Maitland went back to his room, hopped in the shower to wash away the sand, and dressed for dinner. It took a little longer than if he hadn’t been drinking all afternoon, but a half hour later he was fully decked out in a denim shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, a casual ensemble that cost more than the monthly salary of one of his farmhands. He put on his Stetson hat and looked in the full-length mirror. He cut a dashing figure, if he did say so himself. He hoped that the little brunette he’d been talking to the night before would be in the bar. Of course, in the bar he’d have to go back to bourbon. How would that mix?
There was a knock on the door.
Maitland frowned. He hadn’t called room service. Surely he would remember that. Perhaps it was the little brunette. He’d given her his room number. No, it would be the bellboy with some annoying message or other.
Maitland crossed the room, not staggering, but very aware of where he was putting his feet. He opened the door and gawked.
Staring back at him was . . .
Floyd Maitland!
It was like looking in a mirror.
What the hell?
“Take off your hat.”
Maitland blinked stupidly. “What?”
“Take off your hat,” the man said, raising his own Stetson.
Maitland blindly mimicked him, raising his hat.
Before Maitland had a chance to realize what was happening, his doppelgänger aimed a gun at his head. It was an automatic. It had a long barrel. A silencer.
Maitland had time to think, That’s not my gun, before it shot him in the head.
53.
TEDDY STEPPED INTO Maitland’s room and closed the door. Maitland had done him the favor of falling over backward so Teddy didn’t have to move the body to do so.
Teddy grabbed a DO NOT DISTURB sign off the inside knob, opened the door, slipped it on the outside knob, and retrieved the duffel bag he’d left in the hallway. This time he closed and locked the door.
Teddy grabbed a towel from the bathroom and slipped it under Maitland’s head. He dug into the duffel bag and came out with a plastic bag about the size of a wastepaper basket liner. He slipped it around Maitland’s head and sealed it with a twist tie.
Maitland’s Stetson had fallen on the rug. Teddy picked it up and examined it. The hat was old and weather-beaten, clearly the man’s favorite. Maitland would take pride in the fact that it was worn, proof that despite his wealth and habits he wasn’t all hat and no cattle.
Teddy searched the body. Maitland’s wallet was in the hip pocket of his jeans. It contained a driver’s license, several credit cards, and various other cards, including a membership in the NRA.
Teddy continued searching the body, but found nothing else of value. The clothes, however, were another story. Maitland’s denim jacket had clearly been tailor-made and looked stylish, if such a term applied to Western wear. It had seemed fairly snug on Maitland, and Teddy figured it would fit him. He stripped it off, being careful that no blood was leaking from the plastic bag.
Teddy also took off Maitland’s boots. They were ornate, and made out of what appeared to be the skin of a diamondback rattlesnake. He figured Maitland had a story about their provenance, probably apocryphal.
Maitland’s belt, though of seasoned leather and adorned with a gaudy buckle, had unfortunately been let out a few times to accommodate the man’s girth. With Teddy’s slimmer waist, the worn holes would be noticeable. Teddy stripped it off nonetheless.
Teddy hadn’t found what he was looking for, but a leather briefcase on the coffee table looked promising. He sat down and popped it open. His search was immediately rewarded. In a small outer compartment were Maitland’s airline ticket and passport. That was a stroke of luck. The trip to Paris was a domestic flight. No passport would be needed, but now he had it just in case.
Now for the body.
Teddy dumped everything out of the duffel bag and laid it out next to Maitland on the floor. It was a couple of feet short. Teddy knew it would be. That was why he had brought the duct tape.
Teddy stripped off Maitland’s pants, not that he wanted them, just to make the body easier to deal with. He folded his legs at the knee, and taped his ankles to his thighs with duct tape. It was not a particularly neat job, but that didn’t matter. Maitland was now short enough to fit in the duffel bag. Teddy stuffed him in and zipped it shut.
Teddy called the front desk. “This is Floyd Maitland. My car’s in valet parking. Could you have it brought around to the front in fifteen minutes? . . . Number? What number? . . . Oh, the number on the stub. It’s one-four-three . . . Yes. And could you send a bellboy with a luggage cart up to my room?”
Teddy met the bellboy at the door. He palmed him a bill and said, “Wait here.” He pushed the cart into the room, closing the door, and heaved the duffel bag up on the cart. Maitland was heavy, and Teddy could have used the help, but he didn’t want the bellboy to notice how much like a body his luggage actually was.
Teddy let the bellboy push the cart into the elevator and take it out front where a car was already waiting. Teddy smiled. He had expected the Texan to drive some huge, gas-guzzling Cadillac, but of course it was a rental of European proportions. The trunk was barely big enough to hold the duffel.
Teddy took the car keys from the valet and popped the trunk. The valet started to help with the bag, but Teddy waved him away.
“It’s fragile and valuable. If it breaks, I don’t want to be blaming you.”
Teddy hefted the duffel into the trunk and slammed it shut. He handed bills to the bellboy and the valet, hopped in the car, and drove off.
It was not a scenic drive. Teddy did not follow the seashore, or take in any of the well-advertised tourist spots. Instead, he took a tour of alleys and back lots, searching for a likely dumpster in which to dump the body. He found none that was either large or full enough for the duffel to go unnoticed by the garbage men.
Finally Teddy gave up and went back to the hotel. He drove up to the door, handed the keys to the valet, and told him to park it.
Maitland would have to spend the night in the garage.
54.
AZIZ FELT HE’D failed, which indeed he had. Yet he gave no sign. He stood before Fahd, stolid as ever, awaiting the strongman’s wrath.
It did not come. Perversely, Fahd seemed quite satisfied with the situation.
“So,” he said, “we are all set. The man who was causing so much trouble has left Paris, and has no reason to come back. When we arrive the day after tomorrow, no one will be there to bother us. You will be on high alert, of course, but I do not expect any trouble. The men in our party are wonderful camouflage. We will seem like any other members of the convention.”