The Consummata (10 page)

The bellboy gave me an odd glance. “
Si.
There was one who carried a small damaged box, very carefully. He and another talked for a long time before they left.”

I nodded.

He studied me another moment, then said, “Tell me,
señor,
and I do not mean to pry, but...should this have been
your
room?”

“Why do you figure that?”

“Perhaps I have worked in the hotel business too long, for one my age. I sometimes think I see things that others, they miss.”

“That can give a guy a leg up, I guess.”

His nod was crisp, his grin a flash of white in a brown face. “It has been profitable on more than one occasion,
señor
.”

The tone of his voice was a little pointed and I looked at him. “Maybe you’d like to make a profit out of that ability of yours right now.”

“
Señor
, you have been most kind already. For the dollars you gave me, you have my eternal loyalty. Or for the rest of the night, at least.”

I laughed. “And this includes your insights?”

Another nod. He whispered: “The old one, cleaning up outside?”

“Yeah?”

“A man in a fireman’s hat, wearing a suit? I hear him tell the
viejo hombre
to report to him any visitors to this room. He gave the old one a card, a business card.”

I flipped the flashlight off and handed it to him. I carefully stepped around the damp floor to the door and moved out into the corridor. The bellboy followed.

The hall was empty but for the ancient porter, back for another load, and his casual indifference to us was a lousy act. I walked up to him, flipped my wallet open then shut in front of his nose too fast for him to see what wasn’t there; but to the old boy, it was a routine police gesture and he accepted it.

In my best official manner, I asked, “Anyone been around since our men left?”

He had one of those faces so grooved and wrinkled, you couldn’t imagine what it once had looked like; his hair was wispy and white, the top of his skull a great big dead dandelion crown whose seeds weren’t traveling.

He swallowed, didn’t meet my eyes with his rheumy gaze, and shook his head. “No,
señor
. There has been nobody.”

“Okay, pops—keep your eyes open. You know what to do.”

“Yes,
señor
,” he said, with as vigorous a nod as he could manage. “I have been instructed.”

I walked down to the elevators, wondering if they’d add impersonating a cop to the other charges against me. The bellboy was tagging along, with a mischievous smile. We took the elevator to my floor and got off. The kid had been watching me, all the way.

Finally he said, “You are a strange one,
señor
. Or maybe all Americans are
loco
.”

“I’m not nuts,
amigo
, just curious. A guy in a dull line of work like mine doesn’t get to see excitement up close every day.”

The smile stretched a little. “That would not be my description of you,
señor
.”

“No?”

“No. You are very the much active man. Remember, I said there are things I do not miss?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Forgot the big rule for a second there.”

“What rule is that,
señor
?”

“Don’t shit a shitter.”

He laughed. “Those are words of wisdom. It is always wise not to insult the intelligence of those around you. Even one in a menial position may provide the great insight, now and then.”

“Damn, are you
all
college graduates around here?”

A white flash of smile again. “Not yet,
señor
...but I intend to be one day.”

“
Amigo
,” I told him, with a pat on the shoulder, “you’ll make it all the way.”

“I have the grades and the ambition. But the world turns on money,
señor
.”

“Then maybe you’d like to add a little more to your piggy bank.”

He looked at me with eyes narrowed and alert.

I said, “Somebody was in that room since it was cleaned after the last check-out. Somebody who left a package under
the bed, with a timer on it. Luckily, like some bridegrooms on their wedding night, the thing went off prematurely.”

His eyes widened. “But it has been five days since the last guest...”

“This would have been recent—in the last day or so. Before then, nobody knew
who
was going to occupy that room.”

His voice was very soft. “I see....”

“You can’t be the only one around here who notices things. Someone else on the hotel staff must have seen him. Or anyway there’s a hell of a chance of that.”

Nodding, the boy said, “I understand,
señor
.”

“Be discreet, son.”

He grinned. “That is the way of the world at
any
hotel.”

After he took the elevator down, I walked back to my room and stretched out on the bed.

