running into Atwood as the dinosaur I’m chasing makes a leap onto the concierge desk. Cameo is folded underneath it, which is impressive considering their height. The dinosaur turns in a circle, surveying the room, and gives a soft little screech. It’s lost interest in me, so I stop, circle slowly, and as I’m trying to get behind it, it hops off and tears toward Atwood.
As I make it to the elevator bank I nearly trip over another dinosaur, and Nik nearly knocks me down, before taking off in the opposite direction.
“This is like a Benny Hill video,” I yell over my shoulder.
“I don’t get that reference,” he yells back.
I watch as my dinosaur runs into an open elevator, and an old woman tears out screaming. I put a little effort into it and manage to make it to the doors just as they’re closing, throwing my hand in as I fall to the floor.
And then realize my mistake.
The raptor clamps down on my pointer finger and I pull back, find it rimmed in blood. The wound isn’t deep, and the adrenaline is doing a good job of keeping away the pain, but the damn thing has a taste for flesh now. I roll to my side, and kick at it as I try to get to a standing position. It lunges at me while I regain my footing, and I slam my back into the wall of the elevator, then step over and around the dinosaur. But before I can grab it, it wriggles away and heads back into the hallway.
At least it runs away from the lobby. I can corner it at the end of the hall.
It seems like a good plan.
Except I see the open door coming up on the left, and pray that the dinosaur keeps going straight instead of veering off.
So, of course it veers off.
It crosses the threshold of the room and there’s a scream from inside, and when I turn the corner, I find the blonde from the luggage cart, who is now standing on the bed. She’s barefoot, her pumps on the floor. Her paramour is nowhere to be seen. My guess is: behind the closed bathroom door. The dinosaur, at least, has finally stopped running, and is now chewing on one of the woman’s shoes.
“I think it has a shoe fetish,” I say.
“That’s a Louboutin,” she hisses.
“Shut up,” I whisper. She falls to her knees and goes silent, hugging a pillow like it’s a shield.
The closet next to me is open, two terry-cloth bathrobes hanging from hooks on the inside. I move slow, careful not to draw the thing’s attention, and pull one of the robes down, then crouch and move as close as I can. It finally stops tearing at the heel, which is all but ruined now, and looks up at me just as I throw the robe over it and smother it with my body.
It’s strong, and it writhes hard beneath me, but it’s trapped.
The pain in my finger is lighting up now. Need to get that looked at. I make sure I have a decent grip on the thing and turn to leave.
“I expect to be reimbursed for those shoes,” the woman says.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her.
The bathroom door cracks open and the man peeks his head out.
“Is it over?” he asks.
“A third of the way, cowboy,” I mutter, and I bring the jerking, screeching package down the hall. In the lobby I find Nik holding his dinosaur, his arms outstretched, as far away from his body as he can get them. The thing is snapping at the air, furious, but contained.
“Thought you said there were three,” he says.
“Means we’re not done. Let’s stash these and…”
“So is this the kind of operation you’re running around here?”
I turn to find a young white guy with big shoulders and an aggressive buzz cut, like his barber uses a hammer and chisel. He’s holding the last raptor, one hand on its neck, the other on its leg. The animal is writhing, clearly in pain, and I am flooded with a mix of being very thankful and really annoyed. It’s not like the thing is evil. It’s just following its biological imperative.
“And who are you, exactly?”
“Grayson,” he says. “I work for Vince Teller. Thanks for starting without us.”
Vince Teller: real estate magnate, world-renowned racist asshole, and bidder number two.
I give Grayson a proper once-over. He’s got a corn-fed Midwest farm boy face to go with the ten-dollar haircut, but he’s wearing an expensive custom gray suit and a checked orange-and-white tie. And he’s got that I’m the toughest guy in the room sneer unique to football players and Marines.
“You should have gotten here on time,” I tell him. “Follow me.”