Dirty Work

59

Marie-Thérèse knew she had been made. She had the maid’s passkey in her hand, and, crouching behind the cart, she grabbed her handbag from the hamper and opened the door to the room nearest her, ducked inside, and slammed the door behind her.

A man emerged from the bathroom. He was enormous—six and a half feet tall, three hundred pounds, she estimated. He was dressed in trousers and a white shirt, and a necktie hung loose at his neck. “Yeah?” he asked.

She dug into her handbag and came out with the pistol. “Stand over there,” she said.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded.

Marie-Thérèse tossed her maid’s cap on the unmade bed and began unbuttoning the uniform dress. “You look like you once played football.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Ever have a knee injury?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember how much it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

She pointed the pistol at his right knee. “This is going to hurt a lot more,” she said.

He held his hands out in front of him in a pacifying motion. “Okay, okay, whatever you say.”

Marie-Thérèse walked to the window, keeping the gun pointed at him, and looked out. She was only three floors above street level, and she had thoughts of tying the bedsheets together, but there were two police cars parked in the street, their lights flashing. She turned back to her captive.

“Just tell me what you want,” he said.

“I want a ride out of here,” she replied.

Stone, Dino, and Carpenter stood in the hallway, their backs against the wall, on either side of the door.

“Kick it in,” Carpenter said. “That’s what cops do, isn’t it?”

“That kind of door don’t kick,” Dino said, “unless you want to break an ankle.” He put the handheld radio to his mouth. “This is Bacchetti. We’ve got the suspect cornered in a room on the third floor. I want a SWAT team with a battering ram up here now.”

“Lieutenant, it’s Sergeant Rivera,” a voice came back. “We don’t have a SWAT team on site—you didn’t ask for one earlier. I’ll have to call it in, so it’s going to be a few minutes.”

“She isn’t going anywhere,” Stone said.

“Okay,” Dino said into the radio, “tell them to shake their asses.”

“What do we do now?” Carpenter asked.

“Let me see if I can talk her out,” Stone said.

“Feel free,” Dino replied.

Stone moved closer to the door and rapped on it sharply. “Marie-Thérèse, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“Well, hi there, Stone,” her muffled voice came back. “What brings you to see me?”

“I want to get you out of here alive,” Stone said.

“Sounds good to me. How do we go about that?”

“It’s simple. You open the door, toss out your weapon, and walk out with your hands on your head. I guarantee you’ll be safe.”

“Carpenter’s out there, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she’s here.”

“Can you guarantee I’ll be safe from her? After the lie about the money transfer, I don’t trust her.”

“I sent the money!” Carpenter shouted. “It’s in your account!”

Stone motioned for her to be quiet. “Carpenter is not going to shoot you, but a SWAT team is on the way, and unless we get you out of there now, they’re going to be battering the door down, and anything could happen.”

“Well, we don’t want that, do we? All right, I’m coming out. Everybody stand away from the door.”

The three of them backed across the hallway and waited.

“We’re out of the way,” Stone said.

“Okay, here I come.”

The knob turned, and the door swung inward.

Stone blinked. A man stood there, a man so big that he filled the whole doorway. His fingers were interlaced across his belly, and from under his arms protruded two female feet, in heels. Marie-Thérèse peeked over his shoulder, an arm around his neck, and her pistol was against his temple.

“Giddyup,” she said, “but take it slow.”

The man moved slowly through the doorway.

“Just don’t turn your back on them,” Marie-Thérèse said.

Dino spoke up. “Hey, I know you, don’t I?” he said to the man. “Weren’t you a linebacker for the Jets a while back?”

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Billy Franco, The Freezer!”

“Yeah, right, now could you just please do whatever it takes to get this lady offa my back and outa my life?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt this sports chat,” Marie-Thérèse said, “but we’re going to do a little dance now. Everybody is going to rotate counterclockwise until we’ve changed places.”

The three began moving in that direction, and Franco moved at the same time, until his back was to the opposite wall, and they were standing in the doorway of the room.

“Now, everybody back into the room and close the door, and then I won’t have to splash Mr. Freezer’s brains all over the place.”

“Then what?” Franco asked.

“Then I’m going to ride you out of this hotel and into the nearest car.”

“I got a better idea,” Franco said.

“What?”

He took a quick step backward and slammed Marie-Thérèse against the wall, then dove sideways.

Marie-Thérèse made a sound like air rushing from a blown tire and ended up in a sitting position on the floor. Then, with the last of her strength, she raised the pistol, pointed it in the general direction of the three, and pulled the trigger. There was a soft click as the hammer fell on the empty chamber.

For a moment, no one moved, then Carpenter fired two bullets into Marie-Thérèse.

Stone swung an arm, knocking Carpenter off her feet. “Stop it!” he yelled.

Franco, who had been lying facedown in the hallway, his hands covering his head, turned and looked. “Did somebody get shot?” he asked.

Stone bent over Marie-Thérèse and held his fingers to her throat. “Yes,” he said. “Shot dead.”