Hit List

“I’ve already got a room,” Keller said. “That’s not the problem.”

The young man’s face showed relief, but only for a moment. That’s not the problem-if it wasn’t, something else was, and now he was going to hear about it, and be called upon to deal with it.

“Uh,” he said.

“I’m in One forty-seven,” Keller said, “and whoever’s in the room directly upstairs of me, which I guess would be Two forty-seven-“

“Yes, that’s how it works.”

“I think they’re having a party,” Keller said. “Or butchering a steer, or something.”

“Butchering a steer?”

“Probably not that,” Keller allowed, “but the point is they’re being noisy about it, whatever it is they’re doing. I mean really noisy.”

“Oh.” The clerk’s gaze fell to the counter, where he seemed to find something fascinating on the few inches of Formica between his two hands. “There haven’t been any other complaints,” he said.

“Well, I hate to be first,” Keller said, “but then I’m probably the only guest with a room directly under theirs, and that might have something to do with it.”

The fellow was nodding. “The walls between the units are concrete block,” he said, “and you never hear a peep through them. But I can’t say the same for the floors. If you’ve got a noisy party upstairs, some sound does filter through.”

“This is a noisy party, all right. It wouldn’t be out of line to call it a riot.”

“Oh.”

“Or a civil disturbance, anyway. And filter’s not the word for it. It comes through unfiltered, loud and clear.”

“Have you, uh, spoken to them about it?”

“I thought I’d speak to you.”

“Oh.”

“And you could speak to them.”

The clerk swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Two forty-seven,” he said, and thumbed a box of file cards, and nodded, and swallowed again. “I thought so. They have a car.”

“This is a motel,” Keller said. “Who comes here on foot?”

“What I mean, I took one look at them and thought they were bikers. Like Hell’s Angels? But they came in a car.”

He was silent, and Keller could tell how much he wanted to ask a roomful of outlaw bikers to keep it down. “Look,” he said, “nobody has to talk to them. Just put me in another room.”

“Didn’t I say, when you first walked in? We’re full up. The No Vacancy sign’s been lit for hours.”

“Oh, right.”

“So I don’t know what to tell you. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Well, unless you wanted to call in a complaint to the police. Those guys might pay a little more attention to the cops than to you or me.”

Just what he wanted. Officer, could you tell the Hell’s Angels upstairs to pipe down? I’ve got urgent business in your town and I need my rest. My name? Well, it’s different from the one I’m registered under. The nature of my business? Well, I’d rather not say. And the gun on the bedside table is unregistered, and that’s why I didn’t leave it in the car, and don’t ask me whose car it is, but the registration’s in the glove compartment.

“That’s a little abrupt,” he said. “Think how you’d feel if somebody called the cops on you without any warning.”

“Oh.”

“And if they figured out who called them-“

“I could call the Clarion,” the clerk offered. “At the next interchange? But my guess is they’re full up by now.”

It was a little late to be driving around looking for a room. Keller told him not to bother. “Maybe they’ll make it an early night,” he said, “or maybe I’ll get used to it. You wouldn’t happen to have some ear plugs in one of those drawers, would you?”

The bikers didn’t make it an early night, nor did Keller have much success getting used to the noise. The clerk hadn’t had ear plugs, or known where they might be available. The nearest drugstore was closed for the night, and he didn’t know where Keller might find one open. Would a 7-Eleven be likely to stock ear plugs? He didn’t know, and neither did Keller.

After another hour of biker bedlam, Keller was about ready to find out for himself. He’d finished recording his new stamps in his catalog, but found the operation less diverting than usual. The noise from above kept intruding. With the job done and the stamps and catalog tucked away, he found a movie on television and kicked the volume up a notch. It didn’t drown out the din from upstairs, but it did let him make out what William Holden was saying to Debra Paget.

There was no point, he found, in hitting the Mute button during the commercials, because he needed the TV sound to cancel out the bikers. And what good was TV if you couldn’t mute the commercials?

He watched as much of the movie as he could bear, then got into bed. Eventually he got up, moistened scraps of toilet paper, made balls of them, and stuffed them in his ears. His ears felt strange-why wouldn’t they, for God’s sake? But he got used to it, and the near silence was almost thrilling.

Three

Keller awoke to the faint sound of a phone ringing in the apartment next to his. Fu

He sat up, shook off the mantle of sleep, and realized he wasn’t in his apartment, and that the telephone ringing ever so faintly was right there on the bedside table, its little red bubble lighting up every time it rang. And just what, he wondered, was the point of that? So that deaf guests would be aware that the phone was ringing? What good would it do them? What could they do about it, pick up the receiver and wiggle their fingers at the mouthpiece?

He answered the phone and couldn’t hear a thing. “Speak up,” he said. “Is anybody there?” Then he realized he had little balls of toilet paper in his ears. “Hell,” he said. “Just hold on a minute, will you?” He put the receiver down next to the gun and dug the wads of paper out of his ears. They had dried, of course, rather like papier mвchй, and it took some doing to get them out. He thought whoever it was would have hung up by then, but no, his caller was still there.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but we’ve got you down for a room change. A second-floor unit? Housekeeping just finished with your new room, and I thought you might want to pick up the key and transfer your luggage.”

He looked at his watch and was astonished to note that it was past ten. The noise had kept him up late and the toilet-paper-induced silence had kept him sleeping. He showered and shaved, and it was eleven o’clock by the time he’d packed his things and moved to Room 210.

Once you were inside it with the door closed, the new room was indistinguishable from the one he’d just vacated. The same twin double beds, the same desk and dresser, the same two prints-a fisherman wading in a stream, a boy herding sheep-on the same concrete-block walls. Its second-floor front location, on the other hand, was the precise opposite of where he’d been.

Years ago a Cuban had told him always to room on the ground floor, in case he had to jump out the window. The Cuban, it turned out, was acting less on tradecraft than on a fairly severe case of acrophobia, so Keller had largely discounted the advice. Still, old habits died hard, and when offered a choice he usually took the ground floor.

Way his luck was ru

After breakfast he drove into downtown Louisville and left the car in a parking ramp, the gun locked in the glove compartment. There was a security desk in the lobby of Hirschhorn’s office building. Keller didn’t figure it would be too much of a challenge, but he couldn’t see the point. There would be other people in Hirschhorn’s office, and then he’d have to ride down on the elevator and fetch the car from where he’d parked it. He exited the lobby, walked around for twenty minutes, then collected his car and drove over the bridge into Indiana. He rode around long enough to get lost and straightened out again, then stopped at a convenience store to top up the gas tank and use the phone.