19

19

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” I ask, of no one in particular.

Mary Sue, who did not just have a gun pointed at the back of her head, pulls herself together faster than I do. While I’m still processing what just happened, she’s already off the bed, across the room closing the door, and dialing Zeke on her cell phone.

“Zeke, we have a problem,” she says once the door is closed. “The room service waiter just tried to kill us.”

I can just imagine Zeke’s incredulous response to that statement.

“Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Okay, you got it boss,” and then she hangs up. Zeke is nothing if not efficient. “He’s going to dispatch an extraction team, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. By the time the team would arrive if he sent them right away, it would be the middle of the night and they’d be way more conspicuous waltzing through the lobby at that time. In the meantime, I suggest we relocate to my room for the night and you can bunk up on the pull-out sofa in my