Only coercion, and a beautiful government agent, could force Harry Thursday out of retirement. This time to find the mythical Mask worn by the Minotaur over three thousand years ago. The history of the mask resurfaces during the time of Count Bruno...
He walked over to the door and opened it and turned back to Harry. "Bathroom is next door. Wait in here until I get back to you."
Harry sat on the bed.
He woke to a brisk shake. "Wake up, hey," Ariel was sitting next to him on the bed frowning, and he cracked an eye and seeing it was her pulled her to him, but she resisted. "No Harry, not now. Max wants you downstairs now. He has a car waiting."
Harry was tired and felt like shit. "I need to sleep," and he closed his eyes. "What time is it?" The sun had come up and the morning traffic had started, horns honking, busy sidewalks.
"I don't know, I've been busy," she looked at her hand and counted, "Five hours."
He sat up and shook the drowse from his head. His boots were by the foot of the bed.
"I came in a couple-a-hours ago and took them off you. You were making a mess of the covers. Come on. He said to hurry."
"Who?"
"Max. He's waiting downstairs." Harry stretched and stood up and slipped on his boots. He suddenly patted his pockets and realized he had nothing to lose except a room key and loose change.
"If you'd a been robbed, you'd be waking up in an alley somewhere," she said dryly. "Hurry."
Harry went into the bathroom.
She led him to the end of the hallway and down the stairs. There was a half floor between the first floor and the basement with a low ceiling used in the days before motors to unload reams of oak planks and copper bands to be made into barrels for wine and whiskey, and any other precious condiment like salt and pickles. When Max bought the building, it had sat empty for the most part but the first floor was used as storage for an accounting firm.
Harry had to stoop to walk through the freight elevator and about twenty feet towards the back of the building to a door and the back alley, which sat considerably lower than the first floor.
Max wasn't there, but Jonas stood by a BMW. The engine was running. Jonas was talking with the driver and turned when he saw Harry. He opened the back door.
"Where's Max?" he asked and sensed something wasn't right. No Max. The bouncer said nothing, only glowered at him while he bent down to look inside the car. The driver looked straight ahead.
A sac went over his head and something rapped him at the same time. He saw a flash of light and felt a heavy searing pain and remembered little more.
****
Drake Collins went into the hotel and took the elevator to Harry's apartment taking a man with him. With little effort, they picked the lock to the room and entered guns ready, silencers attached. They searched the room and Drake approached the body. It was disgusting, blood sprayed everywhere. He was pissed. Harry was dead. He had failed and Arthur would not be pleased. He walked to the window and looked out. "Who the hell did this?"
He looked up and down at the buildings across the street, at the apartment he used, at the sidewalk below trying to figure out where the bullet came from. It looked to be directly across the street almost right next door to the apartment he used. Why wasn't he looking at the time? His finger barely fit into the hole made by the bullet. He thought about having the place cleaned, but this wasn't his mess. Still, there should be no clues to his being there.
He pulled the radio from his belt and looking out the window at Sally's car he called but she didn't respond. This wasn't good, he thought, something happened to foil his plans and he fought the urge to scream. "Answer damn it all to hell," was all he said.
He looked through Harry's possessions; cash, lots of it, and his Greece passport. He searched the body for papers, and ID and pulled the wallet from the inside pocket of the jacket. When he opened it, a smile came across his grim face.
"This isn't him - this isn't Thursday." The agent stood next to him looking down.
"A mess boss," he said casually like he was looking at a mess some child made, "a real fucking mess."
Drake heard a thwapping sound and the man fell heavily next to him. He looked over wondering what had just happened. Before he could react, he saw a woman in jeans and a leather coat. He saw a silencer inches from his face. His training was of no use, he had been outwitted, caught by surprise. His life flashed before him and he fell dead.
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