Among Thieves (29 page)

Christ, Christ, stop it, he told himself. What a fucking disaster.

He swallowed hard. He forced a mantle of deception over himself. He continued to look into her eyes, intent on preventing her from deriving any satisfaction from making him look away. He leaned forward in the chair, using the force of his larger physical presence to impose on her.

The moment passed. The power of her seduction, her intensity, were diverted into a part of Beck that nobody could touch. A part that had emerged in the hard, cold hell of his incarceration. Something that he shared with Ivan Kolenka, and Gregor Stepanovich, and Manny and Ciro and Demarco. A part that even the power of Olivia Sanchez couldn't penetrate.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He reached out and took hold of her forearms, firmly, with purpose. He slowly pulled her arms away from him.

He stood and lifted her to her feet. Holding her forearms, controlling her, he pivoted quickly, like a boxer who had been maneuvered into the corner of the ring, slips a punch and twists away, exchanging the cramped, tight area of confinement for the open space that allows maneuvering.

He let go of her and sidestepped deftly to the other side of the room, leaving her alone near the end of the bed. But he had done it with such agility and quickness that she couldn't pretend he was fleeing from her. He had achieved a separation from her completely on his terms.

Just then, his cell phone rang.

At one o'clock in the morning, Beck knew there was very little chance this would be good news.

He answered quickly. “Beck.”

It was Nydia. “Yo, I was you I'd get the fuck out of that room. Hard guys on their way, man. Two coming at you, two down here covering both ends of the elevator bank.”

“Fuck! Do what you can to help when we get to the lobby.”

Beck shoved the phone in his pocket. Olivia had heard him. It immobilized her.

“Quick, Olivia—we have to get out of here.”

For just a beat, perhaps two seconds, Olivia didn't move, trapped in fear and confusion. And then she reacted with surprising speed. She didn't say a word, no questions, no comments. She moved fast toward the head of the bed, picked up her bag from the floor, ran to the bathroom without hesitating, and pulled her underwear off the shower curtain rod.

She was at the doorway grabbing her coat from the closet before Beck had on his own coat.

He opened the door. Checked the corridor. Motioned her out of the room. She followed with her bag over her shoulder and her black underwear clutched in her hand.

He moved cautiously out into the hall, peering around, standing in front of Olivia until he saw that the hallway was empty. He quickly tried to locate the stairs, but gave up on the idea. He didn't want to set off any alarms, or be trapped in a stairwell.

He hurried toward the elevators, sensing more than seeing Olivia behind him.

He pulled out his Browning Hi-Power, racked a bullet into the chamber and released the safety, holding the automatic pointed down next to his right leg.

Beck thumbed both the up and the down elevator buttons. Whatever elevator came first, they were getting on it. Hopefully, not the one bearing the hard men coming for them.

 

40

Nydia Lopez had returned from a quick meal of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee eaten at the counter of a diner down the street near Lexington. But when she had left the hotel for the diner, she'd made sure to stop and speak to the doorman on duty.

The fact that he was Hispanic helped. The fact that underneath the tattoos and rough clothes Nydia Lopez had a killer body and sharp, attractive features helped more.

“Yo, homes,” she had said. “What up?”

For a moment, the doorman hesitated, as if he were deciding whether or not to acknowledge being referred to as somebody's homeboy while on duty at the prestigious Four Seasons Hotel. But then Nydia flashed a smile accompanied by a sly wink that said volumes.

The doorman, Caesar Gascon, melted. He smiled back.

“What's up with you?” he said, posturing a little, his macho side coming out.

Nydia shrugged. “Not much. I'm taking care of a white lady up on the fortieth floor.”

“Taking care how?” asked Caesar.

Nydia pulled back her jacket and turned just enough so that Caesar could see the butt of the Smith & Wesson tucked in at the small of her back.

“You know,” said Nydia, as if she didn't need to explain it to him, making Caesar a coconspirator.

“I didn't see that,” said Caesar.

