Read Online 02 Avalanche Pass by John Flanagan - Free Book Online
Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: Mystery
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Pallisani?” she suggested. The idea was greeted with an angry negative gesture.
“No. I’m waiting right here till I meet the bozo who’s fucked up. Then I’m going to nail his ass to the wall out there. Now I am tired. I want a shower. I want to change. I’ve been fucked around from here to Salt Lake City and I’m not being bought off with a fucking cup of coffee. Capisce?”
His voice was rising with each word and Jenny looked helplessly to Kormann for assistance.
“Maybe we could wait in the office?” he suggested. Pallisani grunted a surly assent and she nodded gratefully. She’d do anything to get this loud-mouthed, angry customer out of sight. Hurriedly, she raised the lift-up section in the counter and ushered them through to the office behind the reception desk. Pallisani, only a little mollified, paced angrily as she dialed the duty manager’s number. The receiver burred softly against her ear. Once. Twice. Oh, please God, she thought, let there be someone there. Then, to her infinite relief, she heard the receiver lifted at the other end.
“Markus. Can I help you?”
The words spilled out of her, almost running over each other in her relief.
“Oh, Mr. Markus, it’s Jenny Callister here at the front desk. Well, we’ve got a problem, sir, and I wondered could you come here right away?”
F our minutes passed in awkward silence. Then the rear door to the office opened and Ben Markus entered.
He was a good-looking young man in his early thirties, with a square face and a strong jaw, and a slightly crooked nose that was the result of a football injury in high school. The gray eyes were behind rimless glasses and they were an inch or two higher than Kormann’s, putting him at just over six feet. He was a capable, unflappable professional.
“Gentlemen, I’m Ben Markus, the duty manager. Now what seems to be the problem?”
Kormann and Pallisani exchanged glances. To Jenny Callister’s surprise, the two men began to smile, all trace of their previous ill humor seemed to have evaporated.
Pallisani stepped a little closer to the manager, then placed the barrel of a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter against his forehead.
“The problem is this, Ben. If you don’t do
exactly
as we tell you, we’re going to kill you.”
SEVEN
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
M arkus froze, unmoving, feeling the cold rim of the barrel gradually warmed by its contact with his flesh. Beside him, he heard Jenny Callister choke back a scream—only a small mewing sound escaped her.
For Markus, everything was a blur, except for the blue-black pistol pressed against his forehead. Try as he might, he could focus on nothing else in the room. He heard Kormann’s voice as if it came from a long, long distance.
“Now, Jenny, tell me this: what’s the alarm signal for staff in this hotel?”
Jenny shook her head. Her eyes, like Markus’s, riveted to the gun against his head. “Signal” she said weakly, “I don’t understand.”
Kormann stepped toward her and took hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. Gently, he turned her face to his.
“Yes, you do,” he told her patiently. “Now, you know and we know that every hotel has a signal that’s used to alert staff to an emergency without alerting the customers. Remember? They taught it to you on your first week here?”
She nodded, remembering.
“Don’t tell them,” Markus managed to croak through his panic-dried throat.
He felt the pistol withdraw momentarily, then jab forward viciously almost immediately, slamming into his forehead with bruising force. His eyes closed involuntarily as he waited for the thunder of the detonation, the rush of darkness, then nothing. But it didn’t come.
The pain of the pistol pressed to his head remained. The sick heavingof his stomach was still there. The gun hadn’t been fired, he realized with an immense surge of relief.
“You keep your mouth shut,” Pallisani said, very quietly. He jabbed once more,
“No. I’m waiting right here till I meet the bozo who’s fucked up. Then I’m going to nail his ass to the wall out there. Now I am tired. I want a shower. I want to change. I’ve been fucked around from here to Salt Lake City and I’m not being bought off with a fucking cup of coffee. Capisce?”
His voice was rising with each word and Jenny looked helplessly to Kormann for assistance.
“Maybe we could wait in the office?” he suggested. Pallisani grunted a surly assent and she nodded gratefully. She’d do anything to get this loud-mouthed, angry customer out of sight. Hurriedly, she raised the lift-up section in the counter and ushered them through to the office behind the reception desk. Pallisani, only a little mollified, paced angrily as she dialed the duty manager’s number. The receiver burred softly against her ear. Once. Twice. Oh, please God, she thought, let there be someone there. Then, to her infinite relief, she heard the receiver lifted at the other end.
“Markus. Can I help you?”
The words spilled out of her, almost running over each other in her relief.
“Oh, Mr. Markus, it’s Jenny Callister here at the front desk. Well, we’ve got a problem, sir, and I wondered could you come here right away?”
F our minutes passed in awkward silence. Then the rear door to the office opened and Ben Markus entered.
He was a good-looking young man in his early thirties, with a square face and a strong jaw, and a slightly crooked nose that was the result of a football injury in high school. The gray eyes were behind rimless glasses and they were an inch or two higher than Kormann’s, putting him at just over six feet. He was a capable, unflappable professional.
“Gentlemen, I’m Ben Markus, the duty manager. Now what seems to be the problem?”
Kormann and Pallisani exchanged glances. To Jenny Callister’s surprise, the two men began to smile, all trace of their previous ill humor seemed to have evaporated.
Pallisani stepped a little closer to the manager, then placed the barrel of a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter against his forehead.
“The problem is this, Ben. If you don’t do
exactly
as we tell you, we’re going to kill you.”
SEVEN
CANYON LODGE
WASATCH COUNTY
M arkus froze, unmoving, feeling the cold rim of the barrel gradually warmed by its contact with his flesh. Beside him, he heard Jenny Callister choke back a scream—only a small mewing sound escaped her.
For Markus, everything was a blur, except for the blue-black pistol pressed against his forehead. Try as he might, he could focus on nothing else in the room. He heard Kormann’s voice as if it came from a long, long distance.
“Now, Jenny, tell me this: what’s the alarm signal for staff in this hotel?”
Jenny shook her head. Her eyes, like Markus’s, riveted to the gun against his head. “Signal” she said weakly, “I don’t understand.”
Kormann stepped toward her and took hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. Gently, he turned her face to his.
“Yes, you do,” he told her patiently. “Now, you know and we know that every hotel has a signal that’s used to alert staff to an emergency without alerting the customers. Remember? They taught it to you on your first week here?”
She nodded, remembering.
“Don’t tell them,” Markus managed to croak through his panic-dried throat.
He felt the pistol withdraw momentarily, then jab forward viciously almost immediately, slamming into his forehead with bruising force. His eyes closed involuntarily as he waited for the thunder of the detonation, the rush of darkness, then nothing. But it didn’t come.
The pain of the pistol pressed to his head remained. The sick heavingof his stomach was still there. The gun hadn’t been fired, he realized with an immense surge of relief.
“You keep your mouth shut,” Pallisani said, very quietly. He jabbed once more,
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