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.

above me, riffling the petals on a vase

vacuumed stripes, with only my own

Really?

down by one of the existing footprints:

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

floor, turn the handle of the

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

do they

biscuits, a small box of

arm’s length, I flick open first one wardrobe door, then the

garishly printed with pineapples and palm trees might be an offence to good

Only one place left…

drawn to the

cocked… gun

screeches of birds, the hiss of

the door and

around the bath where I’ve washed away the sweat

alarms

What triggered it?

and my heart

Calm down…

Breathe…

Think…

What happened?

was barely in

Outside then…

Something in the corridor…

a look outside. The corridor is still empty; nothing

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