The Key

57

The receptionist looked up at the man in the crumpled suit lumbering towards her and clipped on her corporate smile.

‘How can I help you today, sir?’

‘Well, you could have a word with my boss and tell him these early-morning flights are killing me.’ He dropped his holdall to the floor and leaned heavily on the reception counter, glancing down at the computer screen.

‘Do you have a reservation with us, sir?’

Dick took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a pantomime of weariness. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. What I do have is a court appearance later this morning and, after getting exactly zero sleep on the overnight from London, I need somewhere to rest my weary head for an hour or two, otherwise I’m not going to be much use to my client. I guess they don’t call it the red-eye for nothing.’

He handed over a passport and a dummy credit card in the same fake name.

‘Let’s see what we can do for you, sir,’ she said, taking the documents and pecking away at the keyboard.

‘I don’t need anything special,’ he said, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘Just a basic room where I won’t get woken by the noise of the traffic or the morning crowd heading down to breakfast.’ Her fingers continued to tap. He leaned in conspiratorially, the counter creaking under his weight. ‘In fact, a lawyer friend of mine says they sometimes use this hotel to put up jurors and witnesses in key cases. I bet those rooms are nice and out of the way. One of those would be perfect.’

Her fingers finished tapping. She hit the return key, extracted a plastic card from a coding machine and slipped it into a cardboard wallet. ‘Room 722,’ she said, writing the number on the front of the card. ‘Take the elevator to the seventh floor and it’s at the end of the corridor to your right. Do you need a hand with any luggage?’

Dick took the keycard along with his passport and credit card and winked at her. ‘No thanks,’ he said, picking up his holdall and heading away across the lobby. ‘You’ve been more than enough help already.’