The Fading (38 page)

Patience, patience.

Another half-hour later a maintenance man lumbered
in, making his rounds with an extended dustpan and sweeper, a canvas trash dolly. He was taller than Noel and twice as heavy,
bald with a pencil mustache, three neck rolls and the largest pair of green Doc Martens Noel had ever seen. Knuckle tatts,
an eagle with a snake in its beak on one forearm. Military or a skinhead, but in either case a friendly one, giving Noel a
smile and a knowing nod. Noel had never seen the guy before today and prayed the reverse was also true.

‘How the tables treatin’ you, boss?’ the bald hulk asked as he smoothed the sand with a tiny rake.

‘Hm? Oh, my gambling days are over,’ Noel said. ‘Luck went bad years ago.’

‘I hear ya. Man’s gotta have some kinda game, though. Especially in this town.’

Okay, I’ll play along. Act normal, nothing to hide. ‘I might throw a few bucks down on a ballgame, but park me down by the
pool with a few drinks, that’s about enough excitement for me.’

Big dude was also a lonely dude, or a bored dude. ‘Pool here’s okay. But the really nice ass doesn’t show up till the therms
go above ninety, know what I’m sayin’?’

‘Yeah?’ Noel pretended to look at his watch again. ‘Shit, my girlfriend’s late.’

‘You wanna see some real talent, try the pools at the Hard Rock, Palms. Most of the chicks here are broken.’

Noel forced a smile. ‘Good to know.’

Apparently, ensuring that all of the ashtrays in Caesars Palace were as pristinely groomed as a trap on Pebble Beach was not
high on the man’s list of
priorities, only this one. He finished and stood about fifteen feet from Dalton’s door, using his dustbin as a cane. A gleam
in his eye, a big dumb grin.

‘Women,’ Noel said.

‘You’re telling me. Had myself a game-changer a couple weeks ago, though. Buddy of mine was out for his bachelor party. I
hooked him up with a room, he hooked me up with something else.’ The giant made a bored, jerk-off motion with his right hand,
then mimed the act of snorting cocaine from a straw. ‘After about three days of yee-haw, we’re sitting down by the pool bar,
just sucking eggs, hungover as fuck. Couldn’t been more than seventy-five out, no pussy within a hundred yards. We’re talking
major drought.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Noel chipped in. He glanced at Dalton’s door, leaned against the wall, rubbed his eyes. Leave, please leave.

But the maintenance man continued, ‘We’re just about to get out of the water, ’cause our fingers are starting to look like
fuckin’ prunes, and all the sudden this real piece of work comes out – Indian or Iraqish or one of those from those places
where they’re supposed to be covered up from their eyes to ankles, you know? Habib or some shit? She’s wearing a white Caesars
robe, the ones they sell in the gift shop. She’s alone. Long black hair, with those giant movie star bitch sunglasses. So,
okay, there’s like two hundred empty chairs, but she takes one right across the pool from us, facing right at us, less than
twenty feet away. We’re like, helloooo. She drops the robe.’

‘Let me guess,’ Noel cut in, wanting to get to the punchline. ‘She’s naked.’

‘Not even, bro. This is an order of magnitude beyond naked. She’s wearing a swimsuit, just a perfect white bikini. Bang, like
snow against all that dark skin and I actually caught myself reaching for my goddamn sunglasses only to realize they’re still
sitting on my face just like I wish she was.’

Noel glanced at Dalton’s door. Still closed. TV murmuring. The bald white Scheherazade of the maintenance staff was inching
closer and closer to it as he attempted to keep his audience rapt.

‘Her shit was tight. Off the charts, okay? Perfect body, big ol’ naturals, but we can’t even begin to lift our eyes above
her waist because – are you ready for this? I shit you not – she’s got the hugest blackest squirreliest goddamn bush you have
ever seen. Crawling out of her bikini like wild vines, man. Up to her navel, down the legs. You could have put this one in
front of the fireplace and sipped Moët on it.’

‘That’s terrif—’

‘Your first thought is, okay, she doesn’t get it. She maybe was in a hurry and didn’t check the mirror, because
how does she not know
, right? But this wasn’t a case of “oopsey, I missed a spot shaving”. This gal might as well have strapped a couple of black
sheep to her hips. She knew. This was on-purpose bush. And then it finally dawns on me, damned if she wasn’t proud. She was!
Think about it. Some girls, it’s the tramp stamp above the ass, the smokin’ cleavage, one of those
lil’ ankle bracelets from Tiffany, whatever. For her, it was the natural splendor of God’s untamed mammal. And you know something?’

