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“Bald, or tall and ginger?”
She smiles vaguely. “Tall and ginger.”
“Hmm, tall and ginger is much more handsome than the bald one.”
“You got that right. So, he’s in one of the River View suites, you’ll no doubt find it easily with tall and ginger outside.”
“Thanks, Selma. Cheers.”
I tap my card on the desk and turn around, heading for the elevator. A man working it asks where I want to be. “River Suites, please.”
He appraises me with suspicion, since I’m wearing my cycling gear, then I flash my badge again. Seriously, the things I do for Albie. If I wasn’t a fucking bouncer, I’d have got nowhere near.
I’m allowed to walk the corridor alone though the elevator guard does watch after me for a moment, but as soon as he hears Wally (tall and ginger) say in his deep American accent, “Whoa, Mira! Good to see you!” he’s gone.
I throw my arms around Wally and he steps back to look at me. “You’re looking fantastic.”
“New job, less shit hours, you know.”
He winks and mockingly folds his arms. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
I flap my hand around. “Oh, you know. Some charm goes a long way.”
He gestures inside the room. “He’s a mess.”
“Yep, I felt a disturbance in the force, that’s why I’m here. Wouldn’t answer my phone.”
“Oh, Sharon confiscated it. People have been calling at all hours. And he’s drunk and stupid.”
I shake my head like I don’t believe it. “What? Don’t tell me she cares?”
He shrugs.
“She’s not here, is she?” I’m suddenly on high alert.
“No, she’s at the office probably.”
I stand akimbo, trying to think. “Why is this one different to his dad?”
“You know Sharon, anything for press. If it’s controversial, that is. Anyhow, there’s nothing like that with his mom, it’s just sad, right?”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, pal. Will he let me in?”
“Let’s see.”
Wally knocks on the door and we hear movement, then a voice, “What do you want?”
“Mira’s here.”
“Tell her to go away.”
I wink at Wally and move to the door. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll bloody bash this door down and you’ll end up with the bill, you twat.”
Seconds that feel longer than aeons pass, then he opens the door, shirtless and wobbly on his feet—whisky bottle in hand, crazy hair, glassy eyes. The room is in darkness aside from the lights of the world outside, the drapes not closed.
“Don’t want your pity,” he slurs, and I look up at Wally, seeing his concern.
“If I yell, come in. If I don’t, everything’s fine,” I whisper to Wally, who nods before shutting the door so Albie and I can have privacy.
