Free Weekend by Andrew Neiderman, Tania Grossinger Page B

basement entrance and will be ready to drive them to the city as soon as you’re through asking questions. Don’t bother explaining why you’re asking. I’ll take care of that.”
    “They’re probably not going to like being whisked away like that.”
    “Don’t worry, that’s my problem. I’ll make it worth their while. Just give me a few minutes alone with them before they leave. I’ll also take care of Halloran.”
    Bruce nodded. For reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he was suspicious of all this cooperation. Then he went back into the room with the Puerto Ricans. Jonathan remained in the hall. He took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling the smoke slowly.
    Just lucky, he thought, that he had come down to Halloran’s office when he did. This medical hustler might’ve really fucked things up by making his own arrangements. New York hospitals, isolation, specimens, all this noise over nothing. No one else in the whole hotel was complaining of stomach ailments and here this Solomon was, panicking over a chambermaid and two Puerto Rican dishwashers. Even if the Chinaman did have cholera, and he strongly doubted it now, it was obviously a one-shot.
    He’d send Margret and the two spics to New York, all right, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be to any hospital. “I’ll give them each a hundred bucks,” he mumbled to himself, “and tell them to take a few days off … at least until after the weekend. By then this imaginary crisis will have ended and it won’t have made a damn difference. It’s the only way to handle it.”
    He hurried on to speak to Halloran and give instructions to his driver.
    He was proud of the way he took control of the situation. He could imagine what Ellen Golden might have done; probably burst into hysterics and then close the place for a week “just to be sure,” cost and reputation be damned. He smiled smugly, feeling quite justified in his drive to wrest control from her.

five
    Nick Martin took a copy of the
Congressional Record
, the hotel’s daily gossip sheet, from the pile on the reservation desk and waited for the receptionist to get off the phone. Though he had checked in just after the crowd had peaked, he was impressed with how professional and efficient the office staff was. It came as a surprise because when his associates had investigated the business practices of other Catskill resorts, they discovered that the various pressures associated with the summer season resulted in a great deal of inefficiency and waste. Management overbooked, overserved, overspent and simply accepted the losses as an inevitable part of their overhead, practices his backers wouldn’t tolerate for a moment once they were in control.
    “I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “but Mr. Lawrence isn’t in his office right now. I left your name.”
    “Thank you.” The receptionist smiled and eyed the diamond pinky ring on his right hand. He put the copy of the newsletter back neatly. She was fascinated by the deportment of this man. Missing was the frenzied, nervous anxiety that most guests projected when they first checked in. Despite the heat and humidity, he stood smooth and unruffled, looking for all intents and purposes as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Light blue was an excellent color for him, contrasting as it did with his dark, Mediterranean features. He was obviously not a run-of-the-mill guest.
    “Is that the bar over there?” he asked, gesturing toward the Pelican Lounge. Soft piano music drifted out from the long room with its subdued lighting.
    “Yes, sir, the Pelican Lounge.”
    “What’s the owner, a bird lover or something? I see in the newsletter they call two of the buildings the Robin’s Nest and the Cardinal Cottage.”
    “I don’t know, sir,” she said, obviously considering the question for the first time. Nick smiled at her expression and walked across the lobby to the lounge. He hesitated in the doorway.