When he was done, he dug into his equipment bag and sorted through his IDs. Dino had rented the apartment for him under the name Fenton Towne, but he didn’t want to be Fenton Towne at the moment. He selected Devon Billingham, a bit of a mouthful, but an identity with a passport photo different enough from his current guise as Felix Dressler that no one would notice the resemblance.
Teddy got his makeup kit out of the equipment bag, went in the bathroom, and changed his appearance to match the photo on Devon Billingham’s passport. When he was satisfied with the result he dressed himself in a pair of loafers, casual slacks, and a polo shirt. Felix Dressler had worn a suit. Such a simple thing as a different choice of attire would go a long way toward preventing an inadvertent recognition.
Teddy went out to a luggage store and bought a suitcase and a small steamer trunk with a substantial combination lock. The owner was happy to take Devon Billingham’s credit card. It was perfectly valid and checked out when the owner ran it, as would any of Teddy’s phony credit cards.
The salesman helped Teddy carry the suitcase and trunk out to a taxi. This time Teddy had the cab take him right to the door of his apartment. There was no danger in doing so, as Devon Billingham.
Teddy tipped the cabbie to carry the trunk upstairs—enough that he’d be happy, but not so much that he would tell all his friends.
The moment the cabbie was gone, Teddy locked the door behind him and checked under the bed. The equipment bag was right where he’d left it. He had known it would be. It had only been an hour. Still, he was never comfortable leaving his equipment unsecured.
Now Teddy placed the equipment bag in the steamer trunk, locked it, and set the combination. He put the suitcase on the bed and packed what few clothes he had. There weren’t many.
He called the Hôtel St. Pierre and made a reservation for the week, starting immediately. He called for a cab, met it on the street, and had the cabbie come up and help him with the luggage. He took the cab to the Pierre, checked in, and let the bellboy bring the bags up to the room.
As soon as the bellboy had left, Teddy unlocked the trunk, took out the equipment bag, and selected only the essentials he was likely to use, such as his makeup kit, Devon Billingham’s IDs, and Felix Dressler’s credentials. He took a few burner phones, a gun with a silencer, and a shoulder holster. The rest he locked back up in the trunk.
He called the front desk and had a bellboy bring up a luggage cart for the trunk. He took it down to the front desk and asked to see the manager. The desk clerk made a call, and within minutes a bald, bespectacled well-dressed man bustled up to the desk and asked if there was anything he could do.
“Actually, there is,” Teddy said. “Devon Billingham. I deal in antique jewelry, the rarest of the rare. I am here from the States in pursuit of a few elusive pieces that I have had my eye on for sometime. I wish to use your hotel as my base of operations. I have rented a room for the week, but I will not be here every night. Should the chambermaid report that my bed has not been slept in, please do not panic and notify the authorities or institute a search to see if I have given up the room. I haven’t. So there can be no mistake, I am paying my entire bill in advance, at least the room charge for the seven days. Is that acceptable to you?”
“But of course, monsieur.”
“If you could please convey these instructions to your staff so that I am not bothered by any nonsense while I am here, I would appreciate it.”
“I assure you, it will be taken care of.”
“Thank you.” Teddy stepped aside and indicated the cart. “I have already made some valuable acquisitions. Can you be responsible for placing my trunk in safekeeping?”
“I will place it in the hotel safe.” The manager cleared his throat. “When you say ‘responsible,’ we can keep your trunk undisturbed, but you understand the hotel cannot be held liable for any jewelry that you may claim was in the trunk.”
“But of course,” Teddy said, palming the man a fifty-euro note. “I trust you to handle this discreetly. There is no reason for anyone to know how valuable the contents of the trunk actually are.”
The manager beamed. “There certainly is not.”
* * *
• • •
TEDDY WENT OUT to a sporting goods store that specialized in camping gear and outdoor wear. He bought some denim shirts, blue jeans, and a wide leather belt with a large silver buckle. He bought the largest duffel bag he could find, a coil of rope, a hunting knife, plastic bags of various sizes, and extra-large twist ties.
The clerk directed him to a specialty store where he found a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson hat, as well as a western gun belt and holster.
“Costume party?” the salesclerk asked.
Teddy grinned. “Doesn’t everyone dress like this?”
Teddy brought his purchases back to the hotel. He dined in his room while he sorted and packed. He went to bed early, awoke at eight, and caught a flight to Nice.
He took a cab to Sur la Mer, a seaside hotel, and checked in as Devon Billingham.
“Just the one night?” the clerk asked.
“Wish I could stay,” Teddy said ruefully. “I’m meeting a friend of mine. Floyd Maitland. Has he checked in yet?”
The desk clerk consulted his computer. “Two days ago.”
“I don’t suppose you could tell me the room number.”
The clerk smiled. “It is not done.”
“I understand. May I leave him a note?”
“But of course.”
Teddy took a piece of note paper, scrawled: Floyd. I’m here. Call me. Devon. He folded it up, wrote Floyd Maitland on it, and gave it to the desk clerk. “Can you see that he gets it?”
“Yes, of course.”
As he turned to go, Teddy could see the desk clerk putting his note in box 432.
52.
FLOYD MAITLAND LEANED back in his beach chair and stroked his luxurious moustache. Floyd loved the beach, though it was hard to maintain his image there. He couldn’t wear his Stetson with a bathing suit. On the other hand, he could enjoy tall, cool mixed drinks with little umbrellas in them. In a Texas barroom, he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking anything but straight bourbon.
The blond waitress, in the skimpy bikini that Maitland liked, padded by in the sand. He waved to her. She nodded at him, but stopped to take the order of two young Frenchmen in beach chairs. He could see her laughing and flirting with them.
He bawled her out when she took his order. Some nerve. She was supposed to be bending over him and giggling in that flimsy top.
He had another wicked frozen concoction.
By the time Maitland left the beach he was quite loaded, which wasn’t fair somehow. He knew exactly how much bourbon he could drink. These mixed drinks snuck up on a fellow.