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.

petals on a vase of lilies and wafting

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

Really?

down by one of

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

cross the floor, turn the handle of the bedroom door. With a

dark-light stripes… the bed made, and beside the pillows, a pair of bath-towels folded, for some inexplicable reason, into the shape of

they do

kit, biscuits, a small

in one hand, with the other, at arm’s length, I flick open first one

my own clothes. And while shirts garishly printed with pineapples and palm trees might be an offence to

Only one place left…

I’m drawn to the door

cocked… gun at the ready… I

screeches of

kick the door and

washed away the sweat of

alarms are

What triggered it?

mouth tastes metallic and my heart

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

was barely in the

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

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

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