Should Have Looked Away (19 page)

FORTY-ONE

Even though he
owned half of the business, Will still felt uneasy about leaving the office unless he was on genuine company business.

Dan Gleave had a totally different attitude. ‘It’s your freakin’ business,’ he would say. ‘You - we - can do what we like.’

Will had no doubt his friend and business partner practised what he preached: for a long time now, Will was certain the frequent absences from his desk were not all for looking at properties and visiting clients.

Will wanted to get up to the hotel as soon as possible. He knew he could not check in until 2
pm,
so planned to leave the office by one.

He would normally provide everybody with a reason why he was going out: not today. ‘I’ll be out all afternoon,’ he announced. To his surprise, nobody questioned this.

He had cleared his diary for the afternoon, and made sure all his messages had been dealt with.

Dan Gleave was interviewing two clients when he left; May had popped out for her lunch, so he just mumbled a goodbye to Eddie, and left.

As he scurried down the street to the subway station, he hoped he would get Room 205: in fact, the whole time would be wasted if they had given him a different room. But he had requested 205, and they had confirmed that would not be a problem.

He actually arrived at the hotel at 1:45. Unexpectedly, he was nervous about this whole venture: having firstly considering waiting the last fifteen minutes, he went straight to the reception desk, where he was told that he did have 205, and that it was ready.

His only luggage was an empty backpack, so he declined the offer of a bellhop, and made his way to the second floor. As he waited for the elevator, he looked down at the white and green key card, and recalled how Carmine DiMucci held an identical card slumped on the toilet seat in the men’s room.

He let himself in, and leaned back on the door to close it, then stepped into the room and looked around.

It was tastefully decorated: the walls were cream; the wooden features a medium light colour. The bed had white sheets and pillows, with a green duvet. Adjacent to the door was a small shelf for suitcases, and an open closet with four hangers on a rail. Then there was a long table come desk with a reading lamp, three wide drawers underneath. A small flat screen TV was fixed to the wall, above combined power and internet points. A telephone stood next to the lamp. There was a brown two-seater sofa and a small cabinet either side of the double bed.

Will checked out the ensuite bathroom. There was no bath, just a walk-in shower. Toilet, and hand basin. Two white towels hung on a rail. It looked basic, but clean.

He wandered over to the window and looked out. The view was not spectacular, nothing out of the ordinary: just a view of a small park across the street.

There was no minibar here, and no coffee making facilities, but Will was paying only $90 for the night. Can’t expect the Hilton, he thought.

Will slumped onto the sofa. So, he thought, I’m in the famous Room 205. What’s so special about here?

He decided to search the room. He checked the top of the open closet; he took the drawers out and checked the drawer space and the underside of the drawers.  He took the cushions off the sofa, and checked underneath them, down the sides of the upholstery. He checked underneath the bed, and the underside of the bed. He pulled the bedside cabinets away from the wall and checked behind them.

As he manoeuvred the cabinets back into place, there was a knock on the door.

As he looked up, the door began to open.

FORTY-TWO

Will stood up
and headed for the door, which was slowly opening. He could have kicked himself: he had forgotten to put on the safety chain.

What was going on? Nobody knew he had booked himself in here: what would happen if something happened to him here?

He stopped in his tracks as he saw it was the maid. The housekeeping trolley stood outside. She was as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

‘The room’s all done,’ he said.

The maid muttered something in a flustered manner and began to make a point of checking the paperwork on a clipboard.

‘Sorry, sorry, sir. I have the wrong room.’

‘That’s okay. Thank you,’ he replied, following her as she backed out of the room. Now he had one hand on the edge of the door.

‘Are you going out later, sir?’ she asked.

‘Possibly. Why do you ask?’

‘I need to come in and turn down your bed.’

‘No; there’s no need, thank you.’

He saw the maid out, and she apologised again for the intrusion and started to push her trolley down the hotel corridor. He watched as she pushed it to the end of the corridor, looking round once before she turned the corner. Will went back into the room, this time sliding in the chain.

He looked around. He had checked everywhere here; time to check the bathroom. Most of the bathroom was covered in large beige tiles: not many hiding places. He crouched down and felt behind the sink pedestal. Nothing here: only pipes. Not that he knew what he was looking for. He slid over to the toilet and did the same, only after checking, he stood up and washed his hands.

He stood and studied the toilet. The cistern was in the wall, covered by four large beige panels, screwed in. He peered down at the screws, wishing he had thought to bring a screwdriver. Looking again at the screws, he dipped into his pocket and fished out a handful of change. He fingered through the smaller coins. He tried a penny first, but the screw groove was the wrong size. Next he picked up a dime, and found it fitted almost perfectly. Using the 10c, he unscrewed two panels and gained access to the cistern. He checked inside and behind the cistern and behind the panels. Nothing.

He screwed the panels back into place and sat on the bed. He looked around again to see if there was anywhere else to check. There had to be something here.

He looked over at the curtains. They were dark brown, heavy drapes going down to the floor. Lifting them off the carpet, he looked to see if they were concealing anything. Frowning, he knelt down in the corner, and pushed the curtains aside.

Right in the corner, about half an inch of carpet was turned up. Looking closer, he could see that a small segment of carpet in the corner, about twelve inches by four, was a separate patch. He pulled at this raised piece and the whole patch lifted.

Lifting the patch right out, he could see that it was fixed - probably glued - into a piece of linoleum the same size. He peered down: this small piece of carpeted tile was covering a space in the floor of corresponding size, and around six inches deep. He felt around inside the space, but it was empty.

