He took a very slow, very calculated step forward. His heel clicked on the marble floor. He took another step, this time sliding his foot forward. Then his foot kept sliding. His other leg reacted by springing backwards to counterbalance. In seconds he was performing a very awkward, painfully slow split in the center of the marble foyer with no idea how to stop himself. He tilted sideways and folded his back leg underneath. His right hand slapped down onto the marble. He stayed that way, listening for a reaction. Finally he pushed himself back upright and stood panting silently.
He had to relax. He had to just do it and get out of here.
On either side of the foyer were the curving stairwells that led up to the second floor. He would have to pass underneath the balcony to get the purse, and for some reason he envisioned Brandon up there with a sniper rifle. Or more realistically, his .45 automatic.
Just coming in to do turndown service, sir.
Wow that sounded lame, even inside his head, where he could make things sound good if he really tried.
From the hallway he heard Shannon hiss through the door. “What’s taking so long?”
He rolled his eyes and stepped backwards. Leaning towards the crack in the middle of the double doors he whispered, “I’m getting my bearings.”
The door suddenly opened and smacked him in the forehead.
Shannon grabbed his arm. “Sorry.”
He rubbed his head. “Shh.”
She lowered her voice. “Are you okay?”
“I said I’m getting my bearings.”
“I thought you said I’m getting your earrings.”
“Why would I say that?”
“That’s why I opened the door. I don’t need any earrings.”
Max pushed on the door. “I’ll be right out.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Shh.”
“Shh.”
“No you shh.”
“I’m shushing.”
He shut the door.
He didn’t even have to ask himself what Antonio would do, because Antonio would already have the purse, and probably all Shannon’s luggage, perfectly packed, and would have grabbed a flower from the arrangement on the way out the door and presented it all to her with a flourish in the safety of the hallway.
He straightened his spine, smoothed down his shirt front, buttoned up his jacket and strode purposefully across the marble foyer aiming for the leather sectional. Ah-ha. There was the purse. He tucked it under his arm, pivoted, and someone called out from the balcony overhead. Max froze. Baby, you up? That was what Brandon had called out from somewhere overhead. At least he assumed it was Brandon. How many men could be in here? Considering that he counted as one extra that was probably a legitimate question. Fighting the urge to bolt, Max looked up to the balcony and saw total darkness and not a single gun barrel pointing at him. He took a step to his left and turned out the nearest lamp, which didn’t click as loudly as he’d imagined it would. Now as he stood listening for footsteps and wondering if he should cross the heel-echoing marble foyer and open the door and leave, a door opened somewhere upstairs and a sheet of bright light slapped against the second floor wall behind the balcony.
Brandon called out again, but this time the voice was moving. “Baby, that you?”
Max turned and scanned the living room. What had once appeared to be a pleasing arrangement of furniture was now a labyrinth beyond his comprehension. He hoisted himself over the back of the leather sectional. The cushions expelled air as they took his weight and his leather shoes farted against the supple leather upholstery. Behind the sectional his feet became ensnared in a surprising array of electrical cords. His knee banged into the low window ledge. Through the glass he felt the cold night air breathing against his neck. He concentrated on wedging himself between the low-rise wall and the sectional, otherwise he would be visible in the reflection of the glass as whoever was currently coming down the stairs – he could hear the footsteps now, keeping time with his hammering heart rate – would surely see him when they flicked on all the lights, which is what people do when they’re looking for someone.
Brandon called out, “Hey? I was just finishing up, Baby. Did I wake you?”
Just coming in to do turndown service, sir. And check these electrical outlets back here.
Max was staring at a condom wrapper on the carpet six inches from his face. Ripped and discarded, it was something called a Magnum. The rest of the words on the label explained why a condom would be named after a gun with a very large barrel. No wonder he’d never heard of them.
“Baby?”
The voice passed him with the undertones of footsteps going towards the master bedroom. There were a few moments of silence, during which Max found out that this particular condom came with extra lubrication. Seemed reasonable to him, all things considered.
The footsteps emerged from the direction of the bedroom and stopped. There was now the unmistakable sound of a cell phone being dialed, the numbers chirping one after another.
Then a ringtone played in the exact direction of the outer doors that led to the hallway.
Brandon grunted and walked in that direction. Tennis shoes squeaked across the marble. The outer doors were opened.
“Baby – what are you doing out there?”
“Forgot my key,” came Shannon’s reply. “Didn’t you hear me knocking?”
“Nah, I was upstairs working. What you doing?”
Her voice came from the foyer now. “I asked the security guard if he’d get me some aspirin. I have a stress headache.”
The foyer doors closed.
Now the lights clicked on.
Max pressed himself lower to the floor.
“Take one of your sleeping pills or something. Don’t go walking around like that. And what’s up with the stupid hat?”
“It’s a disguise. You done working yet?”
“Yeah.”
“You smell sweaty. Is it hot up there?”
“Little. You telling me I stink now?”
“What are those marks on your back?”
“What marks?”
“Look in the mirror. Go ahead.”
