The life of a wheelman promised excitement, car chases, and exciting car chases, which made Ringo’s current task—searching the hotel for some computer drive—a considerable let-down.
It was supposed to be a quick job: get in, rob the rich people, flee the scene, and get paid. But the one man they’d specifically been told to mug didn’t have the thing they were supposed to get, and now Ringo was stuck sweeping the south and east wings of the hotel while Yoko handled the north and west.
He’d already finished up his side of the ground floor, turning up a few guests who’d snuck away for a blowjob or a bump of cocaine, but no drive. The first floor was proving much less interesting as he moved from door to door, jiggling the handles to check they were still locked and listening for any sign someone was hiding inside—finding nothing each time.
Ringo tried another handle, which was also locked; when he pressed an ear to the door, he couldn’t hear anything on the other side. But as he stepped back, ready to move on, a shadow shifted beneath the door.
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