“No doubt,” said Nydia. “But you see anything, you know, like any nefarious types hanging around, you let me know, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. Where you going?”

“Got to eat. My partner is upstairs covering until I get back. Watch things for me for a few, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Nydia placed a forefinger under her eye, then pointed around, and flashed her killer smile as she slid into the revolving doors.

When she returned, Caesar quickly opened the front door for her and said, “Check out the front desk. Four guys, only one big rolling bag? Don't feel right.”

Nydia muttered, “Thanks,” and focused instantly on the men at the top of the landing. They had their backs to her, taking no notice of her in the huge, multistoried lobby.

The four stood in pairs of two.

Nydia didn't have to look at them for more than a second to know they were trouble. She angled to her right, quickly stepped up a half flight of stairs, making sure to stay far enough away so she wouldn't catch their attention. She pulled out her cell phone and slid into a chair, keeping the men in her peripheral vision.

One man stood talking to the hotel clerk at the main desk. He was tall, bald, and looked ready to kill someone, perhaps because someone had recently broken his nose. There was adhesive tape across the bridge and both eyes were blackened. On his left, stood a man with a large rolling duffel bag.

Two others stood as a pair off to the right of the bald man talking to the clerk. They both wore dark overcoats, good shoes, dress pants. One of them leaned in between the bald man with the broken nose and the hotel clerk to ask something. She pointed toward the rear of the hotel. Both men peeled off, leaving others with the rolling bag at the desk.

Nydia guessed he had asked for the men's room, but as soon as the two of them reached the middle section of the hotel where the elevators were, they stopped, looking to see which set of elevators to take.

Nydia had already dialed Beck. Listening to the phone ring, she said to herself quietly, “Pick up, motherfucker.”

 

41

There were two elevators that opened onto the fortieth floor. Beck waited and waited. He pushed the buttons again. It seemed like minutes had passed, but it was closer to thirty seconds. Finally, Beck felt more than heard the air being pushed ahead of the elevator rising to their right.

The elevator door vibrated. Beck reached behind him for Olivia, feeling for her as he faced the elevator. And suddenly, he cursed.

“Shit. We've been out here too long.”

He moved Olivia to the left, away from the corridor where they'd come from. He backed up quickly, gently guiding Olivia to the east corridor while he faced the elevator, gun ready as they moved out of sight around the corner.

Just as they made it into the east corridor, the elevator door opened and Beck heard somebody step out of the elevator. He craned his head around just enough to see two men in dark clothes head in the direction of Olivia's room.

Beck moved very quickly, trying to remain completely quiet on the hallway carpeting. The elevator door had almost closed, but he just managed to get four fingers between the closing doors and force them open.

Olivia was right behind him. They slipped into the elevator, the doors closed, and before Beck could press any buttons, the elevator started to rise.

Beck snarled, “Shit.”

Beck's agitation made Olivia nervous. She backed into a corner of the elevator.

The elevator stopped on the forty-fifth floor. A hotel waiter stood in the corridor with a room-service cart. He hesitated. Beck said, “Come on in. There's plenty of room.”

Beck expected the elevator to reverse, but again it went up. He checked the digital numbers showing the floors the elevator serviced. This one served floors thirty-one to fifty-two. They rose past fifty, without slowing. The hotel waiter stood with his back to Beck, watching the floor indicators. Beck slipped the Browning into the pocket of his shearling coat.

*   *   *

One of Kolenka's men pressed his ear against Olivia's door, trying to hear movement inside the room. Nothing. He took out a small crowbar from underneath his overcoat and began to pry open the door just above the lock. It took a good deal of effort, but when the door popped free of the frame, it made surprisingly little noise.

The room was unoccupied, but the magazines and wrinkled bed top showed that someone had been in the room. They quickly searched for luggage or anything that might indicate the occupant would be returning, but there was nothing.

*   *   *

On the way up, Beck calculated how to play the situation.

