Page 12 of Bratva Hunter

She opens the door. “I’ll come back in twenty minutes.”

I swing my backpack off my shoulder. “Thank you.”

She nods as I step inside the room as she closes the door. I run to the phone on the bedside stand.

“Hello?”

I lower my voice and speak in a heavy Hispanic accent. “Hi. I was on the fourth floor, and I saw men enter room four eighteen without a key. I’m just afraid they could hurt somebody.”

“Thank you.”

I run to the peephole. Whoever you are, can you stay in my room long enough for security to arrive? Three minutes later, two large men with guns run onto the floor and barge through my hotel room door across the hall. I crack the door to listen. A scuffle in the room and a gunshot.

“Shit.” I didn’t want that. A Latino man rushes by me, not noticing me standing inside behind the cracked door.

More men enter the hallway, and I pull the door open to step out. I want what’s in my room. Taking a big breath, I walk into my room as the man closest to me points his gun.

“Oh!”

“Sorry, ma’am. Is this your room?”

“Yes. What’s going on?” I glance at the dead man on the floor and scream. My duffel sits atop the bed, with my stuff haphazardly sticking out. “That’s my bag.” I point to the man. “Was he robbing me?”

The man with security on his shirt nods. “Yes. Someone called it in.”

“Oh, that’s so kind. I’ll have to thank them.”

Two men in dark suits enter my room and announce themselves as detectives. I move to the side of the room. The firstdetective with dark brown hair and a receding hairline nods to the men and then looks at me. “Is this your room?”

“Yes.” I lift up my takeout bag. “I was picking up takeout.” How the hell did they get here so fast? Questions swirl in my mind about how the cartel could have cops on their payroll.

He nods. “Can you scan the room and tell me if anything is missing?”

“Um.” I move to the bathroom and come back out. “The bathroom looks like I left it.” I glance across the room and settle my eyes on my duffel. “Can I look through the duffel?”

The second detective with a paunch belly nods. “Try not to touch too much.”

It’s my bag. My prints are all over my stuff. I feel two bundles of money in the bottom. Shit. How the hell am I going to explain the money? My mind searches for an explanation as I turn to face the officer. “The money I brought to buy my car once I get settled is still in the bottom of my bag. So, they either didn’t find it or that wasn’t what they wanted.”

He nods. “How much money?”

“There’s probably ten grand. My grandfather gave it to me to find an apartment and buy a car. I’m planning to start school in January at UC Boulder.”

He nods. “We’re going to need to take photos of everything.”

I nod. “Of course. I assume I can have the money back when you’re done.”

His nod isn’t very convincing, and my heart sinks. He points to the dead man on the ground. “Do you know him?”

I don’t recognize the man. He’s the typical cliché biker guy with a leather jacket. I steady my breathing and look confused at the detective. “No.”

He purses his lips as the first detective approaches and speaks. “Someone shot him.”

The burly hotel security guy clears his throat. “I shot him. He had a knife.”

I wait for one of them to mention the other guy who ran down the hall, but the three guys remain silent. The guy who admitted to shooting him puts his phone to his ear and answers, “okay.” He puts his phone back into his pocket. “Just so you know, my boss said the cameras weren’t working on this floor.”

“Well, shit.” The first detective nods at me. “You don’t know him?”

---