No sooner had he spoken the words than there was a knock at the door. For the first time in several minutes, Delia turned his attention away from the window and caught Harry’s eye.
‘Who is it?’ Harry called out.
‘Room service,’ came the barely audible response.
Harry looked down at Trevor and put a finger to his lips. He then used the same finger to make a slashing movement across his throat. ‘Got me?’ he said and picked up the gun that MacFarland had left on the bed. He sat back down on the swivel chair and placed the pistol on the desk, covering it with the room service menu.
Delia made his way to the door and, as before, opened it a few inches and peered through the gap.
‘You order room service, sir?’
The voice was clearer now, and Trevor picked up the strong foreign accent. Delia stepped back, and a two-tiered trolley entered the room followed by a sallow featured young man in a blue and grey uniform. He wheeled the trolley over to the desk, and Trevor caught a tongue-tingling whiff of onions, chips and hot bread, which gave his badly deprived stomach the gastric equivalent of a hardon.
Harry held up his hand. ‘Just leave it all where it is.’
The waiter looked at him and then down at the first of the three covered plates which he had begun to transfer from the trolley to the desk. ‘You no want me to—?’
‘What’s the matter with you? Don’t you understand fucking English?’
The expression on the waiter’s face was a cross between indignation and bewilderment as he put the food back on the trolley and pulled himself upright. He showed no sign of leaving, however, and it was clear to Trevor that he was expecting a tip. Harry either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He merely reached over to the trolley and picked up the nearest of the three pints of lager. He held the glass up to the light and was about to take a drink when he stopped and squinted up at the young waiter. ‘You still ‘ere?’
The waiter opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he turned abruptly and walked towards the still open door. As soon as he began to move, Trevor jumped to his feet and hurried to intercept him before he left the room.
‘Just a minute,’ he said and pulled out his wallet.
The waiter accepted the five pound note that Trevor held out to him with a broad grin and a slight bow of the head. ‘Thank you, sir. Most kind.’ He thrust the money into his jacket pocket and was about to continue on his way when Trevor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
‘Hang on a sec and I’ll come with you. I need to get going myself.’ He flashed an unconvincing smile at Delia, who had not moved since he’d let the waiter into the room, and then at Harry. ‘Sorry I can’t stop for lunch. Maybe some other time.’
Trevor was surprised at how confident and natural he thought he sounded, whilst he was all too aware of the Japanese drumming troupe striking up inside his chest once again. The rhythm intensified as he saw the crimson flood into Harry’s cheeks and his eyes narrow to the merest of slits. But the pounding reached a crescendo when he noticed a hand ease itself under the room service menu on the desk.
‘Surely you don’t have to rush off quite so soon?’ Harry said through lips so tightly drawn they were almost invisible.
‘Places to go. People to kill— I mean, see,’ said Trevor, his concrete smile already beginning to crumble. ‘You know how it is, Harry mate.’
‘Oh I do indeed. I do indeed.’
The sight of movement under the menu convinced Trevor it was well past time for him to make his exit, and with a hollow sounding ‘See you then, guys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’ over his shoulder, he strode out of the room with the waiter immediately behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
From the moment they’d left the hotel room, Sandra had considered every possible means of escape that presented itself but dismissed each one almost as soon as it occurred to her. MacFarland and his gun were always just too close behind her, and now and then she even felt the hard point of the muzzle in the small of her back. At first, she had thought her best opportunity would be in the hotel foyer or the street outside, where there should be enough people around to deter the guy from actually pulling the trigger. But she wasn’t at all sure this would be the case. His undisguised lust for revenge might well be acute enough to blind him to the presence of witnesses, however many there might be. Come to think of it, he was very probably the type who wouldn’t much care if the odd bystander stopped a bullet or two in the process. She couldn’t even rely on his sense of logic telling him he had to keep her alive at least until she’d shown him where her car was parked.