If the two who had come up for Olivia got back on this elevator, what would they do? Would they know it was Olivia? Would they risk a move with a hotel employee on the elevator? What would happen when they hit the lobby? And who were they? How the hell had they found Olivia?

Beck's thoughts were interrupted when the elevator stopped on fifty-two. There was nobody there. But just as the doors started to close, a woman appeared. She stopped the doors and stepped into the elevator. She was blond, dressed in a fake fur coat. She wore high heels and a blue dress that barely reached mid-thigh. She carried a large handbag on her left shoulder.

Hooker, Beck thought. And not a very expensive-looking one at that. She stepped to the back of the elevator, avoiding eye contact, hardly moving.

Her perfume filled the elevator, but it didn't give the impression that she was clean and fresh. She looked worn out. Intent on leaving the hotel without causing any notice.

The elevator started down. Christ, thought Beck, if things go bad, if shooting starts, now there were two more people who could get hit. The complications had escalated exponentially.

But then again, the more people who got out in the lobby, the better their chances of getting to an exit before the two waiting downstairs could sort out who was who.

Then the elevator slowed down and stopped on forty, and all of Beck's calculations changed.

 

42

Gregor Stepanovich checked his watch. One-forty in the morning. Kolenka's men were to secure the woman in her room, then call him. He and his partner would go to the room he had rented for an outrageous price with the large rolling bag. The bag contained everything he needed and would be used to remove the body from the hotel.

Kolenka's men were to deliver her to Gregor's room and leave. That was the agreement. Which was fine with Gregor. He and Josef would have the woman all to themselves. Once they were in the room with the woman and secure, he would tell his driver to leave, call Markov, and the fun could begin.

He waited at the west end of the elevator bank. His man Josef at the east end.

Gregor checked his watch again. What was taking so long? She was probably sleeping. They should be in before she even woke up. Ah, he thought. They have to get her dressed before they take her out of the room. That must be it.

*   *   *

The elevator door opened on two men. Both were medium height. Both wore long, dark wool overcoats, dark slacks, and decent tie shoes. One wore a blue button-down shirt. The other a white shirt.

They had the hard-edged look of Slavs. Both grizzled. Thin and sinewy and feral. The good clothes couldn't hide their predatory air. When the man in the white shirt reached to hold the elevator so his partner could enter, he revealed a tattoo of a Russian Orthodox cross on the back of his right hand.

Shit, thought Beck. Vory-v-Zakone. Definitely Kolenka's men.

Between the four people already in the elevator and the hotel waiter's food cart, there wasn't much room for the Russians, but the hotel waiter said, “Please, come in. I'll take the next one.”

He wheeled his room service cart out of the elevator, and both men stepped in.

Beck had been standing in front of Olivia. Now he moved to his left so that he seemed even more apart from the two women. Give the hunters the impression that the blonde was with Olivia. Two escorts working as a pair. But would they believe Olivia belonged in the same league as the blonde?

Beck made sure to not even glance at the two women behind him. He was certain Olivia had figured out these two were after her. Could she mask her fear? Would they sense her apprehension, like animals closing in on prey?

The Russians briefly checked out Olivia and the hooker, ignored Beck, turned to face the front of the car. The elevator started its descent. Beck gripped the Browning in the right hand pocket of his shearling coat.

He considered the situation. Maybe they would make it to the lobby. After all, the elevator had come from a different floor. There were two women instead of one. They hadn't connected Beck to either of the women.

But what would these two do when they reached the lobby? What made sense?

Step out and confer with their partners, Beck supposed. Could they slip out unnoticed while that happened?

Beck made no move to look at the men on his left. He didn't want to distract them from doing just what they were doing: standing still, facing front, looking at the numbers flashing by on the elevator's display panel.

And then the Russian farthest from Beck did what men do. He turned to look over the blonde once more. He stared at her, blatantly, without apology, as if she were sitting in a store window. She completely ignored him. She stood in the back of the elevator, staring past him as if he weren't there. And then he looked over at Olivia.