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Castillo chose not to respond. Instead, he said, “Don’t get us pinched for speeding, Ricardo, but the sooner we get there, the better.”
Castillo had seen the Sheraton Pilar Hotel before and remembered where it was, but he had never paid much attention to it. Now he wanted to.
“Drive real slow when you get close to the hotel, Ricardo,” he ordered.
Solez missed the turn off of Route 8. They now would have to go to the next exit, by the Jumbo shopping center, cross the highway on an overpass, and approach the hotel by a service road.
Castillo kept himself from snapping at Solez and was glad he had when he realized that it was probably a good thing Solez had missed the turn. Now they’d have a chance to look over the hotel and the approaches to it more slowly.
As they came close to the Sheraton Pilar Hotel and Convention Center, a fairly new brick-walled structure four or five stories high, Castillo saw, in a line of small businesses, a glass-fronted store with ECO LAUNDRY AND DRY CLEANING on the window. There were two white vans like the one Davidson had told him Bradley had chased around Mayerling on his bicycle.
Hell, better safe than sorry. Davidson did the right thing.
When they turned into the hotel’s driveway two hundred yards later, Castillo saw that the outside parking lot Pevsner had mentioned was to the left of the main entrance to the atrium lobby. To the right was another entrance that looked deserted.
That one, Castillo decided after a moment, was obviously the convention entrance to the Hotel and Convention Center. There was a small sign with an arrow pointing to the underground garage.
There was a rather steep down ramp. When Solez took a time-stamped parking ticket from a machine at the bottom, a fragile-looking barrier pole rose, giving them access.
That barrier wouldn’t keep anybody out of here, but it probably sets off an alarm if somebody goes through it.
The low-ceilinged garage was not crowded, maybe fifty, sixty vehicles. There was room for at least twice that many cars.
Strange. It’s the dinner hour. It should be nearly full. Answer: This garage was designed to handle convention traffic. Obviously, there is no convention tonight.
“Circle it once, Ricardo,” Castillo ordered. “And then park over there.”
He pointed to a spot which would give them quick access to the exit ramp. Another frail-looking barrier pole guarded that.
Obviously, Ricardo is going to pay that ticket the machine gave him or have it stamped, or whatever, to get that barrier pole to rise.
If we have to leave here in a hurry, so long barrier pole and off goes the alarm!
There was, near one end of the garage, another white ECO laundry and dry-cleaning truck backed up to what was probably a service elevator. Large, white cloth-sided wheeled baskets were clustered around the truck.
This place is nice, but it’s not the MGM Grand in Las Vegas with—what did I hear?—some five thousand rooms? It probably makes more economic sense for the hotel to have the local laundry do the sheets and towels as necessary rather than running its own laundry.
When Solez had backed the Traffik into the spot Castillo had picked, he saw that it had been a lucky choice. It gave him a pretty good view of most of the garage. He could see the down ramp and the opening of a passageway with signs and an arrow pointing to the elevator.
“Now we wait,” Delchamps said. “This is the part I love best about this job.”
“You think he’s going to come?” Castillo asked.
“Come, yeah,” Delchamps said. “But with who and with what purpose in mind?”
“Ricardo, I don’t suppose you have a leash?”
“A what?”
“For Max. I think he needs to take a leak. Walk him up the exit ramp and then, when you come back, walk him around the garage before you come back to the van. Let’s see what he smells.”
Solez didn’t reply.
“I’d do it myself, Ricardo, but these people might know me, or at least have a description of me, and you’re an unknown quantity.”
“I’ll have to use my belt,” Solez said.
“Max, go with Ricardo,” Castillo ordered.
