her.
“That’s it, Sis. The two guys just passed through here. Room number and make it pretty quick.”
He drummed on the counter softly with his fingertips.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “That would be Mr. O’Dell and Mr. Grimes. Room 211.”
“Okay, we’re going up.” Quirk said. “If you do anything at all, except mind your own business, I’ll close this dump down so tight it’ll squeeze your fanny.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “Stairs at the end of the corridor, sir. Second floor.”
“No shit,” Quirk said, and turned and hustled down the corridor toward the stairs with me behind him.
“So tight,” I said, “it’ll squeeze your fanny?”
We were going up the stairs.
“Cops are supposed to talk like that,” Quirk said.
“I liked `The Killers’ bit from Hemingway.”
“ ‘Is she a smart one?’ Yeah, I use that a lot.”
We were on the second floor and stopped in front of room 211. Quirk put his ear to the door. He nodded to himself. Then he knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, then the door half opened and Vest looked out. Quirk hit the door with his shoulder and Vest stumbled back. The door banged open wide.
The Partner was sitting on one of the twin beds with his back to the door, talking on the phone. He half turned as we came in and I kicked the door shut behind us.
He said, “What the fuck?”
Quirk walked over and broke the phone connection.
“Exactly,” Quirk said.
A small holstered gun lay on top of the television set. Vest made a grab at it and yanked it from the holster. Quirk barely glanced at him while he chopped the gun out of Vest’s hand and kicked it under the bed. Vest threw a punch at Quirk’s head. Quirk slapped it aside and stepped away. He looked at me.
“You want this?” he said. “Even up the business in the jail?”
“Thank you very much,” I said, and Quirk stepped behind me.
“All yours,” he said, and I snapped a straight left out onto Vest’s nose and drew blood. He put both hands to his face and took them away and stared for a moment at the blood on them. Noses bleed a lot. His partner moved toward me, in a low crouch, swaying gently, his hands up and close together. I turned slightly and drove my right foot in against his kneecap. His leg went out from under him and he fell over. Vest lunged toward the door and as he went past me, I hit him on the back of the head with my clubbed left forearm and he sprawled forward and banged his head on the door and slid to the ground. His partner was on his hands and knees now, scrambling toward the bed. I caught him and dragged him to his feet and turned my hip as he tried to knee me in the groin and took it on my thigh. I banged his nose with my forehead, and pushed him away and hit him left cross straight right, and he fell over on the bed and stayed there holding his nose, which had started to bleed as well. Vest was not unconscious on the floor, but he stayed there on his stomach with his face cradled in his arms.
“You guys are in trouble,” Quirk said, “at several levels.”
I glanced around the room. There was a wallet and a set of car keys on the night table beside the other twin bed.
“First of all, when you had enough help you were banging on a guy, with a billy.”
I walked over to the night table and picked up the wallet. Nobody moved.
“Now you are alone, without backup, in a hotel room with the same guy, and look what happens.”
I opened the wallet and looked at the driver’s license. It was a Washington, D.C., license, issued to Reilly O’Dell. The Partner’s picture was there, unsmiling. And a Georgetown address.
“That’s one level,” Quirk said. He ticked it off on his thumb. His voice was quiet, without anger, a little pedagogical, as if he were discussing evidence evaluation at the police academy, but tinged with sadness at the plight these men were in.
“Then there’s the fact that this asshole”-he nodded at Vest on the
“That’s it, Sis. The two guys just passed through here. Room number and make it pretty quick.”
He drummed on the counter softly with his fingertips.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “That would be Mr. O’Dell and Mr. Grimes. Room 211.”
“Okay, we’re going up.” Quirk said. “If you do anything at all, except mind your own business, I’ll close this dump down so tight it’ll squeeze your fanny.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “Stairs at the end of the corridor, sir. Second floor.”
“No shit,” Quirk said, and turned and hustled down the corridor toward the stairs with me behind him.
“So tight,” I said, “it’ll squeeze your fanny?”
We were going up the stairs.
“Cops are supposed to talk like that,” Quirk said.
“I liked `The Killers’ bit from Hemingway.”
“ ‘Is she a smart one?’ Yeah, I use that a lot.”
We were on the second floor and stopped in front of room 211. Quirk put his ear to the door. He nodded to himself. Then he knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, then the door half opened and Vest looked out. Quirk hit the door with his shoulder and Vest stumbled back. The door banged open wide.
The Partner was sitting on one of the twin beds with his back to the door, talking on the phone. He half turned as we came in and I kicked the door shut behind us.
He said, “What the fuck?”
Quirk walked over and broke the phone connection.
“Exactly,” Quirk said.
A small holstered gun lay on top of the television set. Vest made a grab at it and yanked it from the holster. Quirk barely glanced at him while he chopped the gun out of Vest’s hand and kicked it under the bed. Vest threw a punch at Quirk’s head. Quirk slapped it aside and stepped away. He looked at me.
“You want this?” he said. “Even up the business in the jail?”
“Thank you very much,” I said, and Quirk stepped behind me.
“All yours,” he said, and I snapped a straight left out onto Vest’s nose and drew blood. He put both hands to his face and took them away and stared for a moment at the blood on them. Noses bleed a lot. His partner moved toward me, in a low crouch, swaying gently, his hands up and close together. I turned slightly and drove my right foot in against his kneecap. His leg went out from under him and he fell over. Vest lunged toward the door and as he went past me, I hit him on the back of the head with my clubbed left forearm and he sprawled forward and banged his head on the door and slid to the ground. His partner was on his hands and knees now, scrambling toward the bed. I caught him and dragged him to his feet and turned my hip as he tried to knee me in the groin and took it on my thigh. I banged his nose with my forehead, and pushed him away and hit him left cross straight right, and he fell over on the bed and stayed there holding his nose, which had started to bleed as well. Vest was not unconscious on the floor, but he stayed there on his stomach with his face cradled in his arms.
“You guys are in trouble,” Quirk said, “at several levels.”
I glanced around the room. There was a wallet and a set of car keys on the night table beside the other twin bed.
“First of all, when you had enough help you were banging on a guy, with a billy.”
I walked over to the night table and picked up the wallet. Nobody moved.
“Now you are alone, without backup, in a hotel room with the same guy, and look what happens.”
I opened the wallet and looked at the driver’s license. It was a Washington, D.C., license, issued to Reilly O’Dell. The Partner’s picture was there, unsmiling. And a Georgetown address.
“That’s one level,” Quirk said. He ticked it off on his thumb. His voice was quiet, without anger, a little pedagogical, as if he were discussing evidence evaluation at the police academy, but tinged with sadness at the plight these men were in.
“Then there’s the fact that this asshole”-he nodded at Vest on the
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