Part 15 (2/2)
”You alone?” Scott asked.
”I just shooed away a nymphet. I don't expect her to return in the immediate future.” He set the ice bucket on the dresser beside a full bottle of Stolichnaya. ”Room ser vice didn't provide ice. Expected me to fetch it myself, obviously. I don't suppose we might venture out for some, now that we're acquainted?”
”I don't think so,” Scott said.
”If you're indeed Nick and Nora, I doubt you intend to rob or mutilate me. Would you care for a warm drink?”
They nodded, and he opened the bottle.
”I don't suppose you caught my concert to night? Really first-rate.”
”Sorry,” Scott said.
Hamlin poured vodka into three gla.s.ses. ”To a warm and healthy relations.h.i.+p,” he toasted.
Lacey sipped her vodka. Its strong taste made her cringe, but it felt warm and pleasant going down.
”Now,” said Hamlin. ”To what do I owe your presence? You're not a pair of lunatic fans, obviously. Am I a hostage of choice or opportunity?”
”Opportunity,” Scott told him. ”You came out your door at the right time.”
”The right time for you, perhaps.”
Though they were talking softly, Lacey worried that their voices might carry through the door. She crossed the room and turned on the tele vision.
”Oh please,” Hamlin muttered. ”Ah, I see,” he said as Lacey increased the volume. ”Background noise. That's about all the cyclops is good for. Now, what brings you in to my august presence?”
”We're being pursued by a killer.”
Hamlin raised his eyebrows, sat on his rumpled bed, and crossed his legs. ”I see you're well armed.”
”He has an Ingram, a small a.s.sault weapon capable of firing twenty rounds per second.”
”Nasty.”
”Extremely. So you can see that we'd prefer to avoid a confrontation. If he didn't see us come in, we'll be all right. Even if he knows which floor we're on, I don't think he'll take the chance of barging into every room.”
”I hate to appear simplistic, but have you considered bringing in the gendarmes?”
”A special team is flying in from Was.h.i.+ngton,” Scott told him. ”We expect it to arrive,” he checked his watch, ”in roughly three, three and a quarter hours.”
”Was.h.i.+ngton? So we're embroiled in a cloak-and-dagger scheme? I should have guessed; you have that clean-cut, boy-next-door, FBI look about you.” He peered at Lacey as she sat down beside Scott on the other bed. ”Nora, however, is not an agent. No no. To o delicate, feminine, vulnerable. I should think Nora is an innocent bystander cast by mischance into the role of heroine.” He nodded shrewdly. ”Perhaps a witness?”
”Very observant,” Scott said.
”The fellow with the nasty weapon, a Ruskie agent?”
”Can't tell you.”
”The solution to your problem is make up. I just happen to have, in my possession, an elaborate make up kit complete with hair, teeth, blood, and d.i.c.k Smith's Flex-flesh. I don't just happen to have it-very deliberate. I often travel incognito. For security and privacy, you understand. The kit has many uses, however. The nymphets blush and cream at the chance to be transformed into the monsters they are: zombies, hags with oozing pustules, vampires. The vampire is my specialty. Those submoronic s.e.xpots throw themselves into the role with such abandon-snarling, baring their fangs-and it's rarely my neck they insist upon sucking. Quite delightful. I'd be more than happy to transform the two of you. Not in to monsters, perhaps, but with a few deft touches and a change of clothes you might walk right past the murderous Ruskie without being recognized.”
”Thanks anyway,” Scott said.
”On the other hand, I might apply a mult.i.tude of wounds: bullet holes, slash marks, quant.i.ties of artificial blood. I'm superb at corpses. I'll arrange you on the floor. If your maniacal Soviet should burst through the door, he'll a.s.sume you've already been dispatched. No need to repeat the process. Voila!”
”That's ridiculous,” Scott told him.
”It's genius. A subtle but profound difference.”
”Maybe. But I still think...” The deafening clamor of a bell in the corridor stopped his words.
Hamlin jumped, spilling his drink.
The high-pitched ringing went on.
”Fire alarm!” Scott shouted.
”You don't think...?”
Grabbing his makes.h.i.+ft club, Scott scurried off the bed and raced toward the door. Lacey picked up her spray can, her knife. Hurrying after him, she saw him touch the k.n.o.b. ”Not warm,” he said. He looked back. ”Hamlin,” he yelled over the din. ”Get over here!”
The small man rushed to them. His face, so confident before, now looked drawn and pale.
”Look out the door. See if there's smoke.”
They stepped aside so they couldn't be viewed from the hallway, and Hamlin opened the door. ”Appears fine,” he said.
”Check around the corner.”
He stepped out. Scott held the door open a crack. A moment later, Hamlin shoved through it and gazed at them. ”Jesus H. Christ! The other end of the hall-all kinds of smoke. People spilling out of their rooms like...Christ, my horn!” He hurried past them. Seconds later, he returned with a black leather case. ”Don't know about you, but I'm getting the f.u.c.k out of here!” Flinging open the door, he dashed across the hallway to the fire door.
Lacey stepped out beside Scott. Half a dozen people were now in the short hall, most in night clothes, rus.h.i.+ng for the door. Hamlin threw it open. He coughed as dark smoke bellowed into his face. He started to shut it, but the door knocked him backward and a flaming man stumbled from the stairwell. His fiery arms reached for Hamlin, but the little man smashed them aside with his instrument case and leapt out of the way.
Screams mixed with the blaring alarm bells as the burning man staggered toward the onrus.h.i.+ng group of guests. They scattered. Falling among them, he clutched the negligee of a horrified young woman. She lurched away, but flames were already starting to curl up her white gown. A nearby man ripped it from her shoulders. She kicked free of the garment and threw herself into his arms.
Scott grabbed Lacey's wrist. He jerked her after him, around the corner to the long corridor. Hamlin was far ahead of them, das.h.i.+ng through stunned guests, dodging some, stiffarming others aside, the black case hugged under one arm like a football. Though the far end of the corridor was gray with rolling smoke, Lacey saw no flames.
”This way's blocked,” Scott yelled to an elderly couple heading toward them. The couple stopped, looking at each other with confusion as Scott and Lacey hurried by.
The greatest number of people was gathered in front of the elevator bank, screaming and shoving in a frenzy to get closer to the doors.
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