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Or to hurt Eileen.
The concierge strides towards us on an interception course, flanked by a couple of security guys who're real bruisers. “Can I see your warrant? I'm not authorized to allow you access to the premises without one.”
“There's an active hostage situation going on. Get me up to the penthouse and get out of my way if you don't want to be arrested for obstruction of justice.” Gibbons stands next to me, pulling out a pair of handcuffs that he casually spins around his finger. The rest of my people, fourteen of them, spread out in the lobby, taking control of it. “Now move it.”
She stands firm. “I'm sorry, Sir, but you'll have to arrest me, then. I have my orders.”
Fuck. Of course he's put loyal people in control, and he's got enough lawyers to get them right back out of their cells before the evening's over, leaving me having to explain why I'm doing this without a warrant. I understand the need for documentation and transparency, but goddamn is it annoying sometimes. “Take her. And her access card.”
Her eyes go wide, obviously having expected the threat to be enough. The big security guys bristle, but even they realize they're outnumbered. Unless they're planning on bringing us down with an army of bellhops and customer service agents. I wouldn't put it past Vin to disguise more security like that, but they seem to be staying put.
“You can't take that,” she states firmly. “I know my rights. You can arrest me, but you can't just take my card and use it for unwarranted access.”
Gibbons tears it off her belt and hands it to me.
“Huh, apparently we can.” I shrug. “Gibbons, grab Taylor and Navarro. You're with me. The rest of you, keep the lobby under control.” The concierge glares after me angrily as I lead them past the concierge's desk to the private lobby where his personal elevator is. I've spent so much time poring over the plans for this building that I probably know it better than just about anyone. The card opens the doors, allowing us in. I tap the penthouse button and the elevator starts to move.
“What's the plan, Boss?” asks Navarro. He's a compact man, built like a barrel, or maybe a powder keg ready to explode. Eager. No wonder. It's because of Vin that his brother's an amputee living on the scraps that disability pays. So many grudges for one man.
It would be a shame if he didn’t survive the arrest.
“Secure him as fast as possible. We don’t want to give him time to hide anything. The woman is Eileen Simmons. She’s been sick so she might not be responsive, and if she is, she might need assistance.” Vincent’s private elevator races past the hotel level, only slowing as we reach the forty-second floor where he keeps his lair. “This is the last time he's getting away with anything, I'm going to make sure of it.”
The elevator jolts to a stop between floors, a light blinking red on the floor selector. Fuck. I’m sure this isn’t a random outage, but I hit the emergency call button anyway. “Hello? This is Special Investigator Carnell. Get this elevator moving again, or I'm going to arrest every single employee in this hotel and start running background checks. Hello?”
Nothing.
“Was too easy, wasn't it?” asks Taylor.
There’s a soft hiss from below our feet and a thin layer of light gray smoke forms along the floor. “Is he fucking gassing us?” asks Gibbons, as he looks around. He sounds more shocked than scared.
“He’s like a fucking Bond villain. Take your jackets off. Try to block the vents.” I tear my own off as I give the order. If we can block this shit from getting in and knocking us out or whatever the hell it's supposed to do, then maybe we can surprise them when they bring the elevator the rest of the way.
Unless they just plunge us all to our deaths.
“There's too many,” Taylor says and coughs. “They go up the walls too, in the corners here.”
Gibbons coughs, and I'm getting a scratching in the back of my throat. The room's getting hazier. Fuck, we don't have much time. I pull out my phone to call for backup. It rings, and rings… and rings. Fuck. Fuck. And fuck. Navarro looks at me, but his eyes have gone glassy and he's leaning against the wall. I check for phone signal, but I've got plenty. Something's happened down there. I try calling another number. Nothing.
Goddamnit.
Taylor's the first to sag against the wall, sliding until he hits the floor. His head lolls to the side. I hope this is just knockout gas and not something worse. It'd be really fucking embarrassing if this is how Vin finally takes me out of the equation.
“Boss?” Gibbons gives me a look, and while it's not accusing, I sure feel like it is. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been in here to suffer whatever the hell Vincent has in mind.
