Page 5 of Caruso
“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair and spy the bourbon decanter beckoning me from the bar in the corner of the room.
“Whose idea was this? It was easier running drugs and prostitution than a casino hotel.”
Tommaso chuckles softly. “We know why. Leave it with me. I’ll sort the shit out this time. You’re welcome.”
As he leaves, I bite back a smile, wondering if theactor realizes what he’s done. One conversation from Tommaso will be enough to terrify the shit out of him, and it’s thoroughly deserved. Nobody trashes our hotel, steals from us or takes us for pussies. We are the Caruso brothers, and mess with us at your peril. Ask Garrison, while he still has a tongue at least. It’s doubtful he will by the time Giorgio has finished carving his limbs from his body.
As I pour the bourbon, I think about how far we’ve come since moving to Vegas. Seeking respectability and earning it through brutality. Nothing will ever change, no matter how much I wish it were different.
Chapter Three
Taylor
It’s been several hours, and my feet are throbbing, and my limbs are screaming with the effort of cleaning up after people who should know better.
I reach my tenth room, the last one for today, just as the sun disappears over the horizon. My heart sinks. Great, I’ll be taking the night bus home, but Joyce’s warning rings loudly in my ears.
Arrive early and leave late, and now I’m aware it wasn’t a request. It was a declaration because I can’t leave until every room has passed the strictest test ready for occupation on a twenty-four-hour basis.
I reach room fifteen-ten and knock loudly on the door.
“Housekeeping.”
I wait the required ten seconds before swiping my card and pushing the door open.
The room is in darkness, and I call out again, “Housekeeping.”
There is still no answer, so I place my key in the slot, and the light illuminates the space, revealing it’s empty.
I'm starting to think there might have been a mistake; it seems like it's already clean. I glance at my list. There was definitely somebody booked in, but it’s empty, nothing out of place, not even a crease on the bed.
I sense my evening ending earlier than I first anticipated, and as I wander into the room, I check that it’s all as it should be.
I spy the huge king-size bed, its pristine white sheets flat against the mattress, the pillows plump and crease-free, the scatter cushions still in their perfectly plumped V.
No sound greets me as I enter the bathroom, noting the gleaming taps and the towels placed evenly on the rail.
They must not have checked in. Paid for the room and got held up somewhere. It happens, I guess.
Images of my room across town hit me as I picture the small, cramped space I rent in an apartment block that should be condemned. Rats and cockroaches mix with their human equivalent, and I shiver at the thought of the small, shared bathroom I must barricade myself in before standing under the cold trickle of water that passes as a shower.
It would be so easy to use these facilities—nobody would know. To stand naked under a power shower and enjoy the luxury of hot water hitting me from all angles.
To slip naked between the cool white sheets andindulge in a nap without the fear of someone breaking in and doing the unthinkable. No screams from my neighbors or sirens outside. A movie on the flat-screen TV that is nailed to the wall after calling room service to deliver a feast for a king.
It would be so easy, but the price is too steep. I need this job so badly I can’t risk it all on my first day, so with a sigh, I cast another critical gaze over the bathroom and head back into the room.
Then the lights go out and the room is plunged into darkness.
“Hello!”
I call out, my eyes blinded by the sudden shadows, and as I hear nothing, I wonder if my card has malfunctioned.
I reach down and feel for the edge of the bed, and my hands connect with the soft bedding. As I inch along the bed, I curse the fact I can’t see a fucking thing, and as I stand and feel along the wall, something causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention.
Deep breathing.
I’m not alone.
