Chapter Four
Delivery Interruptus
Riding the elevator to the third floor of the Ottoman Hotel. Sweating like usual. Heck Shultz wiped his neck with a damp handkerchief. The elevator stopped with an expensive pneumatic sigh. He hauled the roller bag out and went down the hall to 346. Police tape across the door jamb.
“Fuck.”
Back downstairs. Asking questions was not a good idea. Farnsworth didn’t like his name used out loud. Peculiar that way. In other ways, too. This didn’t tell Shultz where to deliver his package. He went to the cigar lounge. Found it unoccupied. Put the case in a corner by the computer desk and sat down at the courtesy computer terminal. Wiped his neck again. Goddam sweat. Farnsworth was all over the internet. De-nutted in a hotel room. Anonymous tip by a dead girl.