‘No, I really don’t,’ Noel said.

‘All my life, or at least since I saw my first porno mag in the fourth fucking grade, I thought there was something shameful
about that. I thought bald was, like, the standard. ’Cause who needs it? What’s its purpose? But this broad, I don’t know
if she was Arab or whatnot, but she changed all that. Converted me in a blink. I ran straight home that night and told my
gal, I said, yo, Leslie, no more trips to Brazil. No more spa wax. I want the Black Forest. You start growing that shit out
right now or we’re through. And you better believe I meant it.’

Noel blinked at the man. Why was this stranger telling him this? What was the response here?

‘So push comes to shove, and Leslie, well, she fucking split,’ the huge man said. ‘Do you believe that shit? Here I am ready
to accept her as God made her, and she tells me I’m the creep! I guess she just wasn’t up to the task, huh?’

Around the corner, the elevators dinged. A door opened. Noel couldn’t see it, but he knew the sound by now.

‘No, really, can you believe that?’

Noel glared at the janitor. ‘Yeah, okay, I guess I can. I’m happy for you, all right?’

‘Happy?’ The guy laughed. ‘You don’t look so happy. What’s wrong, bro? You think maybe your gal left you? What do you think’s
taking her so long?’

What in the name of God was going on here? Enough. Noel put his hands up. ‘Look, I’m in the middle of something, so no offense,
but can you give me a little space here? I don’t want to hear your stories, okay? Jesus.’

If anyone had exited the elevator, they would have taken one of the halls by now. Noel was sweating. Something was wrong here.

The bald man made a clicking sound of disapproval. ‘No problem, guy. So, what’s the deal, is this a stakeout?’

‘Excuse me?’

The janitor shrugged. ‘Guy paid me a hundred bucks to keep you on your post. I figured—’

‘What?’ Noel’s sweat ran cold. ‘Who? When was this?’

The elevator door swished closed. Noel headed toward it, bracing himself, and from behind him, on the other side of the hall,
there came a delicate
click
.

Noel stopped, turned back and looked at Dalton’s door. It was ajar. Just about one inch, but rebounding …

Noel’s eyes darted from the door to the maintenance man and back. ‘Get away. Get out of here right now, you stupid fuck.’

The maintenance man took a step toward him. ‘Sure, soon as we’re through. Guy said there’d be another hundred if I kept you
here for—’

But he didn’t finish that sentence. For a moment his mouth froze half open, then he took another step and then he gagged.
A bright line of red appeared under his chin, widening from ear to ear, and then he fell to his knees and the blood came out
of him in a pressurized
fan. He hovered upright, and another line opened vertically from his throat down to his belt. His shirt split open and fatty
tissue and another torrent of blood slopped out.

Noel stared in mute shock and he might have heard two soft steps on the carpet before he felt the air before him
stir
.

He backed down the hall, eyes wide, arms out and patting in a shield to defend against what he could not see.

The giant fell on his face and his blood pumped onto the carpet, pooling over the dense fibers. The heavy green boots drummed
the floor and one hand reached out for someone – maybe Leslie, maybe the hirsute princess from the pool – to take it.

Noel could not remember if he was backing into a dead end. He decided to break a sharp left for the elevators, made three
steps and froze.

What happened next was as detailed as high-definition video run in slow motion, but spliced in and out of Noel’s reality in
less than two seconds.

Theodore Dalton manifested from thin air, blocking the path to the elevators. What little hair he had was mussed, and his
mouth and beard were running red as if he’d drunk from the fountain he’d just opened. The professor’s outfit had been replaced
by a blue jogging suit, the crotch tented with a violence erection, and in his stocking feet he moved in total silence. His
eyes were glossy and wild blue, rolling in his skull as he made a wiping motion against his pant leg and two big strides
later raised his right arm above his head. A sickle of hotel light gleamed from the stout serrated blade, and in a less-than-blink
he exited the spectrum.

After that, the swoosh of the knife arcing past Noel’s ear was the only evidence Dalton was real and this was happening.

