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.

a vase of lilies and

still lies in vacuumed stripes, with only my own footprints lightly in

Really?

one of the existing

folded up on the table, alongside my breakfast tray. And the balcony

turn the handle of the bedroom door. With a subdued click, it swings

dark-light stripes… the bed made, and beside the pillows,

they

coffee kit, biscuits, a small box

length, I flick open first

my own clothes. And while shirts garishly printed with pineapples and palm trees might be an offence to good taste, I don’t

Only one place left…

drawn to the door

long second… ear cocked… gun at the ready…

no more than the mixed warbles and screeches of birds, the hiss of cicadas, splashing pools and chattering

the door and

more alarming than a tidemark around the bath where I’ve washed away the

my alarms are

What triggered it?

and my

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

was barely in

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

I dart a look outside. The

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