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That might have been true. But the bodyguard wasn’t going to be in the room. And Adam was willing to bet on his stealth over the four scotches Larsen consumed this evening.
Just before 1:00 am, he took a final glance around the room. He’d worn gloves the entire time he was inside, so no fingerprints would be left behind. Despite his best effort, he’d probably left hair in the bed or bathroom, DNA evidence, but there was no getting around it. Abraham Whipple wasn’t supposed to check out until Tuesday and he’d requested maid service early each morning. With any luck, his room would be cleaned before the investigation into Larsen’s watch’s disappearance identified him as a suspect. But it wasn’t a sure thing.
Risks were part of the job.
An hour later, things were on track. Adam, Frank and Tom, the two members of his crew, and the bodyguard had been playing poker for 30 minutes, and the bodyguard had won three hands.
“Fuck, I need to fold again.” Adam stood up, feigning drunken anger, and strode around the table, rudely jostling both members of his crew and the bodyguard. “God damn it!”
“Watch it, asshole,” Frank said.
Adam shifted the bodyguard’s key from his hand to his pocket. “I need to take a leak.” If he hadn’t gotten the key on the first try, he would have escalated the argument and Frank would have taken a turn. Frank and Tom were good partners. They weren’t interested in planning jobs or in the necessary research, but they were superb actors and great at following directions.
“Hurry back,” Tom chortled.
“Fuck you,” Adam growled.
The bodyguard said nothing, just stared at his cards. He was an awful poker player, Adam noted with disgust. He had a million tells, the first of which was an eyelid twitch whenever he had a good hand. Jessica Hughes could give him lessons. Her poker face was amazing.
Christ. Her again. He’d met the woman twice. How could she be so distracting?
Leaving the restaurant, Adam headed away from the restrooms to the elevator bank. Larsen’s suite was four floors up and five rooms to the east. Knowing that he was being recorded on hallway and elevator security cameras, Adam kept his head down and walked with the slouch and awkward gait that were critical to this disguise. Luck was on his side; no one else was in the elevator or hallway.
When he reached Larsen’s suite, he used the bodyguard’s key to the outer room without hesitation. If Larsen was awake in the sitting room watching TV, he was screwed—but the bodyguard would never have left if Larsen was still awake. The only other wrinkle was the possibility that Larsen slept with the Rolex on his wrist. If that was the case, Adam would abort.
The hotel room was dark and quiet, except for the snores heard from the adjoining bedroom. Adam straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. With soundless steps he walked straight into the bedroom. Larsen slept on his back, his mouth wide open. Keeping his eyes on the man’s face, Adam side-stepped to the closet. The doors were already open, another bonus. He removed the metal tool from his pocket. With a quick prayer, Adam inserted the tool behind the keypad on the safe and popped the door open. It made a tiny clang.
Larsen stopped snoring.
Adam froze, welcoming the flood of adrenaline, and forced himself to picture the escape plan. If Larsen woke, Adam would run out the bedroom door and find the nearest staircase, which was at the end of the hall. They were only on the sixth floor, so he was fairly sure he could run to the ground floor by the time Larsen was coherent enough to call for security. By stripping his disguise, he could look like another man by the time he reached the parking garage to his escape vehicle. Yes, he could get away easily.
But it would leave his partners in a more precarious position. He’d just reached for his cell phone, ready to text them 911...when Larsen started snoring again.
He reached into the safe, brushing gloved fingers against the face of the inimitable Rolex. He couldn’t see the face in the dark, but he knew it had 17 jewels and gold Arabic and baton numerals. Later. The watch went into his pocket. Quietly, he closed the safe. No need to advertise its barrenness.
He left the bedroom and then the suite in the same silent manner he’d entered. In the hall, he shuffled back to the elevator and back to the restaurant. Approaching the table, he looked at his own watch. He’d been gone four and a half minutes.
His crew jeered his return, then both folded, allowing the bodyguard to wallow in another victory which took so much of his attention that he didn’t notice the return of his key.
Now, the hard part. He sat there for another hour with the Rolex in his pocket and played poker. Then the bodyguard finally excused himself, with a smug smile on his face and more than five grand in his pocket. “See you next time.”
No, you won’t. The instant he was on the elevator, his crew got down to business. Tom filled a trash bag with all the poker cards and drink glasses. Frank pulled cleaning solvent out of his bag and wiped down all the surfaces.
When the cleanup was finished, Adam did the transfers on his tablet and handed it over.
“Wire’s complete,” he said. “Check your accounts.”
With small smiles, both Frank and Tom acknowledged the new $150,000 deposits.
“Go now,” Adam said. “Walk out of the lobby dressed as you are, but change before you get on the train. Frank, take the Orange line to Midway. Southwest 684. You’re on the 6:00 am to Dallas. Tom, Blue line to O’Hare. American 380 to St. Louis. From there, you’re on your own.”
Saluting him, they left.
It was important not to use locals for these jobs. Once the theft was reported, the hotel would look at the lock logs from Larsen’s room. The logs would reveal that the bodyguard’s key had been used, and soon the gig would be up on the “poker game.” Frank and Tom had been disguised as well, but it was always best to leave the city immediately.
He didn’t have that luxury this time, however. He was staying put until he had a plan of action for Maurice Knoll’s diamonds. Which meant he needed to follow up with a very special someone.
