fucking idiot. Our friends, they’re all bit up. So am I. Itches like a sonofabitch.”
Puzzle pieces finally started snapping together for Lee.
Phil saw the light of understanding finally dawn on Lee’s face. “First, get on the phone with the manager. I want eggs and oysters and Bloody Marys in their rooms five minutes ago. Make sure those guys are taken care of. Next, get Dr. Preston up here immediately. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I gotta go back and get some ointment on these rashes. Tell the manager to meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes, but I’ll stop by the rooms first, see if I can’t calm the old bastards down.”
“Okay.” Lee looked back at his whore. “Call that pimp. He needs to escort his property from my room. Stupid bitch got drunk and fell out of the tub.”
C HAPTER 12
9:10 AM
December 28
Two men and a dog moved in a halting shuffle along the wide corridor. The beagle, Daisy, padded silently along and stopped at the sixth doorway. The two men froze and held their breath. The dog nosed the door open and pushed inside. They followed her inside. Daisy sniffed and pawed at the crumpled sheets that lay at the foot of the bed in the vast suite, gave one short bark, and promptly sat down.
“What does that mean?” Mr. Ullman, the general manager asked. He was a sweating, pallid man in his mid-fifties who demanded that the employees call him Mr. Ullman, never by his first name. He looked like he might be sick any minute.
Daisy’s handler, Roger Bickle, was a round little man dressed in a white uniform with a red bow tie. He knelt down and peeled up the fitted sheet from the mattress. Using a pen flashlight, he lifted the edge of the mattress and examined the seams. Daisy barked again.
“What does that mean?” Mr. Ullman asked again, impatience cracking his voice. “Why is he doing that?”
“It’s a ‘she,’ sir, and it means that we have a positive result.”
“Positive? So that is . . .” Mr. Ullman was clearly overwhelmed and confused. He refused to give up the hope that a positive result meant that his rooms were pest-free.
The exterminator shook his head. “It’s not a good thing, sir. I’m sorry.” He stood, grim and apologetic, hoping his professional appearance would reassure the general manager. Roger secretly liked wearing his company’s uniform. He went along with the usual bitching and moaning about the ridiculous outfit in the locker room, but every morning, he felt proud to clip on the bow tie. He believed the uniform carried authority, and had a calming effect on clients.
He circled the bed, pulling up the fitted sheet as he went. “I’m afraid to inform you that Daisy has given us a positive sign. And what that means, sir, is that you have an infestation of bedbugs.” He swept the pen light along the seams in the mattress and focused on a spot near the headboard. “Yes. Here we are. You can clearly see a physical presence right here.”
Mr. Ullman got closer, put on his glasses, and stooped over, peering at the circle of light. He saw brown spots dotting the fabric and what looked like tiny, finely crumbled scabs. “What is it?” he finally asked.
“Bedbug fecal matter,” Roger said with no small amount of satisfaction. For a moment, he thought the general manager might actually vomit. “See, what happens is—”
“Please, I don’t need to know.” Mr. Ullman sank back onto the leather couch. “All I want to know is how to get rid of them. Quickly and quietly.”
“They might be in the couch too,” Roger pointed out helpfully.
Mr. Ullman leapt to his feet and swatted at the tail of his suit coat. He looked like he was about to cry. Instead, he fingered his tie.
Roger grunted and pulled the mattress sideways about a foot. Lying on the floor, he shone the pen light on the underside of the mattress. “Yes, sir. There is most definitely an infestation of bedbugs here.” He pinched something tiny between his thumb and forefinger. It
Puzzle pieces finally started snapping together for Lee.
Phil saw the light of understanding finally dawn on Lee’s face. “First, get on the phone with the manager. I want eggs and oysters and Bloody Marys in their rooms five minutes ago. Make sure those guys are taken care of. Next, get Dr. Preston up here immediately. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I gotta go back and get some ointment on these rashes. Tell the manager to meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes, but I’ll stop by the rooms first, see if I can’t calm the old bastards down.”
“Okay.” Lee looked back at his whore. “Call that pimp. He needs to escort his property from my room. Stupid bitch got drunk and fell out of the tub.”
C HAPTER 12
9:10 AM
December 28
Two men and a dog moved in a halting shuffle along the wide corridor. The beagle, Daisy, padded silently along and stopped at the sixth doorway. The two men froze and held their breath. The dog nosed the door open and pushed inside. They followed her inside. Daisy sniffed and pawed at the crumpled sheets that lay at the foot of the bed in the vast suite, gave one short bark, and promptly sat down.
“What does that mean?” Mr. Ullman, the general manager asked. He was a sweating, pallid man in his mid-fifties who demanded that the employees call him Mr. Ullman, never by his first name. He looked like he might be sick any minute.
Daisy’s handler, Roger Bickle, was a round little man dressed in a white uniform with a red bow tie. He knelt down and peeled up the fitted sheet from the mattress. Using a pen flashlight, he lifted the edge of the mattress and examined the seams. Daisy barked again.
“What does that mean?” Mr. Ullman asked again, impatience cracking his voice. “Why is he doing that?”
“It’s a ‘she,’ sir, and it means that we have a positive result.”
“Positive? So that is . . .” Mr. Ullman was clearly overwhelmed and confused. He refused to give up the hope that a positive result meant that his rooms were pest-free.
The exterminator shook his head. “It’s not a good thing, sir. I’m sorry.” He stood, grim and apologetic, hoping his professional appearance would reassure the general manager. Roger secretly liked wearing his company’s uniform. He went along with the usual bitching and moaning about the ridiculous outfit in the locker room, but every morning, he felt proud to clip on the bow tie. He believed the uniform carried authority, and had a calming effect on clients.
He circled the bed, pulling up the fitted sheet as he went. “I’m afraid to inform you that Daisy has given us a positive sign. And what that means, sir, is that you have an infestation of bedbugs.” He swept the pen light along the seams in the mattress and focused on a spot near the headboard. “Yes. Here we are. You can clearly see a physical presence right here.”
Mr. Ullman got closer, put on his glasses, and stooped over, peering at the circle of light. He saw brown spots dotting the fabric and what looked like tiny, finely crumbled scabs. “What is it?” he finally asked.
“Bedbug fecal matter,” Roger said with no small amount of satisfaction. For a moment, he thought the general manager might actually vomit. “See, what happens is—”
“Please, I don’t need to know.” Mr. Ullman sank back onto the leather couch. “All I want to know is how to get rid of them. Quickly and quietly.”
“They might be in the couch too,” Roger pointed out helpfully.
Mr. Ullman leapt to his feet and swatted at the tail of his suit coat. He looked like he was about to cry. Instead, he fingered his tie.
Roger grunted and pulled the mattress sideways about a foot. Lying on the floor, he shone the pen light on the underside of the mattress. “Yes, sir. There is most definitely an infestation of bedbugs here.” He pinched something tiny between his thumb and forefinger. It
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