that code since I started working here? Too many to count, that's for sure. The suited man followed. Danny trailed behind, like a child on his first day at school.
Through the door, the corridor stretched off with rooms on either side. The carpet was red, but the pile was not as high as it had been when Malvin started working there. In those days the hotel still showed signs of the five-star accommodation it once boasted, he remembered.
“I take it you've brought protection, sir?” Malvin asked Andrew, who was keeping pace to his right.
“Yes. Yes, I have.” The man patted his jacket pocket.
“Good. Rule one: Protection must be worn at all times. Exchange of bodily fluids can turn you into one of those things and that would be an inconvenience for both of us.” And you'd have to be slightly insane to not use protection. “Our merchandise still have their teeth – makes them look nice – so don't go sticking your tongue in there. That's rule two, and it’s for the same reasons we discussed in rule one.” Malvin pushed open a door and then climbed a stairwell. “We used to have a lift, but it stopped working a few years back. Took us two days to rescue its occupants.”
“Glad we're walking, then,” Andrew said. “Are we nearly there?”
“Second floor. Rule three: No weird shit. Mutilation of the merchandise is not permitted.”
“Okay.” A quiver infected the suited man's voice. “You won’t have any trouble from me.”
“Rule four: Allotted time is thirty minutes. If you want more time, you pay for it.”
“What happens if the thing gets loose?”
They reached the second floor and Malvin stopped at the top of the stairwell. “The merchandise is chained to the bed by its wrists and ankles. The bed is made of cast iron and bolted to the floor. There's no way the thing can get loose.”
“That's reassuring.”
Malvin pushed open another door and then stopped. “Just have fun, sir. And we'll see you in half an hour.”
“Are we here?”
“Yes.” Malvin nodded to a door. Two golden numbers were mounted on the front. “Room nineteen.” The number nine was slightly skewed. He made a mental note to fix it later. “Your time starts from when I lock you in.” Malvin pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and then pushed the door inwards. He held his breath, knowing from experience the room would smell of rotting flesh.
The suited man didn't seem to mind. He walked into the room and didn't turn back. A snarl rose from the semi-darkness, like a dog suspicious of an intruder. Malvin closed the door, turned the key, and then exhaled the breath he'd been holding.
“Sure does honk in there,” Danny said.
Malvin was standing with one hand on the corridor wall taking deep lungfuls of air. “Give me a minute.”
Danny turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “Three forty-five.”
“Set your alarm for twenty-five minutes.” Once Malvin's breathing had steadied, they set off back to reception. “The longer a man's in there, the more trouble they're likely to get themselves into. We had one man who took just twenty-six minutes to decide he was in love. We found him trying to give the thing an affectionate cuddle. He was lucky it didn't chew his ear off.”
Once they'd resumed their seated positions behind the reception desk, Malvin checked the paperwork. Andrew Lansbury. “Lansbury. That name rings a bell.”
“I think I had a friend called Lansbury once,” Danny said, chewing on the end of a pencil. “He was in the shelter with me, the one on George Street. There was a security breach, though, and we all got moved. Never saw him again after that.”
Malvin flapped a hand at Danny and told him to shush. “Get me the shipment papers from three weeks ago.”
“Shipment papers? What are those?”
“They're in the filing cabinet behind you. Middle draw.”
Danny turned and pulled open the draw. He ran a finger along the cardboard sleeves, reading the labels on each tab. “Three weeks ago, you say?”
“Yes. Hurry up.”
Danny plucked a wad of papers from one of the sleeves and then dropped them on the desk in front of Malvin. “What are you looking for?”
Malvin licked the ends of his thumb and index fingers and leafed through the papers. “We have to keep a record of all the merchandise we bring in. Some are strays, of course, so we don't have much information on who they are, but others–” Shit!
“What's the matter? You've gone a funny shade of dead.”
“Where did Andrew Lansbury say he was from?”
“The other side of town. Savini Street, I think he said.”
Shit! “Shit!” Malvin stood, knocking the chair over.
“What? What is it?”
“The merchandise. The one in room nineteen. It was called Barbara Lansbury when it was alive. It was found at sixty-eight Savini Street.”