Oh shit, thought Max. She’s going to do it right now.
“Those marks? Must be from the chair upstairs.”
“That chair has a good manicurist.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that those are from fingernails, not from a chair.”
“Must be your fingernails. Maybe you should get a new manicure.”
“Maybe I should get a shot of penicillin too.”
“Huh? You’re drunk. You had too much champagne.”
“Actually I could use another drink. I know exactly where I left the bottle. Upstairs, right outside the guest room. Let’s go get it.”
“Upstairs? You spying on me now?”
“No, but I’m not DEAF either, dumbass.”
Their footsteps followed each other up the spiral staircase and across the second floor landing. Their voices fell down over the railing at him:
“Here it is! Oh look. The bed in the guestroom has been used!”
“So what I took a nap.”
“Gee Goldilocks, do you like to try out ALL the beds?”
Max, cramped between the wall and the sectional, had been so absorbed in the melodrama that he hadn’t realized Shannon led Brandon upstairs so he could have the opportunity to get out. Oh! He worked his shoulders sideways and slid upright, peering over the back of the sofa and up towards the landing.
“A condom wrapper!” Shannon’s voice was excessively loud now. “So let me get this straight – you were working on your music, got tired, took a nap, then decided to jack off.”
“Who are you – the fuckin cops?!”
“Oooh, isn’t this nice? It smells like raspberries.”
Max rolled over the back of the couch, swung his feet to the floor, dropped the purse on the cushion and stood up, quick-stepping towards the foye
r.
“What’s this CSI bullshit? You want a blood sample too?”
“Yes, turn around and I’ll swab those fucking nail marks on your back.”
Max was at the door to the suite. He opened it and found the security officer still at post. Max waved him over. “Come with me,” he said, and stepped aside so the man could enter.
The officer looked around the foyer. “What’s up?”
“Domestic dispute. Don’t mention that you let me in here, okay?”
The man nodded.
Max called out, “Hello? Butler services…”
Footsteps from the second floor landing.
Shannon called out from the balcony. “Yes?”
“My apologies, Miss Moon,” said Max, feeling more like Antonio than ever. “I’m sorry to say this, but we got a call from an adjoining suite that there was loud conversations coming from in here. Is everything okay?”
“My boyfriend fucked a slut in the guestroom. Is that okay?”
Brandon’s voice rang out, “No you didn’t just say that!”
The security officer rolled his eyes. “Can you two come down here please?”
They came down opposite sides of the spiral staircases. It was the first time Max had really seen Brandon. He was young, wearing lycra warm-up pants, designer tennis shoes and no shirt. His upper body was lean, muscular and tattooed. Shannon was no longer wearing the cowboy hat or the sunglasses, but still had her coat and slippers.
She walked directly over to Max. “I want another room.”
“Of course,” said Max, offering her his arm. “Don’t forget your purse.”
The security officer said, “I’ll grab the suitcase.”
Outside in the hall Max held the suitcase while Shannon went through her purse. The security officer was still inside the suite explaining to Brandon that he had to stop yelling.
Shannon pulled out a prescription bottle and shook it. Pills rattled. “I’m going to need these little babies tonight.” She suddenly looked up at him. “Hey.”
“What?”
“You rescued me in there.”
“No, I think you rescued me. I was the one trapped behind the leather sectional.”
A laugh escaped just before her hand came to her mouth. “Is that where you were hiding?”
“There weren’t a whole lot of options.”
“That suite is huge. I could hide a marching band in there and no one would know it.”
“I had to think fast.”
“Then you came back and rescued me. You’re some butler, Max, you know that?”
“Well,” he cleared his throat. “It’s our duty. You know, the butler…code.”
“There’s a butler code?”
“Yes. To serve and protect. Our guests.”
“I thought that was the police code.”
“We added the last part about the guests.”
She licked her lips. “I think you just did it for me. Go ahead, you can tell me.”
Max picked up the cowboy hat and sunglasses from the floor. “I can’t tell you that. It’s against the code.”
“You have a code of silence too?”
“Something like that.”
“Any other codes I should know about? How about chastity…”
“That’s monks and priests.”
“Not you.”
“Not voluntarily,” he said.
The security officer emerged from the suite, shutting the door firmly behind him. He looked at Shannon and said, “No offense. That guy’s a jerk.”
“Try dating him.”
“He’s not my type.” The officer shook Max’s hand. “I didn’t realize you were a butler, sir. Sorry about my behavior.”
Max waved away the apology. “Thanks for helping us out, and taking care of Brandon.”
“You won’t tell Antonio?” The officer glanced at Shannon. “I mean, I like getting these guard posts up here. I don’t want my name taken off the list.”
“I won’t tell him.”
“So where’s the new room?” The officer’s radio squawked and he reached down to his belt, where the radio was clipped, and turned the volume knob. “You want a post outside that room too?”
“Uhm,” said Max, frowning. “I’ll let you know.”
The man nodded. Turning to Shannon he said, “Sorry about your evening, miss. Try to enjoy the rest of your stay with us.”
