The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [225]
“That room is taken,” she said indignantly, then looked up to McVey, who stood behind him to the left of the elevator.
“What is your name?”
“Why should I answer that question? Who the hell do you think you are?” ?
“BKA,” Remmer said, flashing his I.D.
“My name is Anna Schubart,” she said quickly. “What; do you want?”
McVey and-Noble stood halfway between the front door and a stairway covered by a worn burgundy carpet. The lobby itself was small, painted the color of dark mustard. A wood-framed velvet couch sat at an angle to the desk, while behind it, two faded and unmatched over I stuffed chairs faced a fireplace where a small fire was burning. An elderly man dozed in one of them, an open’ newspaper across his lap.
“The stairway goes all the way to the top floor?”
“Yes.”
“That and the elevator are the only ways in and out?”
“Yes.”
“The old man sleeping, is he a guest?”
“He’s my father. What’s going on?”
“You keep quarters here?”
“Back there.” Anna Schubart tossed her head, indicating a closed door behind the desk.
“Take your father and go inside. I’ll tell you when to come out.”
The woman’s face turned red and she was about to tell him to go to hell, when the front door opened and Littbarski and Holt came in. Littbarski carried a shotgun. An Uzi submachine gun dangled at Holt’s side.
That was enough for Anna Schubart’s pride. Reaching to a wall box behind her, she took out the key to room 412 and gave it to Remmer. Then, walking quickly to the old man, she shook him awake. “Komm, Vater” she said. Helping him up, she walked him, blinking and staring, around the desk and into the back room. With a sharp glance back at the police, she closed the door.
“Tell Holt to stay here,” McVey said to Remmer “You and Littbarski take the stairs. The old men’ll take the elevator. We’ll wait for you at the top.”
Crossing to the elevator, McVey punched the button and the door opened immediately and he and Noble stepped inside. The door slid closed, and Remmer and Littbarski went up the stairs.
Outside, in the back alley, Kellermann thought he saw a light brighten in the room next to Cadoux’s, but even with the binoculars it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, it seemed too insignificant to report.
The elevator banged to a stop on the top floor and the door opened. Thirty-eight in hand, McVey looked out. The hallway was dimly lit and empty. Putting the elevator on “lock,” he stepped out. Noble followed, carrying a matte black .44 Magnum automatic.
They’d gone about twenty feet when McVey pulled up and nodded to a closed door across from them.
Room 412.
Suddenly a shadow ran up the ceiling at the far end of the hallway, and. both men pressed back against the wall. Then Remmer turned the corner, gun in hand. Littbarski I was at his heels. Stepping out, McVey pointed at the 412 doorway and the men came toward it from either end of the hallway. McVey and Noble from the left, Remmer and Littbarski from the right.
As they came together, McVey motioned Littbarski into the center of the hallway so he could take up a position that would give him a clear shotgun blast at the door.
Shifting the .38 to his left hand, McVey stood to the side of the door, then eased the key into the lock and turned it.
Click.
The dead bolt slid back and they listened.
Silence.
Bracing himself, Littbarski aimed the shotgun directly at the center of the door. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Remmer’s face as he pressed back tight against the wall on the far side of the door Noble, two hands on the Magnum military style, stood at the ready, a foot behind McVey on the near side.
Taking a breath, McVey reached out and grasped the doorknob. Twisting it, he shoved gently. The door opened several inches and stopped. Inside they could just make out part of a dimly lit rococo floor lamp and the corner of a couch. A radio, at low volume, played a Strauss waltz.
“Cadoux,” McVey called out