Klempner

Damn phone…

What’s wrong with the fucking thing?

I tap in again. Nothing happens.

I’m several floors up, heading back for my hotel room. The signal should be strong up here.

I inspect the screen…

Yes… plenty of signal…

Better contact Dakho… Get him to supply a new one…

A more reliable model this time…

Arriving at my room door…

… A brief shufti along the corridor…

… I’m alone. A quick inspection that my slicked-on hair is still in place…

… It is… a faint dark line against the white paint, which peels away, then drops to the floor as I slide the card into the lock and push the door open…

I toss the useless phone onto my bed then start to shrug off my jacket…

… and in mid-movement, I stall.

My spine prickles and without meaning to, I’m standing stock-still, Glock in hand, staring around the apartment.

What’s wrong?

Working on automatic, my hand follows my eye, weapon aimed, but…

I don’t see anything.

Nothing has moved.

Nothing has changed.

above me, riffling the petals on a vase of lilies and wafting honeyed

vacuumed stripes, with only my own

Really?

my foot down by one of

the table, alongside my breakfast tray. And the balcony

my feet silently, I cross the floor, turn the handle of the

the carpet in perfect dark-light stripes… the bed made, and beside the pillows, a pair of bath-towels folded,

do they do

a side-table, the usual tea and coffee kit, biscuits, a small box of foil-wrapped

at arm’s length,

and palm trees might be an offence to

Only one place left…

drawn to the door of the

a long second… ear cocked… gun at the ready…

warbles and screeches of birds, the

kick the door

the bath where I’ve washed away the

my alarms

What triggered it?

and my

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

barely

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

aim the gun-barrel at the ceiling, I dart a look outside. The corridor

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