by Adam Carter
“All right,” I said before I could stop myself, and then had to quickly think of something to add to that. “I didn’t know he’d killed anyone. I wouldn’t have helped him if I knew that.”
“So where is he?”
“I can take you to him.”
“Just tell us. You talk, we check it out. If Nathan’s there, we let you go. If he’s not, you get to try out the hot tub, face-down.”
I could not help but glance at the bubbling coffin, and in doing so my eyes met Leroy, who smiled at me and offered a wave.
Looking back to Redthorne, I swallowed nervously and said, “There’s a shop three down from Mr Polinski’s. It’s been empty for about six months. Nathan’s been staying there.”
Redthorne continued gazing at me for several moments, searching my face for the truth, before finally deciding she had nothing to lose by checking it out. “All right, we’ll look. Just tell me what all this talk is of Mr Polinski.”
I blinked, in total incomprehension that she could not have known his name. These people held no regard for life at all if they could kill so indiscriminately. It drove home the point that as soon as they found the empty shop empty, I was going to be the next to die.
Redthorne accepted my description of the shop and departed, taking Leroy with her. They did not tie me back up, did not restrict me at all. I had no phone, and there would be no landline in the room. I rushed to the window, but it did not open and even if I could have managed to get it open there was no escape for me that way. So I ransacked the room, not even knowing what I was searching for. After ten minutes I collapsed in total exhaustion and fear. There was nothing in the room which could get me out, nothing by which I might even alert Carl. My eyes fell once more upon the hot tub and I shuddered. Leroy would be back within the hour and as soon as that door opened again, I knew I was going to die.
There was simply no way out at all.
CHAPTER NINE
The Help
Half an hour passed and I knew at any moment Leroy and Redthorne would return and inform me Nathan was not at the location I gave them. I had reasoned they would take an hour to get there and back, but I did not doubt these people could somehow halve that time. Of course, Redthorne could simply call back once she reached the scene, but I had a feeling she would want to watch me die. Perhaps give me one final chance to give her what she wanted. She could be making a call even now, telling her people here that I had lied and that they were to rough me up to tenderise me for her return. That was certainly a possibility, but not one I much liked to entertain.
During that half hour, I had gone over every inch of the room, and that isn’t an exaggeration. I had discovered just one door, and this led into a bathroom about as large as my living room back home. Searching this room revealed nothing useful either, and while I entertained a fanciful idea of creating some form of slippery concoction from the various bath creams, it was with regret that I had to determine the bathroom was also useless to me. The only thing in my prison I really chose to steer clear of was the bubbling cauldron which would spell my doom, and that was only because I was afraid of it. There were no phones anywhere in the room, no doors other than the main one, no loose floorboards, nothing. I had a feeling that even should I throw something against the windows with all my might, they would hold. And even if I did manage to break through, it was a long drop to my death. My only way out seemed to be that one door through which Redthorne had departed, and I did not have to try it to know there would be sentries upon the other side. Big sentries with expensive suits and concealed firearms. It was an image which had been impressed upon my mind ever since Redthorne had left, and perhaps I had been watching too many gangster films but it was something which unnerved me in the silence of being alone.
A sound came from the door and I knew my time had run out. I had failed to secure a means of escape from the room and now Leroy was coming in with his knife to see what he could remove from under my fingernails this time. I held a vague hope that it might be Carl coming through that door to rescue me, but there was no chance Carl could have found out where I was. He knew I was in trouble because I had been talking to him when I had been grabbed from my car, but there was no way he could have found out what had happened to me. I had images of him having frantically searched for me the entire time I had been missing, but it did not matter because the chances of it being Carl walking through that door were about the same as it being Mr Polinski.
The door opened and a woman shuffled in, pushing a small cart. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise there was anyone here.”
I stared at her in complete incomprehension. The woman was short, probably only around twenty, and was dressed in some form of black-and-white uniform. The cart she was pushing contained what appeared to be towels and soap.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I was just going to clean the room, miss. I can come back.”
“Whoa, no!” I said before she could disappear back through the door. The young woman hesitated, a mixture of surprise and confusion on her face. “Wait,” I said. “I could ... really do with some fresh towels.”
“You could?”
“Yeah, one always needs fresh towels.” I tried to smile. The young woman shrugged and entered the room properly, closing the door behind her. She moved off towards the bathroom and I followed, thankful to be away from the ears of any sentries waiting outside.
The maid began to sort out the towels in a fashion which told me she had done this a thousand times before. I stood behind her, my nerves ragged and my heart about to explode with fright. She was paying no attention to me whatsoever and I knew if I waited long enough, she would finish and then be on her way before I had plucked up the courage to say even a single word.
“What’s your name?” I asked; the first thing that popped into my head.
She looked at me strangely. “Sara Mullins.”
I extended my hand. “Lauren. Pleased to meet you.”
She looked at the hand quizzically, her frown denoting not only confusion but also a little humour. At last she accepted the hand and I felt we had bonded in some small way. But I could not rush her, I could not afford to frighten her. Whatever I said had to be well-thought and to the point.
