Lind woke up breathless, on top of the bed. The TV blared beside him. Harsh sunlight glared in through the dusty window. It was daytime, midmorning. He’d been dreaming again.
He sat up and breathed deep, trying to calm his racing heart. Stared down at the carpet until the panic disappeared. Until he could hear the sounds of the TV over the roar of his pulse in his ears.
He brewed a pot of coffee and drank it all. Showered in ice-cold water. Didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he dressed. When he was ready, he stuffed the pistol in the back of his pants. Pulled his shirt over top and slipped the Bellagio room key in his pocket as he walked from the room.
The lobby was quieter this morning. The partiers were gone. It was still early for Las Vegas. There was plenty of time left to kill.
Lind found a Denny’s and ate a greasy breakfast. Then he walked, aimless, up and down the long boulevard. Wandered in and out of casinos until a few hours had passed. Then he turned and headed north, toward the Bellagio. Passed its majestic fountains without stopping to look, walked up the long driveway and into the lobby. He lingered there a moment, anonymous in the crowd, and then followed a sign toward the hotel elevators. The gun pressed into his back; the crowd ebbed and flowed, and the slot machines clamored. Lind pictured the man’s face. Imagined a life without the visions. He hurried his pace. It was time to complete the assignment.