L Is for Lawless

into my red uniform again, ready to go to work. I pulled a stack of clean sheets and towels from the shelf in the linen room and put them on my cart, adding boxes of tissues, toilet paper, toiletries, and the laminated Maid in Room sign I'd snitched before. I checked the clipboard attached to the cart on one end. A ballpoint pen was affixed to the clipboard with a tatty piece of string. None of the rooms had been done as far as I could see. Bernadette and Eileen were listed on the worksheet, but none of their duties had been checked off as yet. I wasn't sure what would happen if one of them showed up in the midst of my faux labors. Surely nobody would object to my pitching in… unless these women got territorial about toilet bowls. I pushed the linen cart ahead of me down the carpeted corridor. The wheels kept getting hung up in the high-low pile, and I struggled to keep the cart from lumbering into walls.
    The plan Ray Rawson and I had worked out was this: Rawson would call Laura's room from the house phone on the far side of the lobby within view of the front desk. He'd claim to be the desk clerk, in receipt of a package that required her signature. He'd tell her he was just now going on his break, but the package would be waiting on the manager's desk. If she could come down as soon as possible, one of the other clerks would be happy to get it for her. If she asked to have it sent up, he'd inform her, regretfully, this was against hotel policy. Recently a package had been misdelivered, and the manager was now insisting the guests appear in person.
    While this was going on, I was to loiter in the corridor near her room, making careful note of the time she left. As soon as the "down" elevator doors closed behind her, I would let myself into 1236 with her key. Laura would reach the lobby, where the desk clerk would search in vain for the nonexistent package. Confusion, upset, and apologies forthcoming. Everyone would profess ignorance of both package and policy. Sorry for the inconvenience. As soon as the package surfaced, it would be sent up.
    Once she left the desk, on her way upstairs again, Rawson would call the room and let the phone ring once. That would be my cue to get out if I was still there. Since I knew exactly where the duffel was located, it shouldn't take more than ten seconds to snag the contents. By the time Laura emerged from the elevator on twelve, I'd be heading down the fire stairs to the eighth floor again. There I'd change into my street clothes and grab my shoulder bag. I would meet Rawson in the lobby, and before Laura even realized that she'd been ripped off, we'd be on our way to the airport, where we'd get the next flight out. I wasn't at all bothered by the ethics of stealing money from thieves. It was the notion of getting caught made my heart go pitty-pat.
    I positioned my cart two rooms away from Laura's door and checked my watch. Rawson was waiting to make his call at 10:00, allowing me time to get myself set up. It was 9:58. I occupied myself with a load of towels, which I folded and refolded, wanting to be busily engaged when Laura Huckaby came out. The corridor was dead quiet, and the acoustics were such that I could hear the telephone begin to ring when he called her room. The phone was picked up after two rings and a tidy silence ensued. I could feel my stomach churning with anticipation. Mentally I rehearsed, picturing her trip down the hall, into the elevator, over to the desk. Chat with the clerk, the search for the package, frustration and assurances, and back she'd come. I'd have at least a five-minute window of opportunity, more than ample time for the task I'd assigned myself.
    I checked my watch again: 10:08. What was taking her so long? I thought she'd be wildly curious about the arrival of a package, especially one that required her signature. Whatever the delay, it was 10:17 before she emerged. I kept my face averted, avoiding her gaze as I picked up my clipboard and made random marks. She closed the door behind her and then caught sight of me. "Oh, hi. Remember me?"
    I looked up at her. "Yes, ma'am. How are you?" I said. I put the clipboard down and picked up a towel, which I folded in half.
    "Did you come across my key when you serviced the room last night?" She wore the usual heavy makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, tied with a scarf of bright green chiffon.
    "No, ma'am, but if it's missing, you can get a duplicate at the front desk." I folded