The Heist by Janet Evanovich Page A

three toilet stalls on the other. One stall, the farthest from the door and set against the back wall, had an “Out of Service” sign taped to its door. No surprise there. This wasn’t exactly a restroom at the Ritz.
    Odell went to the first stall and opened the door. There was a toilet paper holder and a toilet seat cover dispenser mounted on the partition between the stalls. He checked out the toilet, looking inside the tank and peering behind it, to make sure there wasn’t a gun or a knife hidden there for Nick by some confederate. He did the same check in the center stall, then went to the third, the one that was out of service. There was no toilet inside the third stall, just a hole in the floor where it was supposed to go. Satisfied that the restroom was safe, Odell went back to the door, grabbed Nick by the shoulders, and yanked him inside.
    “You two stay here,” Odell said to the other marshals. “Nobody comes in. Even if the governor himself drops by to take a whiz. You got it?”
    They nodded. Odell closed the door, dragged Nick to the center stall, and shoved him in.
    “Make it quick,” Odell said.
    Nick held out his wrists. “Aren’t you going to uncuff me?”
    “Nope,” Odell said.
    “So how am I supposed to clean myself?”
    “Should’ve thought of that before you broke the law,” Odell said, and closed the door.
    Technically, Odell probably should have left the door open, but the last thing he wanted was to watch Nick do his business. Turnedout he’d made a wise decision, because barely an instant after the door closed, Odell heard a gastrointestinal explosion that sounded like it could kill a man.
    Odell turned away and quickly put as much distance as he could between himself and the stall, which took him over to the urinals. Since he was there anyway, he decided to relieve himself. The “Theme from
Shaft
” played in his head as it always did whenever his zipper was opened. But the song wasn’t loud enough to save Odell, no matter how high he cranked up his mental volume control. The noise coming from Nick’s stall was epic. Odell wished he could walk out and wait with the other two marshals in the hall, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t worried about Nick escaping from a windowless room with only one door, but what if he offed himself somehow?
    Odell went to the sink, glancing at the stalls on his way. He could see Nick’s feet, the orange scrub pants bunched around the chain on his ankles. The orchestra of intestinal distress continued, with special emphasis on the horns and percussion. It was sickening. Odell held his breath and washed his hands, then dried them with a paper towel and glanced at his watch. They were five minutes late for court already. But what could he do about it? Worse came to worst, he’d have one of the marshals go and notify the court. Maybe he should tell them to alert a HazMat team, too.
    There was a new surge of digestive distress, as if Nick had found a second stomach within himself to disgorge. To Odell’s horror, the disgusting melody was repeating itself all over again, from the top.
    That last thought nagged at him. It
did
sound the same. Then again, he figured, it’s not like there was a lot of variation to buttmusic. Even so, there was a disturbing familiarity to it. Like it was a loop. Odell risked a breath through his nose. There was no smell. How could that be? Odell glanced over at the stall and saw Nick’s feet. He marched over and hammered his fist on the door.
    “Open up,” Odell said.
    When Nick didn’t respond, Odell took a deep breath and kicked the door open. Nick’s shoes, chain, and pants were there, but Nick was gone. An ultrathin MP3 player rested on the toilet tank and played the intestinal soundtrack. Right beside the player was a pair of handcuffs. The MP3 player and the cuff keys must have been hidden in the toilet seat cover dispenser.
    Odell pushed against the partition between the second and third stall, the