When they approached the spot where she had tripped the young lad with the skateboard, Sandra was glad to see that both he and the small crowd had disappeared. She had neither heard nor seen any sign of an ambulance, so she assumed that any injury the boy had sustained must have been slight. On the other hand, there was still no wailing police siren either or even so much as a beat copper to indicate the kid had done as she had asked.
* * *
Trevor was beginning to think the lift door was never going to close when a dull click and a soft whirring sound reassured him that he was mistaken. It couldn’t have happened a moment too soon because the guy they called Delia was almost on them. That was strange though, Trevor thought. Delia had only been a few yards behind them when he and the waiter had left the hotel room. It would have taken very little extra effort to have caught up with them even before they’d reached the lift, never mind got into it, hit the button and waited for the door to close. It was almost as if the guy had deliberately dragged his heels.
‘Your friends no nice people, eh?’
Trevor turned to the waiter at his side and was struck by the sadness which seemed to be indelibly etched into his black-brown eyes. ‘You could say that,’ he said. ‘But I certainly wouldn’t describe them as friends. In fact, they’re very bad people indeed.’
‘Heh. Tell me about it. That fat son of a beach who treat me like piece of shit? I like to kick his goddamn arse.’ He feigned spitting on the floor and added, ‘Putka!’
‘Putka?’
‘It mean lady’s baby tunnel in Bulgarian,’ the waiter said with evident delight.
‘Ah, I see,’ said Trevor.
‘Very useful word if ever you come in my country.’
Judging by the waiter’s earnest expression, Trevor realised the remark was merely a linguistic slip of the tongue rather than a deliberate double entendre. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said.
Seconds later, a robotic female voice with an American accent announced that they had arrived at ‘Ground floor and reception’, and the lift door slid open. Trevor paused only to thank the young waiter and then hurried off across the thinly populated foyer. He glanced around him as he went, and particularly towards the foot of the main stairs, in case Delia had discovered a sudden burst of energy and raced into the reception area ahead of him. Apparently, he hadn’t. He was nowhere to be seen.
The Japanese drummers were still pounding away inside Trevor’s chest, but the rhythm was more mellow now, the beat less strident than before. He was within five or six yards of the exit, and only a short distance beyond lay his escape from the sheer hell of the last couple of days, not to mention the prospect of his first proper food since lunchtime on Friday. Oh yes, as soon as he was through the door, all he had to do was—
At that precise moment, whoever was conducting his internal percussionists must have suddenly decided to up the tempo and simultaneously bring in the gong and cymbal players too. Sandra was on the other side of the revolving glass door, and MacFarland was right behind her.
Trevor’s instincts screamed at him to leave the fighting to someone else and stick with the fleeing option, but he had no time to act. Sandra was already through and was bracing her back against the door, trapping MacFarland in the next compartment.
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Get me one of those.’
He followed her nod to the half dozen umbrellas in a tall metal bin beside the door. He grabbed one and held it out to her.
‘Shove it in the gap.’
Again, Trevor followed the direction of her eyes and saw that the crack between the edge of the revolving door and the outer casing was widening. He bent low and put his shoulder to the glass. The addition of even his minimal strength slowly reduced the opening, and the moment it became little more than a narrow slit, he rammed the umbrella in.
He stood upright, and Sandra stepped away from the door, both looking to see if the plan had worked. MacFarland was heaving alternate shoulders at the glass with such force that the entire structure seemed to shudder on its mountings. Trevor couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but he didn’t have to be a lip reader to get the gist. The venomous glare of unbridled malevolence was a bit of a giveaway.
The umbrella was already working its way loose.
‘Time we weren’t here, I think,’ said Sandra.
She blew an exaggerated kiss at MacFarland, but neither she nor Trevor waited to see if he responded in kind. They headed out of the more traditional door to the side of the revolving one and clattered down the steps to the pavement.
As they ran, Trevor glanced repeatedly over his shoulder and prayed for all he was worth that MacFarland was in as bad a condition as he looked.