The Stolen - Jason Pinter [96]
leaned in closer. When I saw what it was, I had the exact
same reaction as Clark.
"M-Ma'am," Clark said, stammering now. "That's a
condom."
"You're damn right. Robert promised me a good time
tonight, so if you don't tell me where I can find him, I'm
jus' gonna have to find someone else at this ho-tel to do
what he can't." She looked around, a lascivious grin on her
face. "Do you have a bar in this hotel?"
Clark gulped, then ran some digits into his computer.
He looked at Amanda as though to make sure she hadn't
started propositioning guests. She hadn't, though she was
licking her lips. I had to close my mouth, look away.
"Mr. Reed is staying in room 602. Now, if you'll please,
just go find him. We don't need anyone causing a scene."
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"Much obliged," she said, leaning over. "Clark."
Amanda headed for the elevators. We waited a moment
before following her. When the doors closed, I said, "You
sure you weren't trained at Juilliard?"
"God, you guys could use a set of balls sometimes.
Come on."
The door dinged open. We followed the signs toward
room 602. The halls were lined with seashell-shaped
lights, and the carpet was a zigzagging pattern of red-andblack squares. A few pieces of standard hotel art hung on
the walls. Men fishing off piers. A windmill across a bay.
I had no eye for art. For all I knew these pieces could have
secretly been worth millions.
When we came to 602, we stopped in front of it. Curt
and Amanda stood to either side of me.
"I'll do the talking," I said. "Curt, if we need you..."
"I have my badge on me, Henry."
As I got ready to knock, I heard the ding of another
elevator opening onto the sixth floor.
"Hold on a second," I said. "Just make sure they're
going in another direction. Nobody needs to see three
people hanging around the hallway."
They didn't respond. The footsteps appeared to be
heading our way. No big deal, I thought. Hotel guests going
back to their hotel room. Even if they were heading this
way, they'd enter their room and be done with it. We'd be
talking to the Reeds before anyone had a chance to get suspicious.
I leaned back against the wall, pretended to fiddle with
my cell phone. When I saw a shadow appear at the other
end of the hall, I turned to look at the guests that were
coming.
I nearly dropped the phone when they came into view.
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I recognized the first man immediately, and I dove for
Amanda just as Raymond Benjamin pulled a gun from his
coat and opened fire.
I heard Amanda scream as bullets smashed into the
wall above us. I thought we were safe, but then I heard
another, deeper yell, turned to look, and saw Curt Sheffield on the ground, blood pouring from his leg.
"Curt!" I screamed.
I pushed Amanda toward the other end of the hall
where an exit door was visible, and by that time Curt had
taken the gun from his hip holster. Benjamin was reloading when Sheffield emptied three bullets into the
hallway. Ray Benjamin managed to dive for cover, but
two of the bullets struck his sidekick square in the chest.
The younger man went toppling backward, his back
smacking against the wall, where he slid down, leaving
a bloody smear.
Benjamin was gone. I heard footsteps running toward
the elevators. He was getting away.
I knelt down by Curt. His hand was pressing down on the
wound, hard, but blood was still seeping through his fingers.
"Benjamin," Curt said, the pain evident in his voice.
"Don't let the fucker get away."
Amanda appeared beside us. She'd taken off her fleece,
then rolled it up and tied it around Curt's leg. He howled
in pain as she pulled the loop together, trying to stem the
flow of blood.
I looked at them both. Amanda had taken her cell phone
out. She said, "I called 911. Make sure he doesn't hurt
anybody else."
I nodded, then sprinted for the exit door. My pulse
raced as I looked for the stairwell. A diagram of the floor
plan was on the wall; the stairs were just to my left. I ran
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for them, banged the door open and hurtled down the