Hotel 72: The Last Hit

by Anthony Ivins

shower attachment. It wasn't quite the Trump Towers, but it was liveable. Robert went back into the room and threw his suitcase onto the bed and opened it up. He removed some clothes and hung them up in the wardrobe.

  He took his phone out of his pocket and opened up Wickr. There was only one number on the phone. He opened up a new message and typed in the box "In the room" and tapped the send button. He didn't have to wait long for a reply: "Mirror, Bathroom". Robert threw the phone on the bed and walked back to the bathroom. He looked at the mirror but nothing seemed out of place. He looked at the corners of the mirror and noticed there were small silver balls.

  Robert looked at one of the silver balls and put his fingers around it and tried to turn it. At first it was quite tight but once it gave way it screwed off easily. As he unscrewed the silver ball he saw that there was a screw underneath that fastened the mirror to the wall. The silver ball was only there as a decoration, to hide the screw.

  He left the bathroom and went back to his suitcase, pulling out the Leatherman that was stashed in one of the inside compartments. Robert opened the Leatherman and chose the star screwdriver tool and moved it out. He went to the mirror and started loosening the screw. The screw came out almost as easily as the silver ball had so he knew that somebody had done the same thing recently.

  The remaining three screws were taken out in a matter of minutes and Robert moved his hand gently down the edge of the mirror, feeling for any holes he could use to pry it loose. He was almost at the bottom when he detected the smallest of gaps. He gripped the mirror tightly and used his fingers to pull it away from the wall. Robert pulled the mirror off slowly, being careful not to break it.

  As the mirror came loose at the bottom, a small brown envelope fell to the ground. Robert put the mirror gently against the wall and then bent over and picked up the envelope. He examined it thoroughly at first, looking for marks. Something caught the corner of his eye and he looked back at the wall, seeing a small brown box lodged in between two bricks. He reached over, took the box out of the wall and opened it.

  Inside were five 7.62mm bullets, designed specifically for his rifle. He picked one up and held it between his thumb and forefinger, examining every minute detail. It was assembled almost exactly to the letter on his instructions. He smiled to himself and carefully placed the bullet back in the box.

  He turned his attention back to the envelope and with the fingernail on his thumb he sliced the top of the envelope open. On the inside was a black-and-white photo of a man with dark, long curly hair, standing tall and pointing. Robert knew that this was a surveillance photo. He turned the photo around and on the back was written, "Marcus Wahlberg, 31st October, 19h00, Convention Centre". Robert memorized the picture and the writing and went to the bathroom.

  He took the cigarette lighter out of his pocket and lit the bottom of the photograph. It caught fire quickly, and he held it over the toilet so the ashes could fall into the water. He kept having to swop hands so he didn't burn himself. As the flames engulfed the last visible piece of the photograph Robert let go and the remaining small piece fell into the bowl. Robert pulled the chain and watched as the ashes were flushed away. He decided to wait a few extra seconds to ensure that nothing remained. Nothing did.

  He picked up the mirror and put it back on the wall, putting all the screws back with their silver balls on top. Robert examined the counter top, making sure that no evidence remained that he had removed the mirror. He took a step back and double checked, making sure everything was in order.

  Robert walked back to the bedroom and looked at the parcel lying on the bed. He walked back to the door and placed the chain on the lock, "Better safe than sorry," he thought to himself.

  He went back to the parcel and, using his Leatherman, he sliced open the side of it. Robert could see the side of the briefcase. Robert removed the rest of the packaging and removed the briefcase, holding it up and inspecting it. He looked at the combination lock and knew at once it was military grade. Robert was sure there would also be a tamper proof switch that would trigger an explosion if the case was opened without the correct combination.

  He picked up his phone again and was about to open the Wickr app when a message alert came through. He opened the message and read it: "1496".

