I had given Holly my cell, so I didn’t have an easy way to call her. Pay phones had long ago been ripped out of the lobby of the Lucky Seven and other casinos. Anyone they wanted to do business with could use the hotel room phones or their own cells. Anyone who didn’t have a room or a cell, they figured, could get the hell out.
So instead I walked down the Strip to another big casino hotel. I needed a shower and a bed, not to mention a way to call Holly. I had money to pay for a room, but I didn’t want anyone knowing my location. My eyes slid around the lobby in paranoia. Someone had made numerous attempts to find me and probably to kill me. Knowing a thing like that makes a paranoid person such as myself…even more paranoid. As for the Gray Men, I didn’t know how they were tracking me, but I didn’t want to make it any easier for them.
Coming up with a plan, I walked to the front desk. The clerk was perky despite the time of night. The palm trees in the vibrantly lit atrium behind her were motionless. I wondered how they kept plants from dying in there—I couldn’t see an obvious source of sunlight.
“Do you have any rooms available?” I asked the perky clerk.
“We sure do! Weekend or not, the hotel is half-empty,” she said.
I nodded. “I’ll find out what the rest of my party wants to do,” I said. “We just drove in.”
“OK!”
I left her and walked to the elevators. Hotel security ran their eyes over me. I didn’t look back, but instead walked with purpose. Security was supposed to make sure street people didn’t get into the hotel. I knew they would assume I had checked in and was now heading up to my room.
I got off on the twenty-second floor and tapped on a door. A bleary-eyed man told me to piss off. I did as he requested, saying I’d forgotten the last digit of my room number. The second try resulted in a woman’s voice suggesting I ask at the front desk. She wisely didn’t open the door.
At the third door my knock went unanswered. I tried it twice more, with long waits in between. With my heart pounding in my chest, I put on my sunglasses and forced the lock. I slipped inside, finding the king-sized bed neatly made and smelling of fresh sheets. I stretched out on the bed with a sigh and considered a shower, but reached for the phone instead. I was glad they didn’t have a computer system disconnecting the phones when not in use. Some hotels had such systems. I tapped in my cell number and Holly answered on the second purring ring.
“Draith?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Are you OK?”
“Yes. How about you?”
“I’m alive,” I said. “Where are you?”
“I had a cab drop me off at my apartment complex, but I got into my car and left. I was too scared to go up there.”
“Did you see someone?”
“No, but the neighbors told me Sherri was dead.”
“Who?”
“My landlady.”
“Oh, right. Sorry about that.”
“She was a witch, you know, but I never wished her dead.”
I was quiet for a few seconds. “You don’t mean—like an actual witch, do you?”
Holly laughed. “No, not like that.”
“So, you’re out driving around?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got a new room. You can come stay the night if you want.”
It was her turn to pause. “Yes, I’d like that. Thanks, Quentin.”
“No thanks necessary. I owe you several nights’ lodging.”
She laughed, and after I gave her the room number, she promised to come right over.
I heaved myself up and took a shower. By the time I came out rubbing a towel against my head, I heard a tapping at the door. I checked the peephole and let Holly in.
She ran her eyes over me once, then frowned. “You’re pretty scarred up,” she said.
I nodded. “Thanks for noticing. The cuts have healed, but they still turn red after an application of hot water.”
Holly reached out and ran a finger over one ridged spot on my flat stomach. I recoiled slightly in pain. She pulled away.
“Sorry,” she said, then she pushed past me.
I followed her inside and finished drying my hair. When I came out of the bathroom, she had poured us two glasses of clear liquid.
I smiled. “That’s not water, is it?”
She walked close and gave me mine. She smiled up at me. I could see now why Tony had hired her. It wasn’t just for her dancer’s legs. Her smile was entrancing.
“I raided the minibar,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“We need ice. I’ll go get it.”
I sipped at my drink. It was straight vodka. I made a face, then rummaged until I found a vial of orange juice or something that would pass for the real thing.
Holly took a long time coming back with that ice bucket. I muttered to myself about justifiable paranoia and I pulled on my jeans. I made sure my .32 automatic was in the front pocket.
While I waited I wondered if she would come back with someone who wanted to kill me. Could this be a setup? Was Holly an innocent bystander I’d gotten into trouble—or was she part of the trouble disguised as an innocent?