Quick (18 page)

Nothing.

He lies down on the carpet, gets his arm as far as he can under the bed. His fingers touch something hard. He grasps it, pulls it out. It’s an iPad in a leather case. Makes perfect sense. Kurt’s still hiding magazines under the bed but now he’s reading them on a screen. Billy wonders if he still makes notes. He won’t be able to write them in the margins but he will be able to tap them into the notes app. The Australian flaps open the case and the iPad blinks to life. He swipes the screen and launches the notes app.

It’s empty, except for one page that contains a list of letters and numbers. Billy studies them but they make no particular sense. He pulls out his iPhone, photographs the page—and the phone buzzes in his hand. He glances at the screen. It’s a text message from Claude. Just three words:
Get out now.

‘Christ.’ Billy moves to the door, looks out through the peephole to make sure there’s no one out in the corridor. ‘Dammit.’ A young woman from housekeeping has parked her cart outside. She’s preparing to clean the room directly opposite.

Billy taps a text message into his phone.

~ * ~

Claude’s phone buzzes and he looks at the screen:
How long do I have?

The Frenchman glances up at the elevator’s indicator as it climbs towards level seventeen. He had drunkenly explained to Kurt that he’d somehow lost his card in the lobby. Kurt was perfectly nice about it and just asked for another from reception, which the guy behind the desk promptly provided. Claude tried to delay the Austrian by offering to buy him a drink as recompense but Kurt politely declined and hopped into an open elevator, saying he was tired and needed to get some shuteye.

‘Merde
.’ The Frenchman taps a text message into his phone.

~ * ~

Billy’s phone buzzes and he reads the screen:
Maybe a minute.

Christ, that’s not bloody long.

Billy looks out the peephole again. The lady from housekeeping is still there, leaning against her cart, eating a Mars bar and sipping a bottle of water, both items once destined to be eye-wateringly expensive snacks in a bar fridge no doubt. If he stepped outside now she would see him.

Would it matter?

It could. She might know he’s not the nice Austrian guy who’s been staying in this room, or then again she may have no idea and just smile.

What should he do?

The peephole is blocked by Kurt’s face.

Fuck!

Click.
The door unlocks.

I guess the decision has been made for me.

Billy backs up. Where does he go? Into the closet? Under the bed? Inside the bathroom? None are fantastic choices.

The door swings open.

Closet, bed or bathroom?

What’s it going to be, big fella?

~ * ~

The bathroom.

Billy picked the bathroom. He thought Kurt would probably look for clothes in the closet, which ruled out that spot, and he was sure to grab the iPad from under the bed so hiding there wasn’t a goer. After almost no consideration at all Billy decided the bathroom was the best bet.

He hides behind the fully open door, pressed against the tiled wall, a rack that holds a stack of fluffy white towels right beside him. This is going to work out just fine. He’ll wait until Kurt falls asleep then quietly let himself out and no one will be the wiser —

Kssshhh.
Water blasts as the shower is turned on.

Son of a bitch.

Billy looks at the towel rack and the stack of fluffy white towels that sits upon it. Kurt will need one of those bastards to get dry, and that means he’ll need to pull the door away from the wall to gain access and expose his old Aussie mate in the process. Not good.

The sound of the shower’s water changes and the Australian realises that Kurt is now inside the cubicle. The bathroom quickly fills with steam because he didn’t turn the extractor fan on.

What do I do?

The Australian now has, at most, a three-minute window before Kurt will need to get his hands on one of those damn towels.

Hold on.

The room is steaming up fast. Billy gets an idea. He gingerly eases the door aside, drops into a low crouch and peeks around the edge of the door. He can’t see anything. It’s like the moment before
Titanic
hit the iceberg. The room is completely fogged up.

Excellent.

He inches around the door and moves towards the spot where the doorway is. He moves slowly but surely, doesn’t make any sudden movements. This is working out beautifully. He’ll be out of the bathroom, through the front door, down the hallway, into the elevator, back to his own room and in his jammies before Kurt’s even lathered up —

The shower shuts off.

Oh come on.

Billy freezes, then realises that’s the opposite of what he should be doing. He should be moving
fast.
So that’s what he does. He gets going —

Thunk.
His head thumps into something extremely hard. He extends his hand, touches the object he hit. It’s the sink.

The sink ?

He’s got himself all turned around in the fog and crawled in the wrong direction. The doorway is on the
opposite
side of the room to the sink but he can’t see it because of the
Titanic
fog —

Creak.
The shower door swings open.

Click.
A switch is flicked.

Whirrr.
A buzz fills the room.

Kurt just turned on the bloody extractor fan! It spools up and quickly clears the air. Billy still can’t see that much now but he will in a matter of moments, and so will Kurt. The Australian needs to get out of here but he just doesn’t know where Kurt is and he’s not going anywhere until he does —

Kurt cuts through the fog right in front of him, naked as a guy who just got out of a shower. He walks past from left to right, just a metre away. He’s heading for those fluffy white mofos.

The
Titanic
fog has cleared just enough for Billy to see the outline of the doorframe on the opposite side of the bathroom.

Time to go.

He moves fast. For the first three steps everything progresses swimmingly, then his left foot lands in a puddle of water and shoots out from under him. His arse hits the tiles but he’s moving so fast that he skids across the floor, out the door and into the hallway —

Thwump.
He slams into the opposite wall and it’s surprisingly loud. He turns. The front door is right there. He hears frenzied movement in the bathroom as he scrambles to his feet, takes two steps, grabs the doorknob and twists it —

Christ, the lady from housekeeping!

