Paradise Burns by J. P. Sumner Read Free Book Online

double to entire penthouse suites with more
rooms inside them than your average house.
    Have a guess where our guy is? That’s
right - in a suite on the top floor. Inconsiderate asshole! That makes things a
lot more complicated. But not impossible. Not for me, anyway.
    Josh, being the hero that he is, has
rung ahead posing as my personal assistant - which you could argue doesn’t
require much pretending, but don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, he’s said that
I need a room on short notice, and that I’m meeting one of their guests, a Mr.
Jackson, for a business lunch later today. He explained I’m running late, and
to speed things along, it’d be a big help if I could have Mr. Jackson’s room
number, so I can ring him from my room and let him know when I arrive. This was
no problem for the very helpful member of staff who wanted to make a good
impression on two of their richest guests.
    I walked through the large, revolving
doors and into the lobby of the hotel. It was enormous. The floor was a
polished marble tile with various patterns on it. On the left was the front
desk, with three people busily talking into their respective phones. There was
a woman on the right with cropped blonde hair, roughly mid-forties. In the
middle was a slightly younger guy with glasses on, and next to him on the left
was a young girl with long dark hair and too much make-up. To the right was a
large dining area, which I think was their own, very fancy, in-house
restaurant. It had a waiter wearing a tuxedo stood by a podium that had the
reservations book and menu on it. In front of me was a row of three elevators,
and either side of them was a large staircase disappearing upwards, out of
sight.
    I walked over to the front desk and
waited until one of the clerks had finished their phone conversation. It was
the young girl with dark hair who hung up first. She looked at me and smiled.
    ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said. ‘Welcome
to The Four Seasons. How may I help you today?’
    ‘Good afternoon, Miss,’ I replied, in my
best businessman voice, and with my best boardroom smile. ‘I have a reservation
with yourselves. The name is Marvin Aday.’
    You didn’t honestly think I’d use my own
name, did you?
    Josh tends to create my personas for
such occasions, keeping it entertaining by using legends of the rock industry
as inspiration for the names.
    ‘Thank you, Mr. Aday. Just give me a
moment to bring up your room information.’
    She pressed some buttons on her keyboard
and began programming my room key card. I looked around with a practiced
nonchalance as I was waiting. I’d changed into a smart casual outfit of a shirt
and tie with jeans and shoes. I had a briefcase with me, and I looked ever the
businessman. Obviously, if people knew that in my briefcase I had a gun, a
spare magazine, some plastic cable ties and a remote control surveillance
camera, they probably wouldn’t buy into my image as much.
    ‘Here you are, Mr. Aday,’ said the young
girl as she handed me my room key. ‘You’re on the fifteenth floor, room fifteen
twenty-three.’
    ‘That’s great, thank you.’
    I made my way over to the elevators and
got in the first one that arrived on the ground floor. I pressed the button for
15 and the doors closed. Josh had found out that Jackson is staying in the
Summer suite, which is situated roughly in the center of the sixteenth floor.
Conveniently, directly above my room.
    Anyone would think I’ve done this sort
of thing before.
    I rode the elevator to my floor and
stepped out into the hallway. The carpet was neutral-colored and
expensive-looking, with the walls complimenting the look by being much the
same. There was artwork on the walls. Nothing I recognized – probably local
artists keen for some cheap advertising, or someone dead who was so obscure, it
would be seen as fashionable to have their work up on display.
    I checked the brass plaques to see which
direction my room was. I turned right out of the