“Not me. Hey, come on. I wouldn’t do that to him. We were just telling tall tales. Later, Hays and me had a falling-out. He probably figured he could pick up a wad of cash and I’d never know the difference.”
“You told him where Johnny lived?”
“California is all I said. He must’ve followed me across country, the slimy son of a bitch.”
“How’d he know you’d been released?”
“Now that, I don’t know. He might have talked to my PO. I seem to recall I might’ve threatened him once upon a time. He probably told ’em he was worried I’d come after him. Which I still might.”
“How did you figure out it was him?”
“I didn’t at first. Minute I heard about the break-in, I knew something was off, but I didn’t think about Hays. Then I realized what happened and, like, it had to be him. Simple process of elimination because I never breathed a word about Johnny to anyone else.” Ray lifted the napkin away from his bleeding lip. “How’s that?”
“Well, it isn’t gushing,” I said. “Can we back up a bit? Once you heard Johnny was dead, what made you so sure he still had money stashed somewhere?”
“I wasn’t sure, but it just made sense. Guy drops dead of a heart attack, he doesn’t have time to do anything. Talking to Bucky, I realized the kid didn’t have a dime, so if there’s money, it’s probably still hidden somewhere on the premises. I figure if I rent his place, I can look around at my leisure.”
“Meanwhile, you didn’t say a word to Bucky about this.”
“About the money? No way. You know why? Suppose I’m wrong? Why get their hopes up if there’s nothing? If I do find some money, I can ask for a cut.”
“Oh, right. This is money they don’t know anything about and you’re telling me you’d turn it over to them?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I might skim off a small percentage, but what harm would that do? They’re still gonna come up with more than they ever had reason to expect.”
“And in the meantime, this former cellmate’s followed you to Johnny’s door.”
“That’s my guess.”
“How’d he know about the kickplate?”
Ray held up his battered hand. “Because I told him. Otherwise, he’d have broken every bone in my hand. He had me at a disadvantage because I wasn’t expecting him. Next time I’ll know, and one of us is going to end up dead.”
“How did you know about the kickplate?”
Ray tapped himself on the temple. “I know how Johnny’s mind worked. That day I came up there and you were looking through his books? I was doing a little survey. He’d used a kickplate before — this was way back when — so I was thinking I’d try that first.” He stirred in his seat. “You don’t believe me. I can tell by the look on your face.”
I smiled slightly. “You’re a very slick man. You lie about as well as I do, only you’ve had more practice.”
He started to say something, but the waitress had reappeared with two steaming plates on a tray. She looked harried, to say the least. She set down juice, two side orders of buttered toast, and a variety of jams. She took a couple of small paper packets from the pocket of her uniform and put them by his plate. “I got you these,” she said.
Ray picked up a packet. “What’s Midol?”
“For cramps, but it’ll cure anything that ails you. Just don’t take too many. You might develop PMS.”
“PMS?” he said blankly.
Neither of us responded. Let him figure it out. She refilled our coffee cups and moved on to another table, taking out her order pad. Ray opened a paper packet and tossed back two tablets with his orange juice. We spent a short, intense spell shoveling food down our throats.
Rawson finally dabbed a paper napkin gingerly across his lips. “You want my suggestion, I’d say let’s quit hassling what’s past and figure out what comes next.”
“Ah. Now we’re partners. The buddy system,” I said.
“Sure, why not? Gilbert Hays took Johnny’s money, and I want it back. This is not just for me. I’m talking about Bucky and Chester. Isn’t that why they hired you? To return what Hays stole?”
“I suppose,” I said.
He shrugged laconically. “So how about it, then? What’s the plan?”
“How come it’s up to me? You think of one,” I said.
“You’re the one getting paid. I’m just here to assist.”
I studied him, debating the garbled tale he’d just told. I didn’t really believe he was telling me the truth, but I didn’t know him well enough to know what kinds of lies he told. “Actually, there is one possibility, and I could use some help,” I said.
“Good. What’s the deal?”
I took out Laura’s room key and placed it on the table. “I have the key to Laura Huckaby’s room.”
His face went completely blank, and then his brow was furrowed by a squint. He leaned forward, staring. He said, “What?”
“The woman with the duffel. She’s using the name Hudson, but that’s the key to her room.”
10
I hauled one of the linen carts out of the utility alcove on Laura Huckaby’s floor. I had changed into my red uniform again, ready to go to work. I pulled a stack of clean sheets and towels from the shelf in the linen room and put them on my cart, adding boxes of tissues, toilet paper, toiletries, and the laminated Maid in Room sign I’d snitched before. I checked the clipboard attached to the cart on one end. A ballpoint pen was affixed to the clipboard with a tatty piece of string. None of the rooms had been done as far as I could see. Bernadette and Eileen were listed on the worksheet, but none of their duties had been checked off as yet. I wasn’t sure what would happen if one of them showed up in the midst of my faux labors. Surely nobody would object to my pitching in … unless these women got territorial about toilet bowls. I pushed the linen cart ahead of me down the carpeted corridor. The wheels kept getting hung up in the high-low pile, and I struggled to keep the cart from lumbering into walls.
The plan Ray Rawson and I had worked out was this: Rawson would call Laura’s room from the house phone on the far side of the lobby within view of the front desk. He’d claim to be the desk clerk, in receipt of a package that required her signature. He’d tell her he was just now going on his break, but the package would be waiting on the manager’s desk. If she could come down as soon as possible, one of the other clerks would be happy to get it for her. If she asked to have it sent up, he’d inform her, regretfully, this was against hotel policy. Recently a package had been misdelivered, and the manager was now insisting the guests appear in person.
While this was going on, I was to loiter in the corridor near her room, making careful note of the time she left. As soon as the “down” elevator doors closed behind her, I would let myself into 1236 with her key. Laura would reach the lobby, where the desk clerk would search in vain for the nonexistent package. Confusion, upset, and apologies forthcoming. Everyone would profess ignorance of both package and policy. Sorry for the inconvenience. As soon as the package surfaced, it would be sent up.
Once she left the desk, on her way upstairs again, Rawson would call the room and let the phone ring once. That would be my cue to get out if I was still there. Since I knew exactly where the duffel was located, it shouldn’t take more than ten seconds to snag the contents. By the time Laura emerged from the elevator on twelve, I’d be heading down the fire stairs to the eighth floor again. There I’d change into my street clothes and grab my shoulder bag. I would meet Rawson in the lobby, and before Laura even realized that she’d been ripped off, we’d be on our way to the airport, where we’d get the next flight out. I wasn’t at all bothered by the ethics of stealing money from thieves. It was the notion of getting caught made my heart go pitty-pat.
I positioned my cart two rooms away from Laura’s door and checked my watch. Rawson was waiting to make his call at 10:00, allowing me time to get myself set up. It was 9:58. I occupied myself with a load of towels, which I folded and refolded, wanting to be busily engaged when Laura Huckaby came out. The corridor was dead quiet, and the acoustics were such that I could hear the telephone begin to ring when he called her room. The phone was picked up after two rings and a tidy silence ensued. I could feel my stomach churning with anticipation. Mentally I rehearsed, picturing her trip down the hall, into the elevator, over to the desk. Chat with the clerk, the search for the package, frustration and assurances, and back she’d come. I’d have at least a five-minute window of opportunity, more than ample time for the task I’d assigned myself.