Fernando plowed through door and handed me a stack of clothes.
“Gracias.”
On his way out, he turned back around at the door. “Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
More movement on the screen. Suddenly, Britney twisted away, drew back her arm and swatted the man in front of her.
“Fernando, I need to know Miguel Amador’s room number. Quick.”
<><><>
The flute glasses on the tray wobbled just slightly as I plodded out of the elevator on floor thirty. Two penthouse suites occupied the entire floor. As I moved west down the long hallway, I caught a quick glance of my sandals. Not exactly a perfect fit with my formal black and white uniform. Hopefully, they would go unnoticed.
Turning a corner, I spotted one of the men from Club de Python sitting in a chair next to a set of double doors. I assumed his buddies were nearby, in a side room next door maybe. I tried to maintain a ho-hum expression, act as if this was just another task in another day of drudgery.
“Hola,” I said.
“Hola.” He lifted from his chair.
As I raised a fist to knock on the mahogany door, I listened for any voices from inside the room. I heard nothing. Just before my knuckles bounced off the wooden door, the bodyguard held up his hand. It was missing the ring finger.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked like I hadn’t received the company memo regarding Never Disturb Señor Amador.
“Oh, I thought you knew?”
He paused, looking away for a second, perhaps replaying all the instructions given to him in the last few hours.
“It’s okay. Every time a VIP stays at our hotel, our general manager insists we go the extra mile and provide the finest bottle of champagne we have. Complimentary, of course.”
He curled his lip inward, exposing a set of gnarled teeth. “I…I don’t think Señor Amador wants to be bothered, even for a fancy bottle of champagne.”
I lowered the tray to show him the bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries and whipped cream. I leaned in a bit, keeping my voice low.
“Our general manager caught a glimpse of Señor Amador’s girlfriend.” I cleared my throat. “He knew Señor Amador would want to make tonight…special. I think we’ll both look good if we give this to him and his girlfriend.”
He looked at the tray. “Can I have a strawberry? I haven’t had a thing to eat all night.”
I moved the tray toward him. “No one will know.” He picked one off the top, then flicked his head toward the entrance and took a step back.
I gave the door three quick knocks. “Room service.”
No answer. I tried a double-knock. “Room service, Señor Amador.”
The door flew open, and Amador nearly stumbled over himself.
“Compliments of our general manager, sir.” Before Amador could react, I walked right in, scanning the condo-sized hotel room for Britney, or any signs of blood.
I found a round table off to the right, Britney’s black heels about ten feet from it.
“What the hell is zat man zooing in here?” Amador barked at his guard behind me, slurring his words slightly.
The guard stuttered, unable to formulate a response.
“Compliments of our general manager, sir. Only for our most special VIPs,” I called out.
I heard his bare feet shuffle against the plush carpet behind me as I tried to catch a glimpse of movement through a small crack in a set of double doors off to the left.
Just then, a sweaty hand touched the back of my neck. A flood of adrenaline shot through my body, my instincts poised to spin and drive a fist into the man’s larynx. Somehow, I managed to pause an extra second.
“Well, I can’t turn down a good bottle of champagne. And I think my woman will enjoy zese strawberries.” He patted my back, then stepped in front of me while rubbing his prickly face. I picked up a stench that pinched my nostrils—a cross between rotten eggs and ammonia—matching his beastly appearance.
A soft, feminine hand reached through the door. The other room was nearly pitch black. As the door opened slowly, I could see a bare arm, then a shoulder.
“Alisa, my dear, come on out and enjoy a late night drink,” Amador said while plucking a strawberry off the top of the heap.
Britney actually used the name Alisa? My partner and friend, maybe something more. For some reason, Amador’s words lingered in my mind like a room full of smoke.
Taking my eyes off Amador, Britney was in the process of slipping on a fluffy, white robe as she entered the room. I think I stopped breathing for a split second. She’d forgotten to tie off the belt, creating a gap in the front. Using both hands, she flipped her golden locks over the collar, while locking eyes with me, almost daring me to look down. It was obvious she was naked underneath, but I kept my sights at eye level, wondering what she was trying to prove.
