Shoot It Again (aka. The Sex Castle) by Ed Lacy

Author:Ed Lacy [Lacy, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Munsey's
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER 7

Awaking before eight a.m., feeling rested, clearheaded: I wondered if I should have gone directly to the Hotel Tran. I decided not to chance crossing 'them.' Only a fool is greedy... and I didn't know how to get rid of the stuff on my own.

Leaving my hotel with both cats under my arms, New York City looked hot and dirty, as though I'd never been away. If I was paid off this morning, I'd be on a Nice plane by evening. Walking toward Third Avenue a passing guy asked, “How much you peddling them figurines for, buddy? They hot?”

I realized in my shabby, wrinkled clothes I didn't look far above the winos floating around this area— which used to be the tail-end of the Bowery before Third Avenue became swank. In a pawn shop I bought an old suitcase strong enough to hold both cats, for eight bucks. Separating the statues with a couple of N. Y. Times so they wouldn't rattle and chip against each other, I stopped at a stool joint for breakfast. Paying the tab, I had $11.75 left, not counting my gallery check, and the boat ticket in my room.

Riding a cab to the Hotel Tran I had this definite feeling of walking into a trap. Hank had picked this hotel, it probably was the hangout for 'them.' But there wasn't any way of finishing the deal without meeting my contact. I kept selling myself the pitch 'they' wouldn't risk a three million dollar deal with the minor matter of rooking and/or killing me.

The Hotel Tran was a surprise—while one of Time Square's dowdy hotels, it seemed more of a family place with permanent-type guests instead of the ratty transients you find in midtown dives. The old lobby was well-kept, the desk clerk the conservative, mousey kind found in better hotels. But when I registered as Stanley Collins, the little bastard glanced at me coldly and despite my suitcase, demanded a night's rent in advance. I paid $8.50 as the middle-aged elevator-operator took me up to room 302, giving me an odd look when he picked up the heavy suitcase.

The room was small and neat, hotel phone, wash basin, shower, but no toilet. The only window faced the brick side of an office building. Combing my hair, I unpacked the cats—placing the phony one on the dresser. I wanted to see the contact man before he saw me. Exactly what good that would do, I didn't know—except by sizing him up first, I'd know whether to show myself or not. I could sit in the lobby, see whomever asked for me—but hardly while holding the real cat.

Taking the cat, I studied the empty hallway. The John was around a turn, out of sight of my room. Might do as a last resort—what I really needed was room 305, directly across the hall. Even if I had the money, no way I could rent the room, say, under another name or...

The door of 305 opened.

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