5
From the parking lot of the CVS next door, Bennett watched the fat guard approach the Mustang. The man saw him looking, and Bennett nodded, then turned, started digging in his pocket like he was looking for keys. After a moment, the alarm stopped, and the guard strolled back inside. High security.
Bennett smiled, waited a few more seconds, then left the parking lot and headed back to Hayes’s window. He’d thrown the rock through as soon as the Mustang’s alarm had started, and even standing right next to it, the crash had been largely drowned out. Careful not to cut himself, he pulled out some of the larger chunks of glass at the bottom, dropped them in the weeds, and let himself in.
The office was simple but appealing. A desk with a couch opposite. A small conference table. A mini-fridge, and on top of it, three bottles of whiskey. He poured himself a couple of inches of the best, sipped at it. Nice.
Okay. Time to work.
He pulled the blinds to cover the glow from his penlight and started with the desk, taking it one drawer at a time. It didn’t take long; there wasn’t much in it. He’d wondered why Daniel kept this office, what with the lovely room Bennett had discovered in the guy’s Malibu home. Apparently, the reason didn’t have much to do with writing. Meetings, maybe. Bennett had never been big on meetings, but this looked like a nice place to have one.
He checked behind the framed Memento poster for a safe; no joy. Same with the posters for Solaris and The Fountain. He took down and opened the books on the shelf, titles like Save the Cat and The Writer’s Journey, but again, nada.
Bennett stood in the center of the room, looked around. He traced a ridged scar on his bicep, a deep cut from a knife in Detroit. Where next?
He didn’t really expect to find anything here; it was a little obvious, even for Daniel. Still, the guy had hidden Bennett’s payment somewhere. And until Hayes reappeared, it was worth the effort to look. A half-million dollars was worth a whole lot of effort.
Methodically, then. He took another sip of whiskey, set down the glass, and, using the desk as the starting point, began to work his way around the room. If there was something to be found, he’d find it.
5
Wayne walked a circuit of the second floor, the keys percussion to his tuneless humming. The light was on in Jerry Logue’s office, and he knocked. May as well score brownie points. The door opened, and Logue’s beak popped out. “Yes?”
“Mr. Logue, it’s Wayne, with security,” he said, as if the guy couldn’t have told from the uniform, as if the dick hadn’t walked past him a hundred times.
“Yes?”
“Just wanted to let you know your car alarm went off.” The guy cocked an eyebrow.
“I checked it out, but everything seems fine.”
“Great.”
“Thought you’d want to know.”
“Great.” The man shut the door in his face.
You’re welcome, asshole.
The rest of the floor was quiet, and he went back down the stairs,
taking each of them, the way they said you got the most exercise. Back in the lobby, he turned right, headed down the hall. Everything was quiet, most of the tenants gone for the night. He turned the corner, past the Council for Colombian Imports—that just had to be a joke—realized he needed to take a leak. Unlocked the head, the fluorescents flickering on as he walked in. He stepped up to the urinal, unzipped, rocked back and forth on his heels. Corporate bathrooms always gave him the willies. Something about the weird, impersonal cleanliness of the things. And the no-touch faucets and hand dryers. His other superpower, besides stopping car alarms, was invisibility to sensors. He spent twenty seconds trying to get the sink to admit he existed. Now to decide whether to use my powers for good or evil. He didn’t bother with the hand dryer, just wiped on his pants and stepped out.
There was a light in suite 106.
Wayne froze. Stared at the frosted glass of the door. He stood still, concentrating. Was that a scrape he heard from inside?
So someone is in the office. That’s kind of the point.
Sure. But 106 was Mr. Hayes’s. The guy had always been pleasant to him, seemed like a nice guy, but then, that’s what everybody said about people who turned out to be killers. “Oh, that Theodore Bundy, he seemed like such a nice boy.”
That’s the problem, Wayne, honey, you never take any initiative. If you want to get ahead . . .
Wayne took a step forward. His keys rattled, and he froze. Slowly, he unclipped them from his belt, held them in one sweaty palm. He tiptoed, feeling ridiculous, too big to be tiptoeing, but what the hell, it was working, and besides, there was no one to see.
A sound like a drawer opening and closing came from inside, and, dimly, another quick glow of light.
Wayne’s heart kicked into gear. What now, Wonder Wayne?
As quietly as he could, he found the master key on the ring and eased it into the door. Drew his Taser, the grip strange in his hand. He hadn’t fired the thing since the training course two years ago. Still, it took about as much skill as a remote control. If he could change the channel, he figured he could Tase one screenwriter.
Okay. Do it smooth. Seeing the headlines already, HERO SECURITY GUARD CAPTURES WIFE-KILLER, he twisted the key, threw open the door, then raised the flashlight and thumbed it on as he stepped inside. Saw Daniel kneeling at a filing cabinet half a dozen feet away, jerked the beam onto him, yelling, “Mr. Hayes, freeze!”
The man froze. But it wasn’t Daniel Hayes.
Wayne didn’t recognize him, an average-looking guy in a black leather jacket, a penlight in his mouth to leave his hands free as he looked at the files. A dozen thoughts came from a dozen directions, colliding in the center of his brain, leaving no clear winner.
“Whoa,” the guy said, and stood up, blinking. “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.”
Wayne said the only thing that came to mind. “You’re not Mr. Hayes.”
“Right you are.”
“I thought—”
“Let me guess.” The man at ease. “You thought I was my partner.”
“Your partner?”
“Daniel. He’s my writing partner.”
Which meant that Wayne had just barged into a locked office without permission. Shit, shit, shit. But then, wait a second, his thoughts racing, that didn’t make a lot of sense. If the two were partners, how come he’d never seen the guy? And what about the flashlight? “What are you doing here?”
“My old lady and me got in a fight. Dan let me crash here till she comes round.” The dude smiled at him, lowered his hands, put one to his heart. “She-it, you scared me.” He squinted at Wayne, said, “You mind getting that thing out of my eyes, chief?”