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

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

Really?

press my foot down by one of the existing footprints: a

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

the handle of the bedroom door. With a subdued

and beside the pillows, a pair of bath-towels folded, for some inexplicable reason,

do they

kit, biscuits, a

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

and palm trees

Only one place left…

to the

a long second… ear cocked… gun at the

mixed warbles and screeches of birds, the hiss of cicadas, splashing pools and chattering

kick the door and it bangs open,

nothing more alarming than a tidemark around the bath where I’ve washed away the sweat of the day

my alarms are

What triggered it?

metallic and my heart plays percussion

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

barely

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

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

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