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 honeyed air at

vacuumed stripes, with only my own footprints lightly

Really?

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

balcony, folded up on the table,

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

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

do they do

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

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

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 of

cocked… gun at the ready…

more than the mixed warbles and screeches of birds, the hiss of cicadas, splashing

I kick the door and it bangs

where I’ve washed

alarms are

What triggered it?

metallic and my

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

barely

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

look outside. The corridor is still empty; nothing to indicate anyone has

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