A couple of things were pretty obvious.

Luis Saldar’s operation had one big goddamn leak in it. So far seven adults were in on the hardcore facts of this particular junket, and if one or more of them hadn’t tried to tap me out directly, they could have tipped somebody else to it...either by accident or design.

The other obvious factor was this: somebody wanted me dead bad enough to put a hurry-up job like this botched hotel room bombing in motion—meaning there would be another try. Maybe with more care, next time.

Or maybe not.

Either way, all I had to do now was make myself available for next time, and be ready for it.

Well, here I was.

I fell asleep thinking, jarred from sleep twice because some odd little piece about Jaimie Halaquez and his seventy-fivethousand- buck haul kept rattling around loose; then finally I fell into a fitful doze...

...until an insistent tapping jolted me awake, and I sat up with the .45 in my hand.

When I reached the door, I yanked it open and the bellboy was staring down the hole in the muzzle of the gun with a shocked expression, a real
ay caramba
moment, though he didn’t say it.

Then I yanked him inside, eased the door shut, and shoved the rod in my belt.

“Sorry,
amigo
,” I said.

He nodded, feeling for his voice. “Looking down that gun barrel,
señor
, is a most uncomfortable feeling.” Little beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead.

“No shit.” I checked my watch. In another half-hour the sun would be up. “It’s getting late, my friend. Or early. Not quite sure which.”

“Either way, there is still time.”

“For what?”

He licked his lips nervously and patted his forehead dry with his sleeve. “The old one, the porter you spoke to?”

“Yeah?”

Slowly, his eyes crawled up my face until they were meeting my own. “He is in a closet near where the explosion happened. He is quite dead,
señor
. Someone has broken his neck for him...very expertly, I would say.”

I said, “Damn,” very softly.

“His body, it is cold and...and stiff. I do not know much about such things, but I know enough to say it must have happened some time ago. Perhaps shortly after you talked to him in the hallway.”

“You haven’t reported this?”

“Just to you,
señor
.”

“If you hadn’t found the body, who would be most likely to discover it?”

He didn’t have to think about it. “In the morning, the maid whose equipment is in that closet, she would find him, maybe. Or perhaps the police, when they come back to investigate more in that blown-up room. That is why there is still time for you to leave,
señor
.”

“How did
you
come across the dead guy?”

“I was trying to find out things for you. I went to his room first and he was not there. The old one never goes out at night. I had hoped to speak to him. He is like a ghost, that one. He could watch, he could spy, and no one would notice —an old man in a menial position, he is invisible. Until his death, at least.”

“What do you mean, kid?”

“Whoever put him in the closet failed to close the door tight. I went back to the hallway, where we were earlier, where the explosion room is? Looking for the old man. I notice that door, it is...what is the word...
ajar
. So I open it, only to close it better, harder, and then...there he was.”

I waited a second, watching him close. “And you haven’t spoken to
anyone
about this?”

“
Señor!
” His tone was sharp, his eyes wide. “The maid, let
her
do the discovering. I know nothing of this, should anyone ask...but it is important that
you
know.”

I gave him a smile and squeezed his arm. “Thanks,
amigo
.”

“What does it mean,
señor
, this death? This...murder?”

I shrugged. “Probably that the old boy was paid to plant the gimmick. Maybe that’s why the timing was off. He didn’t know enough about setting the mechanism, and it blew early.”

“But to
kill
him...why? Surely he would never talk to the police, and risk arrest for himself.”

“Nobody was worried about him going to the cops. Whoever set this in motion, they know I’m still alive...and were afraid
I’d
get to him.”

“
Señor
...you must go. Before the body is found.”

I fished out the roll of bills Saladar had given me and peeled off a hundred-dollar leaf.

“Enroll in some courses on me,
amigo
,” I said.

“This is not necessary.” His eyes were glittering. “But I am very grateful.”

“Back at you, kid.”

He thanked me again and slipped the C-note in his pocket.

