Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

car, shoulders hunched, muscles corded, minds racing.
    The cars around them belched thick, black exhaust that coated Simon’s throat. He swallowed down the oily taste that clung to his tongue and burned his lungs. Gray buildings and black trucks passed by in a blur as Charlie maneuvered them through the jammed street. The once frenzied city now seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace, and Simon leaned forward, silently urging them to move faster.
    “We’ll park it around back,” Charlie said, as he ducked the car into an alley off Park Avenue. “I know the desk clerk. He runs a book out of the back room, so you let me do the talkin’.”
    Simon nodded and checked the gun in his jacket pocket. He tested the heavy weight of it, resting the grip in his palm. He flipped open the cylinder and ran his fingers over the back of the shells. Six bullets. There wasn’t time to wonder if that would be enough. Flicking his wrist, the cylinder snapped back into place, and he slipped the gun back into his pocket.
    They entered the upscale residence hotel through the back door. Charlie waved a hand, signaling for Simon to wait, and then peered around the corner and into the lobby. The gray marble floor was studded with elaborate columns, an echo of a Roman coliseum. Oddly appropriate, Simon thought, as they prepared to step onto the floor. A well-dressed couple left their key with the clerk on their way out through the revolving door. The room was empty. It was time. Charlie nodded once, and with frightening ease shed the urgency that had surrounded him and casually walked to the desk.
    The clerk was a hard looking man with thinning hair, slicked back with too much brilliantine. There was an upturned scar at the corner of his mouth that made him look like he was perpetually smirking.
    “How’s it, Mack?” Charlie said.
    The man’s scarred lip twitched. “What you doin’ here, Blue?”
    Charlie wasn’t phased by the cold welcome and grinned. “Got a hot tip on the seventh at Pimlico. We do a little business?”
    Mack’s eyes landed on Simon and narrowed.
    “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Charlie said. “He’s all right.”
    Mack didn’t seem convinced but nodded and shoved away from the desk. Simon and Charlie followed him into a little room.
    The dim light from a large radio dial glowed in the corner, as the always incongruous “Yes, We Have No Bananas” crackled through the static.
    Making sure the door was closed behind them, Mack took a small pad from the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. “How much?”
    Charlie casually walked past him. “It’s a good one. You might wanna lay down a little something. Dexter here,” he said, nodding his head toward Simon, “He knows the track doctor.”
    Mack’s face lit up and he took a step toward Simon. “You do? That’s—”
    Once Mack’s attention was turned, Charlie took out his gun and hit him hard on the back of the head. Mack slumped to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground. The radio played on softly in the background.
    Simon stared down at the crumpled form and felt a sick sort of satisfaction. One less obstacle in his way.
    “He’s got a head like a brick. He’ll wake up soon enough,” Charlie said and eased open the door. “We gotta move, Professor.”
    Simon clenched his jaw and nodded. He was ready to do whatever it took to get Elizabeth back. His hand strayed to the gun in his pocket, as they hurried down the short hall to the elevators.
    The doors were already open as the car sat on the ground floor waiting. The operator nearly fell off his stool when Charlie and Simon stepped inside.
    “Penthouse,” Charlie said.
    The man righted his red felt bellboy cap and stood up looking like a defiant organ grinder’s monkey. “Who’re you?”
    Simon pushed him against the paneled wall. “Never mind that. Get this thing moving.”
    The little man shook his head and was about to protest, when he felt the cold barrel of Charlie’s gun press against his neck.
    Simon let go of his lapel. “Now.”
    The man nodded quickly and worked the levers to close the door and start the car. The lift dropped abruptly with a grinding sound and then began its ascent. Simon stepped back from the operator, never taking his eyes off him. When they reached the top floor, he dug down into his pocket and pulled out his gun. As the doors opened, they moved forward in tandem, guns at the ready.
    The opulent foyer was dark and empty. The light from the elevator