The Devil's Due

  I woke to the sound of car doors slamming and men shouting outside. The late afternoon sun cut through the window at a sharp angle, painting amber stripes across the floor. My stomach was cramped with hunger. When was the last time I'd eaten? Before I died? That was a strange thought to have.

  Nothing about this felt real. I was me, but I wasn't. The face in the shop window had been mine, but younger—unmarked by the years that should have been written across it. The hands I'd washed in the sink looked like they'd never held a gun, like they'd never had blood on them. But I remembered all of it. Every choice, every mistake, still sitting behind the same eyes I'd always had.

  The bath had helped. The sleep had helped more. At least my body was starting to respond like it was mine, even if nothing else made sense. I rolled out of bed and walked to the window.

  Three cars had pulled up outside.

  "Az, you miserable fuck, wake up and get your ass out here," I said in a half panic.

  "That's him," Az said, popping into existence on the windowsill. "The big fuck in the gray suit with the stupid mustache."

  I watched as a large man emerged from the middle car. He moved like he owned the world, shoulders back, chin up. Two men flanked him, carrying luggage. One of them held a brown leather bag.

  "Vincent Torrino," Az continued, his voice dripping with disgust. "Thinks he's God's gift to organized crime. Later tonight, I'm going to ride that sack of shit like a stolen bicycle."

  "Why him?" I asked, watching Torrino bark orders at his men.

  "Because he's connected. Because he's violent. Because he's exactly the kind of asshole who'd burn down a school full of kids if it served his purposes." Az's tiny face twisted into something ugly. "Plus, he's already a piece of shit. Possessing him is like putting on a perfectly tailored suit."

  Remy materialized beside us. "They're heading inside. The bag is being carried by the shorter man on his left."

  "All right," I said, stepping back from the window. "We need a plan. How far can you two actually move away from me?"

  "About fifty feet, give or take," Remy said. "The tether pulls stronger the farther we go. It becomes uncomfortable."

  "Painful," Az corrected. "It becomes painful. Like having your soul stretched on a rack."

  "But can you pass through walls? Scout ahead?"

  Both of them nodded.

  "Good. Here's what I'm thinking—"

  "Hold that thought, Mud." Az held up a tiny clawed hand. "Before you go all mastermind on us, you need to understand something about Torrino. In about ten minutes, he's going to go up to his room on the third floor. He's going to put that bag next to his bed, wash his face, change his shirt. Then—and this is the important part—he's going to leave. Him and his boys are meeting with the local crews at a speakeasy about six blocks from here."

  "For how long?"

  "About three hours, maybe four. They're hammering out territory disputes. When he comes back is when I make my move. That's when I possess him." Az's grin widened. "And that's when I discovered my bag was missing. I never did figure out who took it."

  "So we have a window. Three hours to get in and out."

  "Yeah," Az said. "And here's the thing about Torrino—paranoid bastard that he is—he insisted on keeping the adjacent rooms empty. He didn't want anyone having that kind of access to his space. So he paid for the rooms on either side of his and the one across the hall. He even demanded both keys for his room: the guest key and the master."

  "Yeah, but I bet he's never stayed at this hotel before, has he?" I said, finishing getting dressed and looking up at the little demon with a smile.

  "You could go through the shared bathroom," Remy said.

  "Exactly. And I know this guy's type. He thinks he's being smart, but I bet he only demanded the master key for his room—not the adjacent ones. So we'll just go in through the room next door, nice and quiet." I looked at both of them. "But first we need to get the clerk away from the desk."

  "You said you can pass through walls. Can you get into one of the empty rooms down the hall?"

  "Of course," Remy said.

  "Can you interact with things? Move stuff?"

  Az and Remy exchanged glances.

  "Small things," Remy said. "Light objects. It takes effort."

  "Like a sink plug? Or tap handles?" I asked?

  "That should be doable," Az said, catching on. "You want us to flood a room."

  "I want you to flood a room down the hall from here. Plug the sink, and turn on the taps, let it overflow. When I tell the clerk there's water in the hallway, he'll have to deal with it. That gets him away from the front desk and those keys."

  They both vanished through the wall. A few minutes later, Az popped back.

  "It's done. The water's rising fast. I'd give it about two minutes."

  We waited. Soon enough, I could see water seeping from under a door several rooms down the hall.

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  I headed down to the lobby. The desk clerk was there—the same kid from earlier, and behind him, rows of brass keys hung on the wall.

  "Excuse me," I said, approaching the desk. "There's water coming out from under one of the doors on the second floor. It’s making a real mess."

  The clerk's face went white. "Water? Which room?"

  "I think it's 218. I tried knocking to let them know, but nobody answered and there's water everywhere."

  "That room's empty!" He looked around frantically. "Oh God, Mr. Harrison's going to kill me if there's ceiling damage. Sir, would you mind watching the desk for just a moment? I'll be right back."

  He was already running for the stairs.

  As soon as he disappeared, I moved behind the counter. The keys were organized by floor. Sure enough, there was a master key for room 311—the room next to Torrino's 312. I reached up to grab it, but the key slipped from my fingers.

  Before it could hit the floor and give me away, I knocked the pencil cup over with my other hand. Pencils scattered across the counter and floor at the same time the key clattered down. I quickly put my foot over the key, hiding it from view.

  Heavy footsteps approached from the entrance.

  Vincent Torrino himself walked into the lobby, his two goons behind him. He looked exactly like the type of guy who enjoyed hurting people.

  "Where's the clerk?" Torrino demanded, his voice like gravel.

  "Plumbing emergency," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Up on the second floor. He asked me to watch the desk."