I glanced at the roll of bills again, found a ten, and handed it to him with a grin. “And check me out, would you? I like to keep my bills paid up.”

The parents of Magruder Harris had optimistically overnamed their offspring.

Magruder had grown up to become a bail bondsman who was never known by anything except Muddy. Whether

Muddy’s folks were proud of him, or alive or dead, I had no idea. What I did know was, the beach house and the matching set of Caddies he owned, a convertible and hardtop, hadn’t come out of the interest he charged on his bonds.

To the right people, Muddy was known as a fixer and information source par excellence. His eyes and ears—and that filing cabinet mind of his—had cornered a unique market on contacts, and if the price was right, what you needed to know would be for sale.

Heavyset but not fat, well dressed but not flashy, with fleshy features and a comb-over that wasn’t fooling anybody, Muddy sat behind a battered mahogany desk, feet propped on top, his cloudy blue eyes peering at me around the thin tendril of smoke from the butt that swung from his lips.

I said, “Long time, Muddy.”

He barely nodded. “Morgan.” The cigarette shifted to a corner of his mouth seemingly of its own volition. “Wondered when you’d be around.”

“News travels fast.”

“Always has and always will,” Muddy shrugged, and took a drag on the cigarette.

My watch said it was a little after nine. Outside the night had tucked the city under its blanket. I’d spent the day holed up, sleeping, eating, and making phone calls, all in a room at a hotel picked out by nobody but me. I asked him, “Working late?”

“Nope. Just sitting here expecting you.”

“Why?”

“You called Kirk in New York, he called me, so I waited.”
He paused a second, then added, “It
has
been a while, Morgan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Long time between scores.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’ll say.” The cigarette was almost down to his lips, so he plucked it out, pinched it, and tossed the stub in a wastebasket. “Kirk was plenty happy to hand you over to me. Right now you’re too hot for anybody.”

“So, then, I shouldn’t let the door hit me on the ass on the way out?”

“Naw, hell, man. Make yourself at home.” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, those cloudy eyes watching me with interest. “That was supposed to have been you in the Amherst Hotel, wasn’t it?”

I pulled a chair out from the wall with my foot and slid into it. “That’s right.”

For the first time since I got there, Muddy Harris grinned.

“The boys in blue were pretty sore last night.”

“Really? Is this where I bust out crying?”

“Homer Carey had you pegged as familiar but didn’t hit the mug books fast enough to make you. You damn near blew it, though, sticking around that dump that long. Did you know the locals got a murder warrant out on you?”

“I read the papers this morning. All it said was an old lowlevel hotel employee got himself killed by person or persons unknown.”

Muddy grunted. “I guess they aren’t passing everything out to the press...or else maybe the newshounds are cooperating
by keeping it quiet a little while longer.” An eyebrow raised above a smoky blue eye. “Your name still moves mountains, though. A lot of strange faces are popping up these days, and they’re all carrying badges.”

“Good for them.”

Muddy squinted at me. “You knock off the old Mexie, Morgan?”

“You know that’s not my style, buddy.”

“Didn’t think it was. If I did, we wouldn’t be here talking.”

“Even so, Mud, you’re taking a big chance right now.”

“Life is all chances, Morgan. If you don’t take a chance, you don’t win a prize. Like, I coulda had the cops waiting right here with me, and picked up that gravy they got ready for whoever turns you in. Trouble is, I don’t get to spend it, because some punk figures me for a squealer and picks me off, or some friend of yours decides to do an unasked-for favor and squeezes my neck for me.”

He shrugged rather grandly.

“This way it’s better,” he said. “Some way, shape, or form, I’ll come out of this thing with a little more bread than when I went in. Playing the angles, but not crossing anybody who’s my friend...or who’s too dangerous
not
to be my friend. Follow?”

“I’m in the business, too, remember?”

“Yeah, but how does it feel to be hunted?”

“Keeps me on my toes. My chances of survival go up, thanks to all this experience I’m getting.”