Will carefully replaced the patch of carpet, and the curtain. He sat back on the bed, resting against the pillow, and picked up the little notepad and pen which were resting on the cabinet. Sitting up, he started to jot down some notes.

DiMucci had booked this room.

he always requested this room.

the 2 guys were after something he had – the room key?

therefore something of value in the room

DiMucci put it here or mean to collect it?

if collected, who put it here?

if he put it here, who’s it for?

what am I doing here?

FORTY-THREE

Will put the
notepad and pen down on the bed and lay down, his head nestling in the pillowcase. Looked up at the ceiling, then over to the corner of the room.

So that was the answer. Something had been hidden in this room. Hidden on a regular basis, otherwise why would DiMucci have requested this room each time he visited?

Will looked down at his list. If DiMucci had been putting something in that space,
who’s it for?

As he lay on the bed trying to figure out all the possible options, another thought passed through his mind. When he was here before, those two police detectives emerged from where the elevators were. Therefore they had been up here. Did they find this space? If they had, surely the room would have been quarantined as a crime scene by now. No - they’d missed it. They’d missed it and he’d found it. He tried to imagine the look on Detective Roberts’ face when he told her.

Lying there, he felt validated. A sense of relief, justification, even triumph began to well up inside him. He felt himself getting aroused.
What - now?
He thought about taking care of business right there - who would know? - but also began to yearn for Chrissy. He tried to recall the last time they had had any moment of intimacy; at least a moment lasting more than a couple of minutes before Louise needed one of them.

It was just after three. Will remembered that today Louise had an after school dancing club, and would not be home till five. Jake might be home, but he would be in his room, door shut, totally separated from the world.

If he hurried, he could be home by four, and he and Chrissy could have around an hour together.

A game plan was forming in his head. He was
done with the room; he was sure of that. All he had to do was hand in the room key, and head for the train. He could stop off at the convenience store on Christopher and pick up a bottle of Champagne to celebrate what he had found, hopefully to mitigate the ninety bucks he had spent on the room. After an hour of passionate love with Chrissy, he would go to the police, which was what Chrissy wanted him to do all along.

He made a quick visual check of the room and bathroom, and hurried downstairs. In reception, there was a line of six people waiting to check in. He had no time to wait, so decided to try to check out online later. He could always mail the key card the next day. Looking at the worse case scenario, he always had a bed for the night here if Chrissy reacted badly.  Half walking, half running to the subway he sent Chrissy a text:
have stng to celebrate - meet u in bedroom ;).

As he sat on the subway, he tried to visualize being in bed with Chrissy. He had never tried to get home so quickly.

FORTY-FOUR

Chrissy was already
waiting in the bedroom. She was wearing a tight fitting purple dress, clearly with no underwear. He could see the outline of her erect nipples showing through the dress.

With a grin on his face, he stepped around the foot of the bed and up to her. Saying nothing, their arms and lips interlocked. Still holding onto each other, they collapsed onto the bed, her long legs wrapped around his waist. She tugged at his shirt buttons, revealing his tanned, smooth chest. He released her for a second to pull off the shirt. She pressed her face against his chest and ran her hands alternatively up and down his torso and her own body.

Chrissy sat up on the bed while he leaned over her; their tongues wrestling, he put his hand up the purple dress, feeling first her pert breasts, then her thighs. She pulled off the dress, their mouths teasing each other and her eyes focussed on his. They were both breathing heavily, Chrissy letting out the occasional moan as his hand slid once more between her legs. She lay back down again, him on top, her legs wrapped round his waist.

He raised himself slightly, so she could reach for his belt and zipper. Now he was kneeling in front of her, sliding off his own belt while she kissed his chest.

Chrissy lay on her back while he climbed back on top and slid inside her. She held him tightly to her as he started firm, and strong. Every so often he would lift himself up so they could stare intently into each other’s eyes once more, their gazes fixed on each other.

They had been here for fifteen minutes now; to Chrissy it seemed much longer. She wrapped her legs around his body, locking her ankles together. His face was up against hers as their tongues fought hard. She wrapped her arm around his neck and held him close, as if trying to squeeze every last drop of what he had to offer. She ran her fingernails up and down his body, stopping now and again on his buttocks to control his movement. Now he lifted himself off her slightly as he became more urgent.

‘Oh God, oh God,’ he panted.             

Chrissy reached up and held him round his head. ‘That’s it; that’s it,’ she gasped, encouraging him on. She locked her legs together once more, crying out.

He was now back to slow, rhythmic movements, groaning like some wounded animal. He was reaching down to hold her behind and was lying flat on top of her now, his chin pressing on her shoulder. Her hands mirrored his, her fingertips tightly grasping his back.

‘God!’ How much more could she take? She could sense he was coming to an end, and released him from the ankle lock so he could increase his intensity as he built up to a climax.

‘You ready?’ he asked.

‘Yes, yes,’ she shouted back.

Then it happened: one, final, crushing, thrust. She could feel a tremor go through him as he cried out one more time before collapsing on top of her.

Underneath him, Chrissy brushed her hair from over her face and rested her hands on his back. After a few moments, he rolled off, and lay beside her. They were both breathless.

After a minute or so, still out of breath, Chrissy spoke. ‘Shit, I enjoyed that.’

Dan Gleave looked over to her and grinned. ‘We aim to please,’ he said.