The Four-Night Run
“From the crack of a stairwell door, Scrbacek could see the entrance to the room. The twenty-fourth floor was not your usual stack-them-into-the-casino-like-Japanese-salarymen type of floor. When Scrbacek had first stepped out of the elevator, he had walked the corridor, back and forth. As best he could tell, there were only seven numbered rooms on a floor that would usually have forty, and the room he was looking at, 2402, was the grandest, at least by size. It must be some hell of a room, 2402, the Bridal Suite, or the Syndicate Suite, or maybe, in keeping with the city’s presidential motif, the Nixon Suite. It was a room for oil-mad sheiks, for tycoons from Macau, for Panamanian middlemen.
A room fit for a magician.
Scrbacek eyed the door from within the stairwell and tried to figure out how to get inside. He could knock, of course—that was always the polite way—but polite didn’t cut it when you were on the run and the bastard inside was leading the effort to kill you. Excuse me, co...uld I have a word?MoreLess
A room fit for a magician.
Scrbacek eyed the door from within the stairwell and tried to figure out how to get inside. He could knock, of course—that was always the polite way—but polite didn’t cut it when you were on the run and the bastard inside was leading the effort to kill you. Excuse me, co...uld I have a word?MoreLess
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