“This is wonderful. I’m starving,” she said with a bit of an accent.
Wait. Was she trying to pull off a British accent?
“Here my precious, Alisa, try one of these decadent chocolate-covered strawberries.” Britney opened her mouth and slid out her tongue. He moaned when he placed the fruit in her mouth. She followed suit. They made me want to puke.
Taking in a breath, I studied Britney’s face. No noticeable marks. I still wondered what had provoked her swat at Amador, and how he had retaliated. Right now the pair appeared to act like any loving couple—with more personal issues than a full-time psychiatrist could keep up with.
“You just going to drool over my pretty lady, or are you going to uncork the champagne?” His eyelids acted as if they were being pulled down by weights, or some other inducement.
“What kind is it, Miguel?” she asked, taking the bottle off the tray just as I put a hand on it.
“Uh, ask the bellman. I don’t know shit about champagne.”
I paused for a quick read of Britney, but picked up no signals. “It’s a special edition Dom Perignon Champagne Brut produced by Moët and Chandon. It was released in 1998 and designed by German fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld.”
“I’ve met Karl, the creative direction at Chanel in France, but I don’t recall him ever mentioning his champagne. I’m sure he didn’t want to boast,” she said more to herself, it appeared, than to Amador or me.
The lilt in her voice was no accident. It sounded like she’d been born in Liverpool. It was that authentic. Even the way she carried herself seemed different, her chin a tad higher than normal. It appeared she had this special Lady Diana-type persona tucked away in her bag of identities, just waiting to share at the most opportune moment. It was bizarre interacting with my third Britney, and disturbing.
Any way she could have a touch of schizophrenia? And how would that impact her ability to deal with everyday emotions, including jealousy?
“You may have the honors to pop my cork.” Britney put the bottle in my face, her eyebrows arching toward the ceiling as Amador fiddled with a tablet of some kind near the sofa. He brought a hand to his nose and sniffed.
“Uh, yes, ma’am.” Leave it to Britney to play with fire right in front of the arsonist.
What she was trying to accomplish with this Downton Abbey act I couldn’t figure out, let alone her constant attempts at trying to seduce me in front of other people. How I wasn’t able to see right through her bullshit girl-next-door attitude months ago, I had no idea. I had actually begun to wonder if she was the one. Damn, I must have had my head up my ass.
“Now that’s the kind of respect I’m used to receiving.” Amador stabbed a finger at me, as if he was proving a point to his crowd of just Britney.
Check that. I noticed the four-fingered bodyguard still lingering near the entryway, his arms extended like he was walking a tightrope. Perhaps he wasn’t sure where to go, in or out.
“Yes sir, Señor Amador. The best service for our most cherished clients.” I laid it on thick.
I untwisted the metal tied around the cork a
s Amador came up to Britney and smacked her right on the ass. She released a playful chirp, bouncing up on her toes. Turning into him, Britney closed her eyes as Amador slurped a kiss. His free hand found a crevice in the robe and he began massaging her chest with me standing right there.
I glanced over at Four Fingers, and his mouth was agape, although his nose twitched, as if he was repulsed.
I matched that sentiment.
Pop.
“Oh!” Britney jumped out of Amador’s arms, clapping slightly.
“I haven’t had champagne this nice since I was in London for the Summer Olympics and I was a guest at Sir Elton John’s party,” she said.
Amador beamed a smile, his eyes half closed and his body rocking a bit. It seemed like he might crumple to the floor and start snoring.
“I’ll hold the glasses, and you pour,” Britney ordered.
I wanted to give her a mocking salute, but I instead bowed my head slightly. Amador grabbed the first glass from Britney and walked over to the bodyguard.
“Here. You’ve been working hard tonight, and you deserve it.”
Just as Four Fingers reached for the flute, Amador tossed the entire glass of bubbly on Four Fingers. He just froze.