  Torrino stared at me, and I felt those dead eyes trying to peel back my skin and see what was underneath. "You don't look familiar."

  "Just got in today," I said. "From Chicago."

  "Chicago." He said it like he was tasting the word. "Who are you with?"

  My mind raced. Wrong answer here and I was dead for sure. "I'm not with anyone. I'm just in town on some personal business."

  "Personal business." Torrino stepped closer to the counter. "In my experience, there's no such thing as personal business. Everyone's with someone."

  "Sometimes a man just needs to get out of town for a while," I said, meeting his stare. "Lady troubles."

  That got a laugh from one of his boys. Torrino's mouth twitched—It might have been a smile, or it might have been disgust.

  "Lady troubles," he repeated, nodding slowly.

  "Sorry, I don't want any trouble. I'm friends with the owner's family, and he was trying to do me a favor. My in-laws are in town. My wife's mother's a real pain in the neck." Remembering the owner's name from my earlier conversation, I added, "Yeah, old Harrison thinks it's pretty funny too, but he knows the woman and took pity on me."

  That finally got a chuckle out of Torrino. "You guys hearing this kid? So your mother-in-law's coming to town and you ran for the hills. Listen, I booked up this entire place for myself and my associates, and I wasn't planning on sharing. But my mother-in-law's a piece of work too, so I get it. Just stay out of our way, okay?"

  "Mr. Torrino!" The clerk came running back, soaked and panicked. "I'm so sorry, sir. There was a leak, but I've got it stopped."

  I used the distraction to clean up the pencils and to slide the key into my pocket.

  "Are you a little nervous about something?" Torrino asked as I started gathering pencils. "I didn't get your name."

  “My name is Jay. Jay Smith."

  One of Torrino's thugs walked over and grabbed the registry book off the counter, sliding his finger down the page until he found my name. "Smith. Found him, boss. He's on the second floor."

  Torrino was still watching me. "You still look familiar. You sure we haven't met?"

  "I guess I've got one of those faces," I said.

  "Yeah," Torrino said slowly. "One of those faces." He turned to the clerk. "We're heading out. If anyone comes looking for me, they can wait here in the lobby."

  They headed for the door. Just before leaving, Torrino looked back at me one more time. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Smith."

  Then they were gone.

  I waited a full minute, making sure they were really gone. The clerk was already heading back toward the flooded room with a mop and bucket.

  "That was too close," Remy said.

  "We need to move fast," I said, keeping my voice low. "I bought us a little time, but I'm telling you right now, he's out there telling his thugs to shake me down or worse."

  We climbed the stairs to the third floor. The hallway was empty and quiet. Room 312 was dark and vacant.

  The key turned smoothly. Inside 311, the room was furnished but clearly unoccupied.

  The bathroom door was on the left wall. I opened it carefully. It was a Jack-and-Jill setup, just like in my room—one bathroom shared between two rooms, with a door on each side. The other door would lead to Torrino's room.

  I tried the handle. It turned, but the door wouldn't open. I could feel the resistance of a latch on the other side.

  "There's a latch," I said quietly. "Hook latch, probably. Same as the one in my room."

  "The blade," Remy suggested.

  I pulled out the ornate knife. The gap between the door and frame was just wide enough. I slid the blade through, felt it catch on the metal hook, and applied gentle upward pressure. The latch scraped, resisted, then popped free with a soft click.

  I eased the door open an inch, listening.

  The room beyond was empty. I stepped through into Torrino's room.

  There, right on the nightstand next to the bed, sat the brown leather bag.

  "Grab it and go," Az urged.

  I picked up the bag. It was heavier than I expected.

  I hurried back into the adjacent room. "Wait, we need to lock this bathroom door again. Make it look like it had been locked from the inside."

  I pulled the door closed. "I need you two to go back through and re-latch it from Torrino's side."

  A moment later, I heard the scrape and click of the hook sliding back into place. Az and Remy phased back through the wall.

  "Mud, you have no idea how much what you just did is going to frustrate me," Az said with a huge grin. "There's no way somebody could re-latch that door from the outside. Now I'm finally getting to find out how this was all pulled off."

  Back in the lobby, I could see the clerk was still mopping up water that had leaked down from the flooded room. The kid looked miserable, but the water was a perfect distraction.

  "Wow, that water really made a mess, didn't it?" I said as I passed by. "Hey, when I was behind the counter earlier, I left my key. Did you happen to grab it?"

  "Mr. Harrison's going to kill me if there's damage," the clerk said without looking up. "I haven't really had a chance to get behind the counter yet. You can go ahead and look for it there though."

  "Hey, thanks. I appreciate that. I hope everything works out," I said as I walked behind the counter, hooked the master key back on the wall, and made my way back to the stairs.

  "Hey I found it. I hope you have a better night," I said as I passed him on my way up to the second floor.

  Back in my room, I set the bag on the bed and forced it open.

  I dumped the contents out onto the bed. Fifties, twenties, and tens, along with an assortment of smaller bills and some change..

  "Twenty thousand," Az said with satisfaction. "Payment for a hundred cases of Minnesota 13 at two hundred a case. Enough to buy your way into anything in this town."

  "Az, what happens when he gets back and finds that bag missing?"

  "All hell breaks loose. I'll tear this place apart looking for that money. We need to be gone."

  I pulled the bag and all the money into my inventory. I grabbed my hat and jacket from the rack and made my way back downstairs one more time. The clerk was nowhere to be found, and we didn't bother looking for him either. Instead we slipped out of the hotel, disappearing into the darkening streets of 1920 St. Cloud, twenty thousand dollars richer.

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