“I need your help.” It was a start.
“I don’t mind changing them,” she said, “but you haven’t used the old ones yet.”
“Old what?”
“The towels.”
“Forget the towels. These people are trying to kill me.”
She still seemed amused, but was far too polite to show it. “What people, ma’am?”
“Redthorne.”
“Mrs Redthorne’s trying to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
I could not quite figure out whether she was being sarcastic. “You do know she’s a gangster?” I asked.
“Mrs Redthorne’s a gangster? You mean with the violin case and the Uzi? Or the Al Capone off-centre fedora or the Bogey coat?”
“Humphrey Bogart wasn’t a gangster.”
“No, ma’am.”
I refused to have this argument. “Look, I need to get out of here.”
“The door’s the best place to try that, ma’am.”
“There are men posted at the door and you know it.”
She did not contradict me. “Have you tried pretending to be ill, ma’am? Or call them in and hide behind the door?”
Once more I felt she was mocking me. “We could always start fighting,” I said a little too tersely. “That always seems to work in the pulps.”
“Are those the same pulps that are full of gangsters, ma’am?”
“You really are trying to annoy me, aren’t you?”
“Annoy you, ma’am? I’m just here to change the towels.”
She went back to her work then, ignoring me entirely. I’ve never been accused of being stuck-up in any shape or form, and certainly I would never demean
anyone’s livelihood; but her attitude did strike me as a trifle odd. She was, after all, an employee of Mrs Redthorne, and while it was indeed possible she had gained some form of superiority complex because of that, her entire demeanour was not what I had expected. That I sounded insane only made her attitude worse.
Then I realised something.
“You’re changing the towels,” I said.
“You asked me to, ma’am.”
“Why are you changing the towels? I mean,” I added hastily when I was about to receive the same answer, only more flippantly, “you’re a cleaner, right? And you’re changing the soap and towels.”
She looked at me wryly. “Do you want me to answer that, ma’am?”
“This is a hotel, isn’t it?”
She slowly shook her head.
“No,” I said, “I really do want you to answer that one.”
She sighed, not wanting to play this game with me, and I desperately fought for her name again.
“Mullins,” she said when I asked as vaguely as I could but which had probably turned out very blunt indeed. “And yes, this is a hotel.”
“So you don’t work for Redthorne?”
“I work for whoever’s booked out the room. And Mrs Redthorne sort of permanently owns this floor, so you do the logic there. Ma’am.”
“Why the attitude?” I snapped at last. “I mean, aren’t you afraid I’m going to tell Redthorne you were rude to me?”
“I haven’t been rude, ma’am. You think you’re a prisoner here and that Mrs Redthorne’s a gangster. You’re also terrified, which means you think she’s coming back here with a nice pair of lead shoes for you.” She shrugged. “I’ve seen terrified people in this room before. Strangely, I never see them check out. I used to be polite to them, but now I can’t really be bothered. It’s not like you’re going to file a complaint when you get home or anything.”
“Then you just ...”
“Your towels, ma’am.” By this point she had finished folding the new ones and had gathered the clean ones she was removing. She offered me the most sardonic smile I’ve ever seen before heading back for the bathroom door.
I am reasonably certain that was the point I punched her in the face.
Mullins went down hard but strangely soundlessly. Nor did she move when she struck the floor. I froze for several moments, expecting the charge of frantic feet as Redthorne’s muscle rushed in to see what was going in. But after ten seconds of silence I realised they simply weren’t coming. So I looked down to the crumpled maid. She lay unconscious by the looks of her, blood pouring from her nose down her chin and staining her white top. I had not meant to gain anything by slugging her: just to shut her up and vent some anger. But now that I looked at her I suddenly remembered one more cliché escape attempt. It was not going to work – it would never work in real life – but since I was going to be killed at any moment anyway I decided I didn’t have that much to lose.
Working quickly, I stripped the girl to her underwear, shrugged off my own clothes and bound them in the lump of towels. Dressing in the girl’s clothes was not easy considering she was several sizes smaller than me, but since there was a possibility it might save my life, it was an inconvenience I was willing to endure.
Taking an extremely deep breath, I gathered up the towels and headed for the door to the corridor outside.
At the time I only really had a vague idea of what I would find outside of that room. My expectation of course was that there would be two burly bouncer-type guards flanking the door, dressed in smart suits and permanent scowls. Either one of those men would have been enough to crush my head with his bare hands, or encircle my entire body with his thick, meaty fingers.
I was of course working myself up into a frenzy and tried to calm myself by thinking good thoughts. I had a sore lack of good thoughts to be ruminating upon at the time, so forced myself into some breathing exercises instead. A slight pang of regret entered my heart about the girl I’d bashed, and I knew if you punched someone hard enough to knock them out, you may well have done them some permanent damage. I should probably have phoned her an ambulance or something, but if I had access to a phone, I think the police would have been my first 999 call of the day.
Realising I was rambling once more, I decided I would have to just open the door and get this over with. Before I could stop myself, I pulled open the door and stepped outside.