“You might think you deserve a taste of the sweet life, but I assure you that is not going to happen when you make such a stupid decision as to let this hotel employee into my room without asking me first.”
“I thought it was our room, dear Miguel,” Britney said casually while wrapping her lips around a strawberry, one eye on me.
Dear?
I think my eyebrow arched higher.
“Uh…I’m very sorry, Señor Amador. It will not happen again.” Four Fingers marched toward me, his hands moving up as if he was about to grab me by the collar and drag me out.
“Stop where you are, dumbass,” Amador said. “He’s harmless. But you didn’t know that, did you? Of course you didn’t, because you’re nothing but a four-fingered dumbass.”
Amador chased him from the room like he was herding cattle. “I hope you’ll learn from the error. If you don’t, you will suffer the same fate as all others who have failed me.” He slammed the door shut.
Ambling back to Britney and me, Amador wobbled, and his hand grabbed the top of the Queen Anne chair.
“Here you go, Miguel.” Britney held up a flute of bubbly, acting as if Amador’s life-threatening rant had been nothing more than a learning moment for Four Fingers. Maybe that was why he was missing a digit.
“I gotta pee.” Chewy snorted again, then cut toward a hallway.
Britney casually looked over her shoulder, waiting until he wobbled out of sight, then turned and spoke in a hushed tone. “Thank you for checking up on me, Booker. It means a lot. It really does.”
I placed the cork on the tray. “It’s nothing. Just making sure the operation doesn’t crater. What happened earlier?”
“He’s high as a kite. Was snorting coke like it was oxygen. He started raving about someone. I couldn’t understand who he was talking about. But his eyes turned red, and then he started shaking me.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Not really. When I smacked him, I thought he might retaliate. But it woke him out of his trance. It’s like he respected me more for fighting back, standing up for myself.”
“Have you had to—?”
“What?” Her lips turned up at the corners, a twinkle in her eye.
I tried to ignore…everything. “What have you learned? Anything about Esteban?”
“Nothing yet. But I think he might share it with me if I spend the night. He’s already sharing information about his drug-smuggling operation. I guess you and Sean have heard that?”
“Can’t hear much with your dress sitting over on the side.” I peered over her shoulder to ensure Amador wouldn’t surprise us.
“Are you jealous?” She leaned her neck forward, her smirking face no more than six inches from mine. She slowly brushed her tongue across a pair of lips that couldn’t have been any more perfect.
I felt like an addict being tempted with the very same drug that had nearly killed me. In this case, it—Britney/Ana Sofia/Alisa—had killed other people. I wasn’t about to be added to her resume of death.
“Are you fucking serious? We’ve got a madman in the other room. The same guy who holds the life of a fourteen-year-old boy in his hand. The son of your fiancé. And you want to play verbal foreplay? If I didn’t give a damn about Esteban seeing his father again, I might just leave you here to be devoured by that animal.”
Her eyelashes flickered a couple of times, and the corners of her mouth dropped. “I’m trying to cope with all of this the best I know how. I told you before at my place, this isn’t my comfort zone. Booker, you are someone familiar, someone I’ve loved with all my heart. It’s natural for me to reach out to you with all of this tension in the air. And yes, I smell Amador’s foul stench. It makes me want to vomit, just like him feeling me up. It’s all disgusting and sordid. But I cope with it the best I can, hoping that I can coerce him into telling me where Esteban is, praying we can return him to his father, Juan. Just because I don’t follow some script of how you think a woman should react in a situation like this doesn’t mean I’m some type of black widow. I’m human, just like you. I bleed, just like you. I want love, just like you.”
Her chest rose with each panting breath, as her eyes filled with water.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to question your motives.” I shifted my eyes away, cleaning up the tray.
“Don’t tell me ze both of you have downed the entire bottle of champagne?”
Amador stopped at the entrance from the hallway. I could see his blood-rimmed eyes from twenty feet away. He rested a hand against the wall, his belt was dangling from one loop.
