with the big arrangement of red flowers, Bobby wheeled across the lobby to the Bell Captain’s desk and said to Victor, “The girl near the elevator. Find out if she’s expecting anybody.”
Victor looked beyond the flow of people and said, “You mean the skinny chick with the knockers and the big hair? I never seen her before in my life.”
“I didn’t ask you if you’ve seen her before. I said find out if she’s expecting anybody.”
Victor went to the reception desk. A minute or two later he came back to Bobby and said, “She’s meeting her husband up there, they’re staying the night.”
“I’m going up,” Bobby said.
“You hear what I said? The girl’s married.”
“Married my gimp ass. She wasn’t wearing a rock — she had some other weird fucking ring on her finger.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not married.”
“I’m telling you, there’s something going on with her.”
“Look, let’s just wait for a real escort to come along.”
Bobby, looking at Victor in that dorky bellhop uniform, wondering if something had really happened to the guy’s balls, if they fell off in the chemo or something, said, “Just get me the key to that girl’s room.”
“Come on,” Victor said. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Look, if this is gonna work you’re gonna have to trust me. You know I wouldn’t do anything stupid, right?”
“Hey, I’m not calling anybody stupid, but you said we were gonna go after pros.”
“I’m telling you, I have a hunch about this girl. She looked scared, the way she kept playing with her hair. If she’s not a pro, I bet she’s cheating on her old man or the guy’s cheating on his old lady. We could make a mint with one good picture. I know when something’s off and this smells to hog heaven, they’re cheating, on someone.”
“Whatever,” Victor said. “But I’m telling you — I think you’re making a big mistake.”
When Victor came back with a maid’s plastic keycard Bobby said, “So what name did they register under?”
“Brown,” Victor said.
“See? Now tell me that isn’t a bullshit name. I’m telling you, stick with me and you’re gonna go places.”
Bobby got off the elevator on the eighteenth floor. He wheeled himself one direction, took a few towels from a maid’s cart, then went back the other way to room 1812. He could hear Mr. Brown’s moaning from two doorsaway. Fuck, you could of heard him in Queens. After making sure the coast was clear, he slipped the keycard Victor had given him into the lock and slowly pushed the door open.
Room 1812 was long and narrow, with the bed against the wall at the far end. The light on the night table was on so Bobby had a clear view of the action, which was good because the light from the hallway didn’t make it too far into the room. Bobby went about halfway over the threshold and gently let the door rest against his chair. Then he raised his camera with a towel over it, the lens peeking out underneath.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown were going at it, but all the noise was coming from Mr. Brown — Mrs. Brown wasn’t making a peep. As Bobby snapped a few quick shots, he had a feeling that he knew Mr. Brown from somewhere. Then he remembered seeing him pass by in the lobby earlier in the night. But downstairs the guy had had curly blond hair and now he was nearly bald. He almost muttered, The fuck happened to you?
Mr. Brown must’ve heard the snapping camera or seen Bobby out of the corner of his eye because he looked up and after staring at Bobby for a couple of seconds said, “Hey, what the hell?”
Bobby let the corner of the towel drop over the camera’s lens.
“Jeez, I’m sorry, mister,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. I just came to bring you your towels—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Mr. Brown shouted.
Wheeling toward the bathroom, Bobby said, “It’ll only take a minute, mister. I gotta put fresh towels in every room two times a day or they
Victor looked beyond the flow of people and said, “You mean the skinny chick with the knockers and the big hair? I never seen her before in my life.”
“I didn’t ask you if you’ve seen her before. I said find out if she’s expecting anybody.”
Victor went to the reception desk. A minute or two later he came back to Bobby and said, “She’s meeting her husband up there, they’re staying the night.”
“I’m going up,” Bobby said.
“You hear what I said? The girl’s married.”
“Married my gimp ass. She wasn’t wearing a rock — she had some other weird fucking ring on her finger.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not married.”
“I’m telling you, there’s something going on with her.”
“Look, let’s just wait for a real escort to come along.”
Bobby, looking at Victor in that dorky bellhop uniform, wondering if something had really happened to the guy’s balls, if they fell off in the chemo or something, said, “Just get me the key to that girl’s room.”
“Come on,” Victor said. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Look, if this is gonna work you’re gonna have to trust me. You know I wouldn’t do anything stupid, right?”
“Hey, I’m not calling anybody stupid, but you said we were gonna go after pros.”
“I’m telling you, I have a hunch about this girl. She looked scared, the way she kept playing with her hair. If she’s not a pro, I bet she’s cheating on her old man or the guy’s cheating on his old lady. We could make a mint with one good picture. I know when something’s off and this smells to hog heaven, they’re cheating, on someone.”
“Whatever,” Victor said. “But I’m telling you — I think you’re making a big mistake.”
When Victor came back with a maid’s plastic keycard Bobby said, “So what name did they register under?”
“Brown,” Victor said.
“See? Now tell me that isn’t a bullshit name. I’m telling you, stick with me and you’re gonna go places.”
Bobby got off the elevator on the eighteenth floor. He wheeled himself one direction, took a few towels from a maid’s cart, then went back the other way to room 1812. He could hear Mr. Brown’s moaning from two doorsaway. Fuck, you could of heard him in Queens. After making sure the coast was clear, he slipped the keycard Victor had given him into the lock and slowly pushed the door open.
Room 1812 was long and narrow, with the bed against the wall at the far end. The light on the night table was on so Bobby had a clear view of the action, which was good because the light from the hallway didn’t make it too far into the room. Bobby went about halfway over the threshold and gently let the door rest against his chair. Then he raised his camera with a towel over it, the lens peeking out underneath.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown were going at it, but all the noise was coming from Mr. Brown — Mrs. Brown wasn’t making a peep. As Bobby snapped a few quick shots, he had a feeling that he knew Mr. Brown from somewhere. Then he remembered seeing him pass by in the lobby earlier in the night. But downstairs the guy had had curly blond hair and now he was nearly bald. He almost muttered, The fuck happened to you?
Mr. Brown must’ve heard the snapping camera or seen Bobby out of the corner of his eye because he looked up and after staring at Bobby for a couple of seconds said, “Hey, what the hell?”
Bobby let the corner of the towel drop over the camera’s lens.
“Jeez, I’m sorry, mister,” he said. “I’m really, really sorry. I just came to bring you your towels—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Mr. Brown shouted.
Wheeling toward the bathroom, Bobby said, “It’ll only take a minute, mister. I gotta put fresh towels in every room two times a day or they
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