He can’t worry about that now. He wrenches the door open—and sees the cart is there but the woman is not, thank God. He bounds outside and pulls the door closed behind him.

‘Hey!’ As the door clicks shut he hears Kurt’s Schwarzeneggerian voice.

Legs pumping, Billy sprints down the hallway. The only problem is he’s not sure where is he sprinting
to.
Five metres away the Australian sees a T-junction where two corridors intersect.

Do I turn left or right?

He hears the door open behind him. Kurt is going to step out of his doorway, see Billy running and realise he was just in his room.

Left or right?

He reaches the T-junction and turns left.

Damn.

It’s a dead end. There’s nothing but a panoramic observation window with a view of twinkling city lights beyond. He was hoping for firestairs.

I should, have gone right.

He’s trapped. And worse, he can hear Kurt’s footsteps as he sprints along the hallway towards him. The sound gets closer quickly. He’ll arrive in ten seconds.

Billy looks around, sees a panel in the wall, half the size of a door, marked with a fire hose symbol.

~ * ~

Kurt reaches the T-junction and looks around. There’s nobody there. He sees a panel in the wall to the right. It’s slightly ajar, like it’s been opened but couldn’t be closed properly from the inside. He moves to it, reaches out, grabs the panel’s recessed brass loop and yanks it open —

There’s nothing inside but a hydrant and a large reel of flat fire hose. He looks around again, confused.

~ * ~

Billy stares down at Kurt through a thin crack between the foam ceiling tiles and holds his breath. He used the top of that hydrant’s door panel to climb up, pushed the tile aside, slid into the narrow cavity in the ceiling, grabbed an air-conditioning conduit for balance, and hid. The only problem occurred when he kicked the door panel closed but it didn’t completely shut.

Kurt is dressed only in a towel. Billy glimpses the tattoo on his forearm. It looks
very
similar to the one he saw on the golf course. The Austrian stays rooted to the spot below, clearly trying to work out where the guy who was just in his room went. That’s fine with Billy, as long as he doesn’t get any bright ideas and look up —

Kurt looks up.

Shit.

Billy holds his breath. It’s like his old mate is staring directly at him.

Christ, he’s bloody worked it out.

A long moment passes—then the Austrian looks down and walks away.

~ * ~

Billy enters his hotel room. The door that adjoins the next room is open. The Frenchman pokes his head around it expectantly. ‘I did my best to delay him.’

Billy glares at him as he kicks off his shoes. ‘“I’ll give you plenty of warning.” I believe those were your words.’

‘What can I say?’

‘Sorry?
How about
sorry? Sorry
would work nicely.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘Of course it wasn’t. It’s never your fault.’ Billy shakes his head then turns and slumps onto his bed. ‘That was horrible.’

‘What happened?’

~ * ~

‘You were in the ceiling for an hour?’

‘I wanted to be sure he wasn’t waiting around the corner for me to climb down.’ Billy stares at the picture he took of Kurt’s iPad that now fills his MacBook screen. The list of numbers and letters reads:

14TICSM3

28JTPTKL3

4TIMED4

He studies it, baffled. ‘A thousand monkeys typing for a thousand years couldn’t come up with something this unintelligible.’

Claude looks at the same list on his iPhone and shakes his head. ‘Yep. Can you spell
oblique
?’

‘Actually, I don’t think so. You imagine there’s gotta be a
k
in there somewhere but I’m pretty sure there isn’t.’

‘You believe this is something?’

‘Maybe.’

‘And you think this, why?’

He shrugs. ‘A gut feeling.’

‘A
gut feeling
?’

‘Yes,
a gut feeling.
I detect a tone.’

‘Really?’

‘There it is again.’

‘Well, do you have anything more than
a gut feeling
? Like, say, evidence?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You know that just because information is difficult to acquire doesn’t mean it has value, right?’

‘Thanks for the tip, Sherlock.’

Claude ignores him and moves to the door. ‘I’m going to go watch your guy, see if he has any late night meetings planned. So you’ll relieve me at four?’

Billy nods again. ‘What’s the plan for tomorrow?’

‘Split up. I’ll keep an eye on Kurt, see where he leads. You trawl the pit lane, see if anything presents itself.’

Billy nods. ‘We should meet at Iron Rhino at five for a debrief, unless you want to debrief yourself.’

‘Har-dee-ha.’ The Frenchman fakes a laugh as he exits the room. They don’t say goodnight.

~ * ~

The lights are off and the Australian lies in bed. The only illumination comes from his iPhone. He stares at the list and tries to deduce some meaning from the jumble of letters and numbers. The Frenchman might be sceptical but Billy thinks there’s something here.

14TICSM3

28JTPTKL3

4TIMED4

He just has no idea what that something might be. Could it be the numbers to a series of bank accounts? But why would Kurt need three bank accounts? Is this where he’s stashing the proceeds from the heists? Or is there an innocent explanation? He’s employed as a safety car driver and that, undoubtedly, pays well, so maybe he’s sending money to friends and family and these are their bank details.

The Australian’s eyelids grow heavy. He flicks off the phone, plugs it into the charger, lays it on the bedside table, beats the hotel pillow flat, then lays his head on it and slips off to the land of nod. He forces himself to think of something that has nothing to do with the list, in the hope that by pushing it to the back of his mind his subconscious will work on uncovering its meaning and, voila, present a solution when he wakes up.

So what should he think about instead?

How about Ms Jolie Laide?