Keeping her sights on me an extra tick, Britney’s eyes seemed to reach out for me. For the first time in forever, I could sense fear in the leggy blonde, as if she wanted to jump into my arms and never let go. Instead, she inhaled, shot me a quick wink, then turned and pranced right up next to Amador.
“How could we do that? You’re the life the party.” She took his head in her hand and gave him an open-mouthed kiss, finishing with a nibble of his lip.
Damn, there goes another flip of her personality switch.
He wobbled a bit more, as if she’d just injected him with a lethal dose of Britney pheromones.
Been there, done that.
“A drink?” He snapped his finger, and I jumped out of my stance, handing him a frothy glass of champagne in quick order.
“A toast to the most lovely woman I believe I’ve ever met.”
Pressing my lips against my teeth, I stood there with my hands clasped behind my back.
He turned his head and bit her lip until it bled. She didn’t blink.
“What are you doing? This is a festive occasion. You must drink,” he said, raising his glass as if it were loaded with a full magazine of bullets.
I brought a hand to my chest. “Me?”
“Who else?” He chuckled, turning to Britney. “Can you believe this guy, Alisa? Los campesinos están tan jodidamente patéticos.”
She whispered to him. “Remember, Miguel, I don’t know Spanish all that well.”
He shifted his bloodshot eyes toward me, then grabbed Britney by the waist and shoved her midsection into his crotch. “I know I have a….a short fuse.” He pulled her hair back, his lips brushing against her ear. “But it’s because of your beauty and remarkably cultured mind that I have the strength to not let the pathetic peasants turn my mood sour.” He cleared his raspy voice.
“You may go. Just leave the tray where it is.” He flicked a wrist in my direction, his eyes still trained on Britney. She held her gaze, as if enthralled by his very presence.
I nodded and scooted toward the door.
“Now, are you ready to have some real fun?” I heard Amador say.
Turning back as I reached for the knob, Amador stripped off B
ritney’s robe and tossed it aside with the single-minded vigor of a bull plowing up dirt, preparing for a stampede. I could already hear his lecherous grunts.
The last visual I got was Britney putting her arms around the hairy beast, her eyes just visible over his shoulder. She looked into my eyes, then gave me a quick thumbs-up.
“I’ve got a special bag in my coat in the bedroom. It’s time to get fucked up.” Amador chuckled just as I shut the door behind me.
I wondered if I’d just seen the last of Britney Love—alive.
17
“Fooood,” I heard someone say. I wrestled awake, nearly falling out of my stiff office chair and quickly saw Bolt hovering over me, waving the scent of something sweet and spicy under my nose.
“How long have I been asleep?” I rubbed my eyes and reached into my pocket for my phone.
“Oh, just long enough for me to ask Fernando to put in three breakfast orders before his overnight shift ended.”
My eyes zeroed in on the plate. “Smells great. What is it?”
“Mangú seasoned with tons of onions and dices of green and red bell pepper, and olive oil. With it are juicy roasted Roma tomatoes and boiled banana, what we call guineo, in a sweet and musky thick sauce, topped with chunks of different fruit.”
My stomach growled. I looked to my right and found Sean also waking out of a slumber, rubbing the back of his neck, then flipping his gray ponytail like an old horse.
He crouched down to the level of the tablet propped on the desk in between us. “Looks like it’s still quiet.”
Taking a quick peek, the angle of the camera had been lowered, but something was covering the right side of the lens. I could see a bedpost and what appeared to be Britney’s bare feet. She looked stiff and pointed, as if she was in a perfect diving position.
Swinging my phone around, I noticed the time: 6:45 am.
I brought a hand to my head. A throbbing sensation had started in my temples. “Thanks for the breakfast, Bolt. Any water around here?”
He pointed at the tray in the corner perched on a metal stand. “Mr. Booker, you should know by now that I will take care of you and your friend. When it comes to my country, I’m still a prideful man.”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 44