There was a sliding glass door, which took Paine a few minutes to get through.
He went into the room, slid the door closed behind him. He walked to the bathroom, took a glass tumbler from its sterile wrapper, went into the bedroom and sat on the bed.
He put the glass open end to the wall over the bed and put his ear to the other end.
There was silence in the room next door, then a yawn.
"Shit," someone said in a hard whisper.
"Be quiet," a second voice said. "You've been complaining for two hours."
"Doesn't this fucker ever sleep? I'm hungry."
"You'll eat when we're finished."
"I'm hungry now."
"You should have brought something."
"I ate it an hour ago."
"Just be fucking quiet."
"It's uncomfortable, too. These chairs are uncomfortable."
The other one sighed loudly. "This is the last time I work with you, Martin."
Martin laughed. "You think I complain too much? Tell Gordon to transfer you. Fine with me, Sims."
"You did nothing but-"
"You hear something?" Martin said in a fierce whisper.
"I said shut up!"
There was silence; Paine heard someone walk by in the hallway outside, whistling. After a moment he heard the elevator doors open and then close. The whistling went away.
"Wasn't him," Martin said. "Where the hell is he?"
"Will you be quiet?"
"I told you I was hungry and uncomfortable. These chairs are uncomfortable."
Paine pulled the glass away from the wall, set it down on the table next to the bed. He picked up the phone, dialed room 417.
The phone rang awhile. Paine could imagine them arguing in the dark as to whether to pick it up or not. Finally, one of them did.
"Sims?" he said purposefully. "Gordon told me to tell you we've got him spotted across the street at the Marriott. Go downstairs. Tell Martin to wait outside the door, in the hallway. You hear me?"
Sims started to protest, but Paine said, "Gordon says now," and hung up the phone.
Paine went to the door and waited. There was a commotion next door, then the door opened and someone strode to the elevator, got on it, and was gone.
Paine opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, pretended to lock his own door. He walked quickly by Martin, standing in the hallway, turned and punched Martin in the face.
"Hey!" Martin protested, but Paine pushed him back through the door into his hotel room, punched him again, kicked the door closed behind him. Martin was feeling around his chest under his jacket, so Paine planted his fist in Martin's groin and Martin went down to the rug groaning. Paine pushed him back with his foot and went through Martin's jacket, coming up with a snub-nosed.38 in a shoulder holster. He put the gun to Martin's nose.
"Talk very clearly," Paine said, the adrenaline rush masking the pain that had flared when he'd punched Martin.
Martin was still groaning, so Paine made a deeper impression on Martin's nose with the barrel of the gun until Martin's eyes focused on him.
Paine said, "Are you FBI?"
Martin shook his head no.
"Who?"
"Bullshit," Paine said. He pushed the circle of steel harder into the side of Martin's nose. "Where's your ID?"
"Inside pocket, right side," Martin said.
Paine kept pressure on the gun, and reached into the jacket pocket opposite the holster. There was an ID there, identifying Raymond Martin, special agent, Drug Enforcement Agency.
"What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?" Paine said. Martin became silent.
"Tell me or I'll put another fucking nostril in your nose," Paine said.
"Waiting to talk to you."
"About what?"
"You're obstructing a drug investigation."
Paine pressed the gun hard into Martin's nose, waiting for more.
"We're looking for Robert Petty."
"Why?"
Martin became silent again.
Paine was going to threaten him again when he saw Martin's eyes focus from Paine to something behind him, and Paine felt the end of the barrel of someone else's.38 in his neck.
"Drop the gun, get up, put your hands on your head," Sims's voice said behind Paine.
Paine did what he was told.
Martin got up and smiled at Sims, who was nearly as heavy as Martin but wore the weight better. He was balding and wore rimless glasses and didn't smile.
"Does this mean we can eat?" Martin said cheerfully, pulling Paine's hands down behind his back to handcuff them.
"Just shut up, okay?"
Martin finished with the cuffs then came around to stand next to Sims and look at Paine. "He said he was going to put another nostril in my nose," Martin said, looking hurt.
Sims said to Paine, "You're in a bunch of trouble, shithead. 'Course it looks like someone already told your face that."
"Did you have a warrant to break into my hotel room?" Paine said, ignoring the comment. He wanted to lie down. Or die.
Sims smirked, taking two folded pieces of paper out of his pocket. "That, and another birthday surprise. I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of somebody named. ." He unfolded the paper and read from it.". . James Coleman, of Yonkers, New York." He smiled. "You're going back to New York, cop killer."
Martin smiled at Paine, turned to Sims. "Can we eat now, Jerry?" he asked.
23
Chief Bryers, with his car and driver, was waiting for Paine at LaGuardia Airport. As they pulled away from Sims and Martin, who had personally flown back with Paine and who stood smiling and waving at the curb outside the American Airlines terminal, Bryers removed Paine's handcuffs.
"Relax," Bryers said. "You're not being charged with anything."
Paine looked at him levelly; there seemed to be a hint of amusement on Bryers’ face behind the bureaucrat's veneer. "Then what am I doing here?"
"There was a time, for about twenty minutes yesterday, when you were directly connected with the murder of Jim Coleman."
"Who issued the warrant?"
Bryers smiled slightly. "I did. Let's just say I was politely asked to do it."
"By who?"
"The U.S. Attorney's office. And let's say he was asked by someone else above him."
"You were ordered to have me sent back to New York?" Bryers said,
"Asked." The chagrined smile remained.
"Don't you care about being jerked around?" Paine asked.
Bryers’ demeanor darkened. "That's not the way I'd put it."
"How would you put it?"
"Let's just say a lot has happened since yesterday. A lot of it I have you to thank for."
Paine waited for more.
Bryers suddenly smiled widely and slapped Paine on the knee. "You're a good man, Jack. You're honest, and you're tough. I'd like you to work for me."
"Didn't Coleman make me an unauthorized job offer a few days ago?"
"This is different. You've helped me clean up the whole department in less than a week, and I'd like to have you around for good. Rank of detective, second class, to start. We can talk about salary over drinks."
Paine studied Bryers’ face to see if he was joking. But Bryers didn't have the kind of face that joked.
Bryers said, "Don't you realize what you've done?"
"You did break into Coleman's house, didn't you? You left no prints but I know it was you."
After a moment, Paine said, "Yes."
"You didn't plant that stuff in the hutch drawer, did you?"
"It was there already."
Bryers almost laughed. "Well, don't you realize that Coleman's log contained the names of every crooked cop in the department, and half the dealers in Yonkers? That would have taken me months, maybe years, to get at. I've got ten indictments already, and another five in the works! And then the department's clean!"