“How did you get in?”
“I knocked on the door for an hour.”
“How did you get in?” the colonel said in English this time.
“The maid, she used her key. I knocked on the door, but nobody heard me,” Franklin said, looking at this man in his underwear sticking his chest out, scowling at him. Now Crispin appeared, coming out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. Franklin wanted to ask them what they were doing in there with the radio music playing. Were they dancing? He almost smiled thinking of it.
“He says the maid let him in,” the colonel said to Crispin. Crispin appeared sick, very thin; his bones showing. He crossed the room to the coffee table without saying anything and picked up a pack of cigarettes. Franklin looked at the colonel again, the man still watching him.
“Did you return the car?”
Franklin nodded.
“What? I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, I return the car.”
“Where is my receipt?”
“I don’t have it. You didn’t say.”
“I told you get the receipt. Are you stupid?”
Crispin said in Spanish, “We don’t need it.”
“Whether we need it or not, I told him to get it.”
“He doesn’t know of receipts,” Crispin said in Spanish. “He wouldn’t know a fucking receipt if it bit him.”
“I told him to get it-I wanted them to see who it was returned the car.”
Crispin was smoking his cigarette now. “Yes, I forgot for a moment.”
Franklin looked from one to the other.
At the colonel saying, “Because you drink too much and then you talk too much. You know nothing of self-discipline. You know how long you would last in the jungle?”
At Crispin saying, “Tell me about living in the camps, I didn’t hear enough of it last night. Mother of God, telling those whores the history of your military life. You know what they cared about it? Nothing. You know where they want to go? Miami, that’s where.”
At the colonel saying, “Of course. You invited those whores to come with us. You don’t remember that, do you? You were so drunk.”
Franklin watched the colonel turn to him again and stare, as if thinking of something to say. But it seemed that all he could think of was, “Well, what do you want?”
“Should I carry something to the car?”
“I haven’t packed my clothes yet.”
Franklin, standing at the side of the desk, looked down and touched one of the bank sacks with his foot. “What about-should I take these?”
The colonel was watching him. He said, “Why? You think we have the money in those?”
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Crispin said, walking back across the room.
As he went into the bedroom, leaving them, Franklin said, “But I don’t think so. I think you keep it in your new car.”
The colonel put his hands on his hips, above his tight shiny red underwear. “Oh, you do, uh? You’re a pretty smart guy, Franklin. How did you become smart, from the missionaries, uh?” The colonel said over his shoulder into the bedroom, raising his voice, “Franklin says he thinks the money is in the car.”
Franklin heard water running in the bathroom and Crispin’s voice say, “Ask him how he knows that.”
“How do you know that, Franklin?”
“I know you wouldn’t keep it here.”
“But we keep it in the car, with no one to watch it?”
“I think you have something watching it.”
The colonel said over his shoulder, “He says he thinks we have something watching it.”
Crispin’s voice said, “What?” Franklin waited as the colonel repeated what he had said and then heard Crispin’s voice say, “How does he know that?”
They’re fools, Franklin thought. They don’t know it or will ever know it.
The colonel, still with his hands on his hips in his foolish underwear, asked him, “How do you know that?”
“What difference does it make?” Franklin said. “I quit working for you.”
Franklin saw the colonel’s face change, become cold and made of stone, in the moment before he turned to his flight bag on the chair by the desk. Now he heard the colonel’s voice, also cold, ask him, “What did you say? You what?”
Franklin brought his Beretta out of the flight bag and saw the colonel’s expression change again, the eyes coming all the way open, as he aimed the 9-millimeter pistol at the center of the colonel’s chest. “I said I quit,” Franklin said, and shot him and watched him stumble back and throw out his arms as he fell to the floor. Franklin stood over the colonel, said, “Good-bye,” and shot him again and saw his body jump. He heard Crispin before he saw him appear in the doorway with the towel around him, also with eyes open wide. Franklin said, “Crispin, I quit,” and shot him in the chest and then had to step into the bedroom to say good-bye and shoot him again.
The car keys were on the dresser.
Roy had positioned himself where he could glance through the glass door into the lobby and see the elevator, turn his head only about 45 degrees and be looking up through the courtyard to the fifth-floor railing that was like a waist-high fence all the way around. He was looking up there now, ever since hearing that faint but distinct pop and then nothing and then pop and then two more, spaced, from off somewhere. They weren’t loud ones, but he had heard those hard little sounds from off somewhere before and believed they had come from high up; though the sounds could have come from the street and down into the courtyard from above. None of the hotel guests having breakfast here had looked up or seemed to be wondering or talking about it.
There was a colored maid up on the fifth floor-he believed she was colored-standing by her cart and looking back toward the elevator. Roy watched her. If the gunshots came from up there she would have heard them. But now she seemed to have lost interest in whatever she was watching or waiting for, moving off with her cart, away from the elevator and that alcove where 501 was located. There wasn’t another soul up there. No doors opening, people sticking their heads out to see what that was.
They might’ve caught the nigger Indin lifting the car keys, but they weren’t going to shoot him for it.
The sounds could’ve come from outside the hotel. Roy accepted the possibility, but didn’t believe it. Now some of the guests, he noticed, were looking up too, because he was. He needed a better place to watch from. He could go up to the room they’d taken, 509, stand in there with the door open. Shit, but he’d have to get a key.
Franklin saw the maid at the end of the hall as he waited for the elevator. He didn’t go near the railing to look down, see if anybody was looking up; he didn’t hear any noises or voices. The elevator arrived and he rode it down to the lobby and stepped off. He saw a man and woman standing by suitcases on the floor, talking to the doorman. Franklin walked over to the glass door to look into the courtyard. Everyone at the tables seemed busy having breakfast. He looked toward the registration desk, turned, and kept moving when he saw the guy waiting for the hotel clerk, the clerk talking on the telephone, the guy with his hands flat on the counter. It was the guy who had been with Jack Delaney. The tough guy with dark straight hair Franklin believed was police, sure of it from the way the guy spoke. Franklin hurried and didn’t look back, hoping the guy didn’t see him. He didn’t want that guy to follow him over to the garage. He could have trouble with that one and he didn’t want to shoot anybody else. Though he would if he had to.
They waited in the front seat of Lucy’s car, both watching the square of daylight beyond the ramp. She said, “I might’ve mentioned it a few times before, but I don’t see what this is going to get us.”
“We’re making Roy happy,” Jack said. “He wakes up growling, but he has cop instincts. What seems to be, isn’t always the case. Or the other way around.”
“No one in his right mind is going to leave two million dollars in a car in a public garage. Even with the car locked.”