Message from the Mop Closet
“Code red, Mr. Drakos,” she said quietly. “Tall man, blue jacket, vacant look on his face.”
“Got it. Supply closet off the kitchen.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“Didn’t you know that I moonlight cleaning floors at diners?” she said, picking up a mop and using the handle to hold him at bay.
“I have a weapon in my pocket that is considerably more powerful than a mop.”
“Yes, and if you shoot me here, there will be plenty of witnesses,” said Valentine 6, nodding to where the kitchen staff watched the proceedings.
“Do you want me to call the police?” asked Mr. Drakos, his wide frame blocking the kitchen door.
Valentine 6 considered her position. Involving the police would only delay the moment that someone dragged her back to the Paradox Club and before Pilgrim 3.
If she spent her morning being interviewed by cops about Lidenbrock 2, she would accomplish nothing.
They probably wouldn’t even arrest him. All he’d done so far was follow her.
But if she went with him now, for better or for worse she’d be back at the club.
Back where she could watch and listen and maybe learn something useful.
“There’s no need for that, Mr. Drakos. This gentleman and I were just leaving.”
* * * *
President Calvin 4, known to the staff of the Lakeside Hotel and Resort as Richard, had finally found a place to run.
A young woman in the lobby decked out in running attire complete with Bluetooth earbuds and an armband to hold her cell phone had informed him to look for a narrow path into the woods from the lower corner of the rear parking lot.
“It’s twisty and bumpy for a hundred yards or so, with lots of roots, so you have to be careful, but it leads to this nicely maintained path that goes for a couple of miles along the lake. It’s easy to get in five miles if you want.”
The next morning, he woke before dawn, put on his headlamp, and found the path.
Much as he hated the feeling of his cell phone bouncing against his thigh in the pocket of his shorts, Richard was not about to leave it behind.
The path by the lake was made of soft mulch that sprang beneath his feet and Richard felt six days away from running pushing him forward all the way to where the path ended at a picnic ground.
If the woman in the lobby had been right, he was about two and a half miles from the hotel when, as he was having a drink of water from the fountain by the restrooms, his phone pinged and vibrated with a new text message.
Peaches, read the text from Valentine 6. Richard sat down at one of the picnic tables and entered the coordinates into Google Maps and watched as the app zoomed in on an address. His stomach sank as he looked at the screen. What the hell had Vivian done?
For two and a half miles, he ran faster than he had in years.