“So . . .” Danny continued to chew the end of the pencil. This one's got less brain cells than the merchandise.
“The thing in the room with him was his wife.” It all makes sense. Blonde, blue eyes, five foot seven. He was so specific about what he wanted. “I think he intends to break her out. Did you frisk him?”
“Frisk him?” Danny stood; the pencil fell from the corner of his mouth and landed on the floor with a tinny clatter. “What do you mean frisk him?”
“I mean frisk him.” Malvin patted Danny from his shoulders to his legs, demonstrating what he meant.
“You didn't tell me to frisk him,” Danny said in a louder, slightly aggressive, voice.
Malvin could feel his chest tightening. “You were meant to frisk him. It says so in the paperwork I gave you.”
“What paperwork?”
“You didn't read the paperwork?”
“You didn't give me any paperwork.”
Malvin slapped a hand to his forehead. “Shit!”
“Well, let's go get him.”
“No, no, no. We'll have to call security.”
Just then there was a scream from the upper floors. A man's scream. Malvin looked over his shoulder at the door leading to the upstairs rooms and then back to Danny.
“Shall I go shout the guards?” Danny had turned a ghastly shade of white. He made to stand.
“No!” Malvin snapped. “They'll hang us for this.” Or worse. “Let's go and see if we can sort this problem ourselves.” A deep dread had affected Malvin's stomach. All he wanted to do was puke and then run far away from this godforsaken place. He composed himself, though, knowing it was a problem he had to sort. I need this job. “Let's go take a look.”
By the time they reached the stairwell the screaming had fallen silent. Malvin crept up the stairs, with Danny lagging behind. Our footfalls are too loud. He put a shaking finger to his lips and turned to Danny. The lad nodded in agreement; they took the rest of the steps on tiptoes.
Upon reaching the top, Malvin turned to Danny and whispered: “We'll go to the door there on the landing and peek through the window.”
Danny, who looked more like the merchandise with every passing second, nodded. Keeping low, Malvin moved towards the door. My back is going to kill in the morning. I'm too old for this. He slowly lifted his head to the window and took a sharp intake of breath at the sight that greeted him. Andrew Lansbury was standing in the corridor beyond, foam dripping from his constantly chattering mouth. He was behaving erratically, looking left and then right as if torn as to which way to turn. The door to the room behind him – room nineteen – was open and off its hinges. Where's the merchandise?
Malvin leant against the wall and let his back slide down it until he was sitting on the floor. “Shit, shit, shit!” He banged the back of his head against the wall with every expletive. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“What?” Danny said, squatting. “What is it?”
“Take a look.” Malvin motioned to the door.
Danny stood and peeked through the glass. “Oh shit.”
“We're doomed, Danny Boy. We might as well stand against the
wall ready for the firing squad.”
“What do you think happened?”
Do I really need to explain? “He probably had some sort of tool concealed in his clothing. I guess he cut the thing's chains and let it loose. He probably thought it would remember who he was. But merchandise don't think, Danny Boy. Not like you and I. Everything's gone from up there in their head; only primal instincts remain.”
“So . . . will he just stand there in the corridor?”
“He? It's not a he anymore – it's a thing! And it will stay right there until it sees us. When it does, it'll try and eat us.” Malvin put his head in his hands. I liked this job. I actually liked this job.
“Then . . . how do we kill it?”
“The brain. You've got to hit them in the brain.” Malvin got to his feet. He looked around for something to use as a weapon. His eyes rested upon a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. That's it. “Danny Boy, I've got a job for you.” He lifted the fire extinguisher from the wall. “You're going to hit that thing with this.”
“Will it kill it?” Danny didn't look convinced.
“Use it to knock it to the floor, then hit it in the head with it over and over again.” Malvin demonstrated.
“And what are you going to do?”
“I'll hold the door and watch your back. The merchandise is probably still loose in the hotel room, don't forget.”
Danny ran his hands through his shortly cropped hair. Malvin waited for an answer. Come on, son. You can save both of our arses here.
“Okay,” Danny said. “I'll do it.”
“That's my boy.” Malvin slapped Danny on the back, feeling a sense of relief, and then handed him the fire