  Robert looked around the room nervously, wondering if he was being watched. He walked over to the brief case and moved the dials around until he had entered 1496 as the combination. He pushed the button next to the lock and heard a loud 'click' as the latch sprang open. Robert moved onto the lock on the other end of the briefcase and entered the same code, luckily with the same result. He lifted the lid of the briefcase slowly and instantly recognised the pieces of metal and plastic that were packed between layers of foam packaging.

  He took out the pieces one by one, examining each one carefully for any damage. After he had removed them all and was satisfied with their condition he started to assemble the pieces. Through years of practice he was able to assemble the rifle in fifteen seconds. He took a bit longer to place the telescopic sight on the top and then held the rifle up and looked through the sight, aiming at a picture on the wall.

  The knock from the door nearly startled him to death, and he looked around for a place to hide the rifle. He lifted the comforter off the bed and threw the rifle under it.

  "Who is it?" He asked out loud.

  "Housekeeping," came the reply.

  Robert walked to the door and opened it slightly, keeping the chain in place.

  "What do you want?" asked Robert rudely through the door to the housekeeping lady.

  "We didn't put any cream for your coffee in your room." replied the housekeeper, looking nervous.

  "I drink my coffee black," replied Robert as he slammed the door closed.

  He looked through the peephole as the housekeeper stared at the door for a few seconds and then walked back down the passage. Robert knew that the best way to ensure his privacy was to be rude. Nobody messed with a rude person.

  He went back to the bed and took the rifle out from under the comforter and started to take it apart. Once he had dismantled it, he opened his suitcase and removed everything inside. He moved his hand to the corner of the suitcase and felt for a small button. He pushed the button twice in quick succession and heard a faint click as the bottom of the suitcase came loose. Robert lifted out the bottom of the suitcase, placed all the pieces of the rifle inside then returned the bottom back into the suitcase and pushed it down hard until he heard another faint click.

  Robert packed some of his clothes back into the suitcase and placed it next to the desk. He looked at his watch, and saw that it was 7-30pm - almost time for dinner. He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open. He had a full view of the convention centre which was in complete darkness, "No conferences at the moment," he thought to himself.

  Robert got changed into some more casual attire - he was after all, a mobile phone salesman, so he had to look the part. He chose a worn pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the slogan, "FBI – Female Body Inspector". Robert loved this disguise and had used it on many previous jobs. He was so good at playing this character that nobody doubted it for a second.

  He went down the elevator, timing the trip again and memorising it. The elevator doors opened in the lobby and the sound of Karaoke filled the air.

  "Please not this crap." Robert thought to himself, he hated Karaoke with a passion.

  He walked into the bar and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. In the corner of the room a small makeshift stage had been setup with an old television in front of it. On the stage was an old man, close to seventy years of age, with the microphone in his hand, butchering the old Tom Jones classic Green Green Grass of Home. Robert winced as his voice blasted out of the two speakers on either side of the stage, the extra bass causing the windows to shake and rattle.

  Robert made his way to the bar, trying to sit as far away from the noise as possible. There were quite a few barstools
open and Robert chose one that was in the darkest corner of the bar. As he sat down the bar tender walked over to him, "What will it be?" he asked.

  "Double Jack on the rocks," replied Robert, and he turned round to see if the old man had managed to get off the stage safely.

  He was pleasantly surprised to see that a younger girl had taken his place. He was hoping that her voice would be as good as her looks, but when she started singing his hopes were dashed and he turned around just as the barman placed his drink on a coaster in front of him.

  "That will be fourteen dollars please," said the barman.

  Robert reached into his back pocket and pulled out a roll of bills, peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and placed them on the counter, "Keep them coming," he said to the barman.

  "No problem," replied the barman, and he took the money opening the cash register.

  Robert was quick to see that he barman didn't ring up the Jack Daniels on the cash register. Instead, he placed the cash on the side of the register, making it look as if he had put it inside.

  "So where you from?" asked the barman.

  "Dallas," replied Robert, "Down here on some business."

  "Well I'll be damned, I'm also from Dallas. Which area you from?” continued the barman.

  "Carrollton," replied Robert, sticking to his tried and tested