The corridor was long and wide, a deep brown carpet of quality material marking the hotel as somewhere expensive to stay. To my surprise there was no one at the door at all, and as I looked both ways I could see no sign of anyone. The door had not even been locked, and my perturbation only grew at this discovery. To have to fight for escape would have been one thing, but to simply be allowed to walk around as though I was a guest there was unsettling. I began walking, trying to find a staircase or something. I knew better than to trust a lift, for once the doors opened there would be nothing I could have done to stop whoever was on the other side. At least with stairs I had the chance to reconnoitre and run away if need be. I had walked for several minutes at an incredibly slow pace before I realised there were two things I should have done. One was note the door number of my cell, the other was that I should have brought the cleaner’s trolley with me. Walking around clutching a handful of towels was not the best cover I could think of, and the more I was walking the more I was becoming lost.
A door ahead of me opened and I froze, but immediately forced myself to resume walking. Lowering my eyes, I hastened towards the man heading in my direction, deciding it would be too conspicuous to turn and head the other way. I did not pay any attention to his appearance, did not even see his face, and as we crossed, my heart hammered at the thought that I was so close to discovery.
But then we were past one another and I was able to breathe again. I was sorely tempted to turn my head to see if he was watching me at all, but had not come as far as I had just to ruin things now.
Thirty seconds later, I came upon a stairwell. It was ornately-designed, with greater detail than some cathedrals I’d seen. Thankfully the stairs were padded with lush carpet, which meant no one would be able to hear my footfalls as I crept down to the next level. Of course, I was presently far from the ground floor, but I reasoned if I could just get to a level not owned by Redthorne, I might have been able to reach a phone and call the police.
Reaching the next level down was simple, and my poor heart was beginning to hope that it could have actually been this easy. I reached for the door which would lead me into the corridor for this level and tugged, but while the door rattled, it held firm. I tried again, but the door simply would not budge. Stepping away, resigned, I realised that there was no need for guards because I was stuck. I had no doubt that the entire stairwell was owned by Redthorne, that none of the doors would open no matter how far I went down.
Closing my eyes and forcing air into my lungs at a steady pace, I tried to look at the situation a little more logically. To have enough money to buy a floor or two of an expensive hotel was entirely possible. To buy a stairwell, however, was ludicrous. Yes, I did not doubt that Redthorne had enough money for it, but everyone else in the hotel would have been just as wealthy and none of them would have liked for an entire stairwell to be taken out of service for no reason. And why was it anyway? What possible use could Redthorne have for a stairwell? Why not just lock the door on her own level if she didn’t want me escaping?
The only answer I could think of was horrendous: that Redthorne owned the entire building. If she had that much money she would be far more influential than I had reckoned upon. And if she was that rich I was certainly in deeper trouble than I had feared.
I suppressed a yelp as someone grabbed my arm, my towels spilling all across the floor, my clothes falling from amongst them and on show for my attacker to see. The man released me and looked quizzical, almost amused. “Lauren?”
I almost collapsed in relief. “Detective Lewis! What are you doing her
e?”
He placed a finger to his lips and I knew it was a stupid thing to have made so much noise. “Investigating Mrs Redthorne and following up on a lead.”
“What lead?”
“It appears it was you, actually. Redthorne dropped by Polinski’s shop earlier. Or at least an abandoned shop a couple of doors down. I felt it was a mighty coincidence for her to show any interest in that place and figured she might have had something to do with the shooting. I knew where she was based so came here to snoop for some answers. I didn’t expect to find you here, but I don’t think I have to ask whether it was your doing that she went there.”
“I think she shot Mr Polinski,” I said. “Her son was in the bank the day Nathan Wentworth robbed it. Nathan shot her son and Mr Polinski was forced to hide the boy. She’s been looking for him this whole time and I reckon one of her heavies shot Mr Polinski because he was in the way.”
Lewis quietly considered everything I was telling him. “Well that’s very thorough, Lauren. You would have made a great detective.”
“I learned from the best. Just don’t tell Carl I said that.”
“Don’t worry on that score. I’m not going to ask about the maid’s outfit, but if you’re through with your roleplaying do you perhaps want to get out of here?”
“The doors are all locked.”
Lewis produced a key and accompanied it with a smile. “I appropriated it off a guard. The detail is surprisingly light actually, although I’m hardly complaining.”
“Are you here to arrest anyone? How much backup have you brought?”
“No and none. I thought I’d have a look around first, work out what was what. I was trying to find a connection between Redthorne and the murder and it looks as though you’ve found it. Which means I can report this in and get some proper muscle out here.” He looked me over and suddenly I felt very self-conscious in my maid’s outfit. “But first I need to get you out of here.”
I wished there was time for me to change, but surviving was the priority so as Lewis unlocked the door we strolled through the corridor as though we had every right to be there. Lewis called Carl while we walked, to let him know I was all right, and said Carl would arrange the backup to be dispatched. Feeling more secure about the situation, I allowed Lewis to take the lead. He seemed to know where he was headed and I figured he had scoped out the building before bumping into me.