Mo dialed the number from the note. After several rings, clicks, and warbles of digital sound, Ian answered. “Household Services.”
“This is Mo. Talk to me.”
“Black Dodge Charger on the east side. Florida tags. Two office operatives. Next to the last handicapped space by the service door. Following a little past Tallahassee. Captured cell data shows calls made to the attorney general’s office. No GPS. Zero radio chatter. Please advise.”
“Hold,” Mo said. “We will assess. One hour.”
“Roger that.”
The phone clicked dead. Mo hung up and walked from the bar. Casual like he had nowhere to be. Just a guy enjoying the lovely Green Reef décor.
To the east hallway ending in a featureless door. A tall, thin side light showing the parking lot through the glass. He stepped to the side and eased sideways until he saw the edge of the Charger. Took a step back away from the glass. Leaned over a little more until he could see the whole windshield.
Two men. Both with the generic look of somebody official, like the man at the laundromat.
The driver nodded, then the passenger door opened. The passenger got out and straightened his belt. Shrugged into his jacket to cover the shoulder holster hanging under his arm. Kicked the door shut with a black dress shoe as he walked out of view toward the front of the hotel.
Mo skipped back and turned to rush down the hall. He stopped at the corner and peeked around to see the passenger appear in the first window along the row of glass that made up the front lobby wall.
Mo watched him skip three regular doors so he could use the revolving door in the middle. He couldn’t blame him. They were fun.
The guy angled toward the restroom door nestled between two large potted palms. Mo hung back until the door closed behind him. Kicked off the wall to cross the lobby, his steps barely a whisper as he moved. He saw Stan walk in from the bar. Mo shook his head. Held up two fingers. Stan nodded and made the “call me” gesture with his thumb and pinky finger.
Mo focused back on the door. He didn’t pause before stepping in.
The guy was at the urinal. Both hands on his hips to hold his jacket open. He looked over his shoulder right as Mo leaped into him to put a boot into his right kidney.
His crotch slammed into the urinal. His chest hit the flush handle. Mo held the top of the metal partition and dug his foot in deeper. Water gurgled past the guy's hips as he hissed in pain and tried to push away from the wall.
When Mo removed the pressure, the guy stumbled back, and Mo used his momentum to pull him into a spin that ended with the guy sailing through the door two stalls down.
The backs of his knees hit the front of the toilet. His arms spread out like he was trying to fly. His shoulders hit the tile with a splintering crack. The back of his head followed up with the sound of a curveball hitting the mitt over home plate.
He rebounded to stumble forward. Arms coming up in a defensive daze. Dick and balls poked out of his soaked fly like a target.
Not only did it draw Mo’s gaze, but it also drew his kick. His toe just missed hooking the toilet ring as his shin drove up into the guy’s balls. He folded over with a choking groan. Fell onto his side with both hands cupped over his bits. Gagging and spitting. Eyes clenched shut against the apparent agony.
Mo squatted down. Keeping his own legs angled away in case a counter attack tried to target his balls. He relieved the guy of his pistol and pressed it to the side of his head while he dug through the guy’s pockets.
Nothing except for a Casey’s receipt. Like he was saving it for his taxes.
Mo dragged him up with a handful of his jacket. Pushed him back against the wall next to the toilet. “What’s your name?”
The guy shook his head. Gasped through his open mouth.
Mo jabbed the pistol into his throat. “What … is your name?”
“Bailey,” he said in a breathless whisper.
“First name or last?”
“Kevin.”
“All right, Bailey. Stand up.”
“I can’t.”
Mo moved the pistol from his throat to his forehead.” I think you can.”
Bailey swallowed. Rolled toward the toilet to use it for support. Made it to his knees. Paused to catch his breath. Got to his feet and straightened with a whining groan.
Mo couldn’t blame him.
Bailey stood with his hands held out to the side. His eyes shut. Sipping breaths through lips made into an “O”.
Mo backed up to stand in the stall doorway. “Put your dick away.”
Bailey nodded. Reached down and tucked his junk back in with a hiss of pain. Breathless as he zipped up. Fumbled with his belt.
When the restroom door opened behind him, Mo stepped the rest of the way out of the stall. He knew it would be Stan, but he still glanced back for confirmation.
Traded places with him before the door wheezed shut. Passed the gun over. “Get him back to the room. I’ll take care of the other one.”
He turned back to Bailey. “What’s your partner’s name?”
“Grimes.”
“First name?”
“Freddie.”
Mo slapped Stan on the back before posting up outside the bathroom door while Stan gave Bailey his instructions.
When they came out, Bailey’s arm was over Stan’s shoulder. Stan’s arm was up under the back of Bailey's jacket. Mo knew the gun was jammed up into Bailey’s armpit.
Stan pretended to stagger. Bailey winced with a gasp of pain. He was either still hurting or taking the acting to heart. Stan waved. “I think he pissed himself.”
Mo shook his head. “You gotta know when to quit, Kevin.”
Mo laughed. Gave them a push as they stumbled by. He walked back down the east hallway and stood at the door to lean into the window.
Freddie Grimes was standing at the rear bumper, smoking a cigarette and looking out over the parking lot like there was something more to see than cars and trees.
Mo reached behind him and looked back into the hallway before drawing his own pistol. Cracked the door open. Stood away from the gap. Pitched his voice to a stage whisper. Pretended he was dumb and white. “Hey, Grimes. Check this out!”
Grimes turned in confusion, his cigarette poised for another drag.
“Come on, man,” Mo said. He bumped the door open another couple inches. “Get in here. You gotta see this.”
Grimes shook his head as he flicked the butt over his shoulder. Jogged to the curb. Hopped up and reached to push the door open.
When he walked into a pistol aimed at his face, his eyes crossed. Mo put his left forearm across Grimes’ throat and pushed him back until his head hit the metal door jamb. Slid his hand down to Grimes’ holster, then slid it out. Pushed it into his waistband where his had been sitting.
Jerked Grimes in by his tie. Spun him around. Pushed his gun up under the back of his jacket the way Stan had controlled Bailey. All the way up until the barrel was an inch under the base of his skull. “Put your fucking hands down,” he hissed.
Grimes did as he was told. Started walking when Mo pushed against him. Mo put his mouth near Grimes’ ear. “Just a couple of guys enjoying each other’s company. Drunk already. Before the sun even went down, can you believe that?”
Grimes walked like the tin man needed oil in his hips. Mo grinned. Leaned his cheek on Grimes’ shoulder. Reached up with his left hand to get a handful of soft pec. “Just lead me to the elevators. Left at the end of the hall here.”
Mo put more and more of his weight against him, making him stumble and loosen up. A better illusion.
The doors opened as soon as he pushed the button. A geezer with a blonde thirty years his junior walked out. Didn’t even spare Mo an annoyed glance. Like he and his drinking buddy were invisible.
He pulled Grimes inside. “Close the door.”
Grimes hit the button, saving them another two seconds. “Fifth floor, please.”
Mo kept him in the center of the car as they ascended. “You’re probably thinking you might be able to fuck with me. Saying to yourself there’s no way I can shoot before you can flex on me. Thinking it might be easy if you just … gave it a shot.”
The doors opened with a ding, and Mo smiled. He forced Grimes into the hall. “But we’re already here. Wasted your chance with listening. Thinking instead of doing. And now we're here at the room. So you can make a move, or knock.”
Grimes knocked.
“That’s a pretty good choice.”
The door opened, and Stan pushed his gun through the widening gap. Grimes put his hands back up as Mo pushed him inside.
“Another good choice,” Mo said.
He pulled his hand out from under Grimes’ jacket and closed the door.