What did crocodiles have to do with it?
Tony had the disturbing feeling that they were moving too fast through the apartment, that they were overlooking something important. An explanation for the strange things they’d discovered seemed to be hovering at the edge of his mind, but he could not reach out and grab it.
The door to the adjoining bath was closed. It was the only place they hadn’t looked.
Frank trained his revolver on the door and watched it while he spoke to Tony. “If he didn’t leave before we got here, he has to be in the bathroom.”
“Who?”
Frank gave him a quick perplexed glance. “Bobby, of course. Who else?”
“You think he tore up his own place?”
“Well … what do you think?”
“We’re missing something.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
Frank moved toward the bathroom door.
Tony hesitated, listening to the apartment.
The place was about as noisy as a tomb.
“Somebody must be in that bathroom,” Frank said.
They took up positions flanking the door.
“Bobby! You hear me?” Frank shouted. “You can’t stay in there forever. Come out with your hands raised!”
Nobody came out.
Tony said, “Even if you’re not Bobby Valdez, no matter who you are, you’ve got to come out of there.”
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
Frank took hold of the knob and twisted it slowly until the bolt slipped out of its slot with a soft snick. He pushed the door open and convulsively threw himself back against the wall to get out of the way of any bullets or knives or other indications that he was unwelcome.
No gunfire. No movement.
The only thing that came out of the bathroom was a really terrible stench. Urine. Excrement.
Tony gagged. “Jesus!”
Frank put one hand over his mouth and nose.
The bathroom was deserted. The floor was puddled with bright yellow urine, and feces was smeared over the commode and sink and clear glass shower door.
“What in the name of God is going on here?” Frank asked through his fingers.
One Spanish word was printed twice in feces on the bathroom wall.
Cocodrilos
Cocodrilos
Tony and Frank swiftly retreated to the center of the bedroom, stepping on torn shirts and ruined suits. But now that the bathroom door had been opened, they could not escape the odor without leaving the room altogether, so they went into the hallway.
“Whoever did this really hates Bobby,” Frank said.
“So you no longer think Bobby did it to himself?”
“Why would he? It doesn’t make sense. Christ, this is about as weird as they come. The hairs are up on the back of my neck.”
“Spooky,” Tony agreed.
His stomach muscles were still painfully cramped with tension, and his heart was thumping only slightly slower than it had been when they’d first crept into the apartment.
They were both silent for a moment, listening for the footsteps of ghosts.
Tony watched a small brown spider as it climbed the corridor wall.
Finally Frank put his gun away and took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweat-streaked face.
Tony holstered his own revolver and said, “We can’t just leave it like this and put a stakeout on the place. I mean, we’ve gone too far for that. We’ve found too much that needs explaining.”
“Agreed,” Frank said. “We’ll have to call for assistance, get a warrant, and run a thorough search.”
“Drawer by drawer.”
“What do you think we’ll find?”
“God knows.”
“I saw a phone in the kitchen,” Frank said.
Frank led the way down the hall to the living room, then around the corner, into the kitchen. Before Tony could follow him across the threshold from the dining area, Frank said, “Oh, Jesus,” and tried to back out of the kitchen.
“What’s the matter?”
Even as Tony spoke, something cracked loudly.
Frank cried out and fell sideways and clutched at the edge of a counter, trying to stay on his feet.
Another sharp crack slammed through the apartment, echoing from wall to wall, and Tony realized it was gunfire.
But the kitchen had been deserted!
Tony reached for his revolver, and he had the peculiar feeling he was moving in slow-motion while the rest of the world rushed past in frantic double time.