Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Two - Part Five

5

BRISTOL

A cluster of people were in the lobby: guests/busybodies from the street. The landlady had finished on the phone and was gesturing and speaking too loudly.

Sam switched The Lie back on, staggering the last few steps downstairs out of rhythm. They all turned to look at him, faces melting out of concern or curiosity. He paused for support against the edge of the landlady’s booth, head hanging. He had mussed his hair slightly before descending and flicked the mental switch that generated moistness in his eyes. He didn’t need full-blown tears but he had them in reserve. For now, a redness and shimmer round the edges would do.

A woman put her hand on his shoulder to give comfort. There were folds of unsightly flab around her wrists. He turned away, repressing a shudder. Several of them started talking, asking questions or offering help, but he tuned them out. His head was low enough that they couldn’t see his gaze. His eyes were fixed on the registration book on the desk.

Sam needed that book.

The people bustled him while he ran scenarios through his mind. He twisted his wrist to pull his hand clear of his sleeve and subtly turned it until he could see his watch. He ran the time frame through his mind again as he had on the way downstairs, taking into account probabilities and average police response times. Anywhere between two and six minutes was most likely now. If these people hadn’t known who he was he’d just have taken what he needed without the need for finesse. As it was, he was already risking everything he’d been setting up for the past five years. Any trouble might accelerate the inevitable and close doors before he’d had a chance to break free.

“I think…” he said, his voice strained and quiet, “I think it was the boyfriend who did it.”

One of the plebs stupidly repeated what he’d said.

“God,” said Sam, “I don’t even remember his name… The police are going to want to know.”

They looked from one face to another.

“Jack something,” said Sam. “I don’t know what his last name was.” The landlady wasn’t picking up the hint. “Is his name in the register?”

“Of course!” She reached for the book and flipped it open, spinning it round to face her. The fat woman took her hand off Sam’s shoulder and stepped closer to the reception desk, peering. “Yes here!” The crone sagged. “No. No. It was the young lady that signed in. Lucy Decker.”

Sam covered his eyes. Time was ticking but he needed that name. Prioritisation: His sister was dead. Finding out the killer’s identity was more important than getting out of there before the police arrived. He had the gun in his pocket. He would use it if he had to. If he left without the name he might not have time to find it out through other channels before the net closed in on him because of what he had been doing at work. Already he was going to have to miss his flight.

“Have they paid already?” he blurted. “There may be a credit card receipt with the name on.”

Everyone in the lobby turned to look at him. He looked back at them, confused for a half second. Then he realised: he had dropped The Lie; his voice had come across too forcefully; his expression had betrayed him. He picked it up again, altering his demeanour as carefully as he could. “Do you think there might be a record there?”

Faltering, the people looked back toward the crone but she was shaking her head. “They haven’t paid anything yet. They had the room for one more night. People don’t pay until they leave.”

Damn.

So that was it: no more information here. It was time to go. 

Three people stood in a cluster between Sam and the door. Above the vague traffic noise he could barely detect a wisp of something that might have been a siren. He swiped his hand back across his eyes. “I feel sick. I need some air.” Nobody moved. “Sorry, I think I might throw up.”

The cluster parted, making room, fear of being sprayed with vomit superseding any concern. Sam smiled in his mind. He staggered through the gap they had made.

“I’ll come with you,” said the fat woman, moving up behind him.

She couldn’t see his face; none of them could. It was fortunate. He raised his right hand. “No thanks. I’ll be okay. I’m just going to go outside and take some deep breaths.”

He staggered through the door into the evening air and descended the steps, then straightened and walked briskly down the street to where he’d seen Lucy’s car.