Chapter 42
A thin sheen of drizzle had descended as Mark Collins arrived at his destination. Driving round looking for somewhere to stay he spotted a neon lit sign reading Pl za H el. It was a converted house with a small car-park at the back, thick bushes obscuring any view from the street outside.
Slipping on a pair of spectacles he grabbed the holdall and headed out onto the street to find the entrance.
Ringing the bell he waited.
The door was opened by a stern looking woman wearing too much make-up and dressed in a stained pinafore. In the corner of her mouth hung a super length cigarette, the smoke billowing up her flared nostrils and into her badly dyed blonde hair.
She looked at him in an unwelcoming manner,
"Yeah?
"I'd like a room please.
"You'd better come in then, she offered stepping aside, thick blasts of smoke emitting from her nose.
Entering Mark feigned a limp, using the handle on the door to steady himself,
"Preferably on the ground floor.
The woman grunted taking another deep pull on her cigarette.
Stood in the hallway Mark wrinkled his nose at the smell of too greasy food cooked in too old oil. Looking round his surroundings he wondered when the place had last seen a lick of paint, walls that were once white or cream were a cigarette stained yellow. The carpet was an assortment of autumn colours, stained and worn through in places.
The lady stood behind a badly fitted vinyl reception desk, a throwback from the sixties.
After a moment of scanning through the empty reservation book she looked up.
"We've got a room on the ground floor, but it's only a tiny one, and it's at the back.
"That's okay, just as long as I don't have to walk up any stairs.
"That'll be eighty quid, she watched his face for a reaction, seeing none she added, "in advance.
Mark pulled out his wallet,
"Fine, is cash alright?
It was the first time he'd seen the woman smile.
"Of course.
Handing over the money he asked,
"Is it alright if I fill in the paperwork in the morning, I'm tired and need to lie down, you know, rest my leg?
"No problem, I'll have it ready for you to sign first thing.
Taking the proffered key he followed her to his room knowing no paperwork would be filled out.
Passing what was labelled the lounge he glanced in. A group of badly dressed men of varying ages sat on decrepit sofas watching an old black and white film.
As Mark suspected, the hotel was a doss house subsidised by social security.
"Breakfast's seven till eight, she said opening the door to a tiny room, "miss it and I can't do nothing okay.
Nodding, Mark entered.
After showing him into his room the landlady returned to the TV lounge chuckling to herself, eighty quid, for a downstairs room she thought pulling out another cigarette.
"You couldn't sort me a fag till tomorrow could you Lidia?
She scowled at the man who'd made the request.
"Oh come on I get me money in the morning.
Opening the packet she looked round,
"No¦ before any of you ask.
"Save us some of that, a bespectacled pensioner in stained grey trousers asked the lucky recipient, "I sorted you one earlier.
The first thing Mark did when the door closed was open the window to let some air in. The room had the aroma of a low-level charity shop, all mothballs and steam-cleaned cloth. From the window he was pleased to see that nobody would see him slipping out later.
Pulling the curtains shut he threw the holdall on the bed and unzipped it.
Along with his kit were the pictures he'd been sent earlier and the map. His destination was less than a mile away, an alleyway led from the spot where he'd carry out the hit. A few turns later he'd be back onto a high street, the hotel was located on a road that came off this.
He studied the picture again, easily identifiable.
For a second he wondered what they'd done then dismissed the thought, what did it matter?
Looking at his watch he saw there were hours to kill.
Sitting beside the holdall he lost himself in his own thoughts and felt a moment of guilt remembering Bella's play.
He'd make it up to her later.
