Slow Burn by G. M. Ford Page A

patted the bed. "Howsabout we try this thing out? A little
test drive. You know, just to make sure if s not defective."
    She closed the
nearest Levolor. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your fancy hotel
room. What did you call it ... a godsend. That was it, wasn't it?" If she
hadn't been working her way around the room, closing the blinds, I would have
been worried.
    I said, "I
think I should tell you . . . I'm really not that kind of girl."
    She killed the
lights. "You can be the girl later, if you want."
     

Chapter 11
     
    Dixie and Bart were the first to show. By my
watch it was nine forty-nine A.M. when they came out of the elevator arm in arm
and headed directly for the escalator. Dressed in a gray herringbone sport coat
over a black silk T-shirt, Bart looked like the kind of kid you hoped would
show up to take your daughter on a date. He kept his eyes pointed forward as if
walking down a tunnel. Dixie Donner was a sight to behold. If the brown suit
hadn't been spray-painted on, you - couldn't have been absolutely certain that
she wasn't wearing drawers, and if the shoes hadn't had four-inch heels, which
forced her to place one foot directly in front of the other, the unfettered
thrashing of her buttocks would surely have been less noticeable than it was.
The crowded lobby ground to a halt as she wobbled across the marble floor.
    When I gave
George the sign, he fell in behind the pair and rode down to the street not
three steps behind.
    Frank and Judy
were having coffee in one of the conveniently located conversation areas around
the lobby. Big Frank cocked an eyebrow my way, letting me know he was ready if
anything happened before George got back. It didn't.
    Five minutes
passed before George was again at my side.
    "Who was
that?"
    I told him. He
wrote it down.
    "You mean
the kid ain't her son?"
    " 'Fraid
not," I said.
    "They took
a cab. Normal and Billy Bob are on 'em," George announced.
    We'd given each
of the crew a hundred bucks, a notebook and a pencil to keep track of comings
and goings, and a stirring admonition to stay alert and sober. I could only
hope.
    Mason Reese was
next. At ten-twenty, he poked his head out of the elevator, twitched his
whiskers, then darted across the lobby toward the reception desk, like a possum
crossing the interstate.
    "Mason
Reese," I said to George. He made a note.
    Reese strained
up over the counter as he spoke with Marie, who lifted the phone, spoke at some
length and hung up.
    His business
completed, he jammed his hands into his pants pockets and made for the great
outdoors, with George in hot pursuit.
    I strolled over
to the desk. Marie looked up with a smile. "Mr. Waterman, what can I do
for you?" "What did Mr. Reese want?"
    Her eyes darted
to the right and then seemed to look inward.
    I tried to make
things easier on her. "You can check with Ms. Ricci, if you want," I
said. "I won't be insulted."
    The idea seemed
to terrify her. "Oh, no, sir. N-no," she stammered. "Mr. Reese
wanted to check on a voice-mail message he'd received late last night."
    "What did
he want to know?"
    "He wanted
to know why he hadn't heard the ring." "And?"
    "The
operator said the party had requested voice mail because it was so late. The
party hadn't wanted to disturb Mr. Reese."
    "Does the
hotel still have a recording of the message?"
    "That's
the same thing Mr. Reese asked."
    "And?"
    "No. Not
once Mr. Reese saw the red light flashing on his telephone and listened to the
message." She shrugged. "It automatically erases and starts
over."
    I thanked her
and turned around to find Marty Conlan standing right behind me.
"Something I can help you with, Leo?"
    Clapping him on
the back, I said, "Thanks anyway, Marty. We're running like a well-oiled machine."
    "Yeah,"
he snorted. "Well oiled being the key phrase."
    Standing over
by a pair of bellhops and a luggage cart was our boy Lance, his right hand
encased in a white plaster cast the size of a volleyball, his eyes locked on
mine in an open