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.

on a

vacuumed stripes, with only my own footprints lightly in the

Really?

by one of the existing footprints: a

on the table, alongside my breakfast tray. And the balcony is small, with nowhere for an intruder

silently, I cross the floor, turn the handle of the bedroom door.

made, and beside the pillows, a pair of bath-towels

they do

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

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

with pineapples and palm trees

Only one place left…

to the door of the

statue-still for a long second… ear cocked… gun at

mixed warbles and screeches of birds, the hiss of cicadas,

out, I kick the door and

bath where I’ve washed away the sweat of the day and the maid has been lax

my alarms are

What triggered it?

my

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

was barely in the

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

aim the gun-barrel at the ceiling, I dart a look outside. The corridor is still empty; nothing to indicate anyone

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