85
ANSON
The woman crossed the lobby to a bank of elevators with Vincent, as Paul and I followed several cautious steps behind them.
It was impossible not to notice the poise and sophistication with which she moved.
She showed no sign of fear or agitation.
Her hands remained in plain view, clasped in front of her waist. Father had once told me you could tell a person’s station in life simply by the way they carried themselves.
Poor people tended to move in quick, jerky strides, like a guarded mouse making off with a newfound morsel, while the wealthy somehow glided like figure skaters on fresh ice.
This woman moved with the fluidity of water, and I knew if Father had seen her, he would have said she was not only wealthy, but she surely came from old money.
The kind of wealth that breeds more wealth over generations.
She didn’t seem bothered by the filth of the abandoned hotel.
Instead, she appeared disinterested. As if the dirt couldn’t touch her. Like it knew better.
When we reached the second elevator from the left, she stopped outside the door.
Like the elevators in the service hallway, it was in disrepair. One door was open, the other closed, and the elevator car sat beyond them at a slight tilt on its tracks, precariously balanced. A hair’s breadth away from dropping.
“No way I’m getting in there,” Paul said. “I’ll take the stairs, thank you very much.”
She eyed him, simply waiting for him to finish speaking, like she knew he had to get it out before they could move on. Then she said, “You have yet to encounter any guards. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why?”
“Dumb luck,” Vincent muttered.
She nodded toward the door leading to the stairs off the lobby.
“Because the guards are positioned in the stairwells, monitoring every point of ingress or egress. Everyone else is on the second floor, preparing the main ballroom. That is where the auction is to take place later tonight. You’re fortunate enough to arrive early, before most of the guests.
Certainly, before the bulk of the security.
Had you arrived four hours from now, you would have been gunned down before you set foot in the lobby. ”
“The ballroom is on two,” I said. “Where are you keeping the girls?”
“We keep the appurtenance on the eighth floor.”
“Appur, what?” Paul frowned.
“It means product,” I told him. Not exactly sure where I picked up the word, and feeling dirty for knowing it.
She nodded with approval, then went on. “Customers who stay on site will use four, five, and six. The seventh floor is highly guarded to ensure there is no unauthorized traffic to the floor above, as is the third floor to protect the customers. Think of three and seven as impenetrable, because that is exactly what they are. Should you take the stairs, even if you manage to subdue the guards placed there, you would surely die on three. Three is a hornet’s nest. By all accounts, this hotel appears abandoned, but in reality, once properly staffed, it’s a fortress.
It’s one of the many reasons we use it.”
“How many people are here now? Your . . . clients?”
Her lips pressed into a tight line; she didn’t answer me.
Instead, she stepped into the elevator. “Don’t let appearances deceive you.
I guarantee it is in perfect working order.
” With careful movements so as not to spook anyone, she removed a gold key from around her neck, slipped it into the control panel, and twisted it.
There was a soft hum and the buttons lit up. “It’s now or never, gentlemen.”
The three of us stepped in after her. The cracked tile floor let out a mild groan but held.
When the woman pressed the button for the eighth floor, there was a soft buzz, and something odd happened—while the broken elevator doors didn’t move, two inner metal doors did.
They slipped out from behind the crooked panels and slid shut with a gentle whoosh of air.
A moment later, the car began to rise. An arrow above the door slowly twisted to the right, gliding past the floor numbers positioned in a semicircle.
My gut tightened as it swung by three and again by seven—the two floors she said contained the guards—but we kept rising without incident.
The doors opened on a long hallway.
A desk had been placed directly in front of the elevator doors, and at the sight of us, the woman sitting behind that desk quickly straightened up.
She was morbidly obese, appearing as if she hadn’t left that chair in a year.
Like she couldn’t leave the chair if her life depended on it.
Her greasy brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
She held a Nora Roberts novel in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other.
She lowered both to the desktop, her beady eyes darting across each of us before landing on the woman. “Ms. Pavelko. Is there a problem?”
There was an old rotary phone on the desk. I had no idea if it worked, but just in case, I twisted my hand around the cord and yanked it from the wall.
The woman who brought us up here—Ms. Pavelko, apparently—retrieved her key from the elevator and stepped out. “No problem, Gladys, I assure you. My friends are here to retrieve several of our guests, then they’ll be on their way.”
The mouth of the woman behind the desk was open slightly and drooped just a little bit more as she eyed first what I had done to her phone, then the guns. “Ah, huh.”
When her fingers began to slip under the edge of the desk, Vincent thrust his rifle toward her. “Don’t do that, Gladys.”
She pulled her hand back and rested it on the top of the desk. The nails on each of her nubby fingers had been chewed to the quick.
“Show her, please,” Ms. Pavelko instructed Paul.
He took out the sketch and held it out.
Gladys studied the drawing for a moment, then retrieved a stack of photographs from the corner of the desk and began to leaf through them, occasionally glancing back at the sketch. She removed three pictures and laid them out between us like playing cards—Libby, Tegan, and Kristina. “That them?”
The three of us nodded.
The woman looked back at Ms. Pavelko. “They’re all in 807.”
“Anson,” Vincent kept his gun trained on the woman. “Go get them. Paul and I will wait right here.”
Ms. Pavelko gave me a stern look. “The occupants of 807 only, that’s the deal. Touch no other door, or I cannot guarantee you a safe exit.” She then added, “Remember what I said about the floor below us. We don’t need a phone to summon security. A simple scream will do.”