She leaned towards him. “If he comes out of there, you can shoot him. I won’t tell anybody.”
The officer chuckled. “All I have is a radio. No weapons.”
“That’s a shame,” she said, slipping her arm around Max’s arm. “I’m ready for my escort. I need a new room, some water to take my sleeping pill, a new boyfriend, and about six months of anger management therapy.”
Max said, “Let’s see what we can find for you.”
“I’ll even take three out of four,” she said as they walked down the hallway. “But it’s up to you which three.” She looked up at him and laughed, nudging his arm with her shoulder. “That’s so cute.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“There’s lots of Asians around here, especially on the weekends,” said Chewie. “We bus ‘em in from ChinaTown. Both China Towns.”
“You grab that footage,” said Chloe. “I’ll scan for the engineer from last night. I think I remember something.” She ducked over a second laptop and began typing. Her hand darted to the wireless mouse, eyes locked on the screen, and she clicked an icon. “What time was that? You were taking a break. But it was before the chick peed in the stairwell…”
“The girl with the lacy panties.” Chewie nodded, busy at his own terminal. “That was eleven twenty.”
“Great,” said Chloe. “That’s an awesome thing to remember.” She brought up a view of the Villa hallways, empty. At the bottom of the screen was a motion bar with tags at random intervals. “Let’s find some movement,” she said, clicking the first tag and jumping to the point where the camera detected motion.
Antonio waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back, idly looking at the wall of monitors. Cocktail waitresses streamed in and out of one of the service bars located on the casino floor. A group of Environmental Services attendants cleaned a spill in the back hallway near the employee cafeteria. Valet jockeys ran the length of the interior corridor of the parking garage and hopped on the man-lift, the odd vertical conveyor belt that allowed them to step onto a small plastic foothold and grasp a handle while they descended down to the lower parking levels through a series of openings in the concrete floors. On an upper monitor he recognized the Villa hallways, thankfully empty.
“Ever ride that thing?” Mark asked, pointing to the man lift.
“A few times,” said Antonio.
“Ain’t getting me on that,” said Mark. “I don’t even know if I’d fit through them holes.”
“Got him,” said Chloe, clapping her hands together and wheeling backwards from the monitor. “Beat your ass,” she said, pointing at Chewie.
“Whatever,” he murmured. “I helped you out with the time.”
“Knock it off,” said Mark, stepping over to Chloe’s terminal. “What have you got?”
Antonio leaned forward. The image was paused. There was a man in an engineering uniform standing in the hallway outside the Sachem Suite. The view was from the top and to the man’s left. “That’s Ang Wang.”
“Play it,” said Mark.
Chloe pulled herself back to the counter on her wheeled chair and hit a button. The picture was fuzzed at the edges, and a digital count, in military time, ran down by seconds in the top right corner of the screen. The disguised paparazzo lingered in the hallway, holding a work bag of some kind.
“What’s he waiting for?” Mark squinted at the screen. “I bet he called somebody in housekeeping to let him into the suite.”
“He’s not wearing an employee badge.” Antonio frowned. “I hope none of the Villa staff would allow him access to any of the ro
oms.”
“Want to put some money it?”
Antonio arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t wager on policy.”
Chewie said, “I’m in for ten bucks.”
Chloe added, “I would take that bet.” She leaned her elbows on the counter. “I think I remember this now.”
“He keeps looking over his shoulder,” said Antonio. “Can you tell me what’s behind him?”
Chloe moved to another laptop and began typing, checking the time on the monitor and inputting it into the surveillance system, along with the camera ID code. “Got it. There’s a guest over there on their cell phone, holding a briefcase.”
“He’s not sure if it’s vacant,” said Antonio. “He wants to make sure the man isn’t going to go into the Sachem Suite.”
Mark asked, “How long’s he been standing out there?”
Chloe checked the time. “Minute.”
“The guest just walked past Ang and continued down the hall,” said Antonio. “He’s reaching into his pocket.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Mark. “Where the hell did he get a key?”
On screen, Ang swiped a key through the lock on the door. Seconds later he was inside the room.
“Back that up, if you would,” said Antonio. “And please zoom in on the key he used.”
“Got it,” said Chloe. She paused the image, rewound it, and clicked on an icon that allowed her to click a section of the screen and zoom. “Let me focus the image, hold on a sec.” She used an on-screen enhancement menu to change resolution and contrast. “Can’t get much.”
“That’s enough,” said Antonio. He turned to Mark. “Can you tell what type of key that is?”
“Yup,” said Mark. “Villa keys are gold. That ain’t gold.”
“Looks gray,” said Chloe. “Oh shit. It’s a hotel master key.”
Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Security, engineering, hotel, housekeeping, executives. There’s so many masters out there that might work.” He spoke into his cuff mic. “M1 to base. I need a lock interrogation on the Sachem Suite ASAP. Time 20:35 hours.”
“Excellent idea. That will give us the exact key number. We can backtrack to see which department it’s assigned to.” Antonio stared at the image. “Ang Wang has a partner in crime.”
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