Dalton’s blade passed Noel’s ear close enough to leave a feather-tickle of air and the fabric of Noel’s t-shirt ripped from
chest to navel. Leaping away just in time, Noel fell, rolled in a panic, and scrambled to his feet before feeling the first
of the stinging. Then he felt the warm wetness and knew Dalton’s blade had got him.

‘Oh, good boy,’ Dalton’s seemingly disembodied voice announced, and in those few words Noel heard all the bloodlust of a man
who has had decades to refine his tastes. ‘I love this part. I call it the three blind mice.’

In this situation there was only one option and it matched Noel’s most primitive instincts. He bolted, running down the hall
as fast as he could. He didn’t know how fast Dalton could run, or if there was an exit this way, but if he stayed in the hall
and tried to fight his way to the elevators, the blade would find him and finish him.

The room doors blurred. It seemed to take no more than six great strides before the hall ended. To the right was another
USE
STAIRS IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY
sign and Noel braced the door, blowing through with a slam
that echoed four stories up and down. No choice about which way to go; his momentum simply threw him against the door and
bounced him to the right, toward the stairs going up. He caught a handrail and took the steps three at a time, rounding the
landing and launching himself halfway up the next flight. The door slammed again.

Below and behind him, Dalton was breathing hard but coming for him.

Noel thought any floor would do. All he needed was another hall, a long corridor that would give him the space to build a
solid lead, grab an elevator and head back down, leaving the casino and Theodore Dalton behind forever. But there were other
elevators, other stops, people who might delay his exit. He had no idea when or where Dalton would reappear, and once he was
out in the world he would never know how close Dalton might be. He needed a shell.

In his pocket was the key for the room Tilly had assigned him, on the thirteenth floor. A room, a door between them, a phone
to call for help. They’d started on the sixth floor. Noel had already run up three flights, two per floor, which meant he
was coming up fast on the eighth floor. Five floors to go, ten flights of stairs. Footsteps slapped the concrete and squeaked.
His own heavy breathing echoed and mixed with the killer’s. No way could the fatter, older man catch him on the stairs.

Three big strides and another flight was gone. Using the rail to swing himself around as fast as possible, the fear of the
knife digging into his heels propelling him
on, up, around, faster and faster. Knees pumping, blood racing.

Tenth floor.

Eleventh.

Halfway up the twelfth, Noel lost his grip on the handrail and slipped at the turn. The velocity flung him into the outside
wall and the foot he kicked out to reach for the second step went high, snagging on the edge of the stair. His ankle rolled
his foot to the inside until the sole of his shoe was vertical. He went down, shin slamming into the stairs, elbow into the
wall, the entire hard face of the flight stopping him like a fence made of granite.

‘Agh, sonofabitch, Jesus!’ The pain raced around inside him from four points of contact and made his head swim. Acidic pain
taste in the back of his throat.

Wham wham wham
, gulping breath,
wham wham slap slap slap …

Dalton was at least two stories below, but he hadn’t given up.

Noel reached for the rail and his elbow throbbed electrically. A dry gash under his forearm, skin opened, probably a bruised
bone. The ankle was worse. When he set his weight on his right foot, the pain was glorious.

Slap slap slap
, a string of coughing, hacking, deep breaths.
Stomp … stomp
…

Dalton tiring but still catching up.

Noel hopped on his left foot, using the rail as a life rope, and hopped again, but this would not do. He needed both feet.
If he didn’t swallow the pain and run
up two and a half more flights, he would be gutted in the stairwell like a hog in its pen, and Julie would be next. Tonight,
tomorrow, six months down the road. As long as Dalton was at large, she would not be safe.

Noel unleashed a banzai scream and hammered the stairs.

Dalton laughed and shrieked and bumbled after him.

At the top of next flight there was door 13. Noel shoved through and broke left into the hall, his ankle throbbing so bad
the foot below it no longer wanted to respond at all. It was numb, clumsy, like dragging a boot filled with sand. He scanned
the numbers on the doors, realized he had no idea which room Tilly had assigned him. Reached in his pocket, hobbling, slapping
the wall for support, waiting for the door behind him to slam open, releasing the monster back into the maze.

A folded slip of paper. He flipped it open. Thank God Tilly had remembered to jot the number on it. 1334.