18. Jumpy’s Not My Style

Back in the van, on the way to the InterContinental, Paula said, “It’s him. He’s not dead.”

Ben nodded. “Sure looks that way.”

“What’s our next step?”

Ben almost pointed out that after tonight, “our” was likely not going to be applicable. Instead, he said, “We report in and try to get some sleep. And we’re going to be staying in the same room, okay?”

“Say what?”

“Look, why would a man and woman with next to no luggage be checking into a hotel together without a reservation at near midnight? A spontaneous business convention? You want to appear to be what people expect you are, that’s how you avoid getting noticed. So I want you to get back in that sarong and halter. Put your jacket over it. It’ll look like you’re a prostitute I met at a bar who’s wearing a cover-up to be presentable in the lobby of a nice hotel.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And just how far do you expect we’ll have to go in performing our roles?”

“Don’t get your hopes up. This is just for public consumption.”

“My hopes. You really are something. Anyway, why don’t we just check in separately and solve the problem that way?”

“Because I don’t trust you. I don’t want you off in your own room, talking to I don’t know who and doing I don’t know what.”

“You don’t trust me. My God, you have nerve.”

“Also, it would be natural for a married man arriving at a hotel with a prostitute to wear a baseball cap with the visor pulled low to obscure his features. Never know when you might run into a business acquaintance coming out of the bar. And to keep his head down a bit so his face doesn’t get picked up by security cameras. To be reticent about meeting the eyes of any staff he encountered. And you should do the same. Keep the jacket open, show some cleavage. No one’s going to look at your face.”

“Why are we worried about all this?”

“It’s just better not to be remembered or recorded now. You never know what’s going to happen later.”

Escazú was on the west side of the city. They drove through San Jose ’s crumbling but vital center, and after a few minutes found themselves passing every conceivable western chain restaurant and retailer. Escazú was obviously an upscale enclave of Americana, right down to the ritzy-looking shopping center across the street from the hotel.

They parked in the lot rather than taking advantage of the valet. Anyone who noticed them walking in without bags would assume they were already checked in. If they thought otherwise… well, a man and a woman shacking up for the night away from their spouses could be expected to be discreet. Along with the baseball cap and averted eyes, the parking lot rather than the valet fit the pattern, which was what Ben wanted.

They walked into a bright, air-conditioned lobby-stone floors, a ceiling open all the way to the fifth floor, piano music playing from hidden speakers. The bar was off to the left, and it sounded lively. On the right, three receptionists stood behind a dark wood-and-marble counter.

They strolled over to the nearest of the three, a young Tico in a navy suit. “We need a room for the night,” Ben said, his voice quiet, slightly conspiratorial.

“Certainly,” the man said. “We have king-bedded rooms, twin-bedded rooms…”

“Twin beds would be fine,” Paula said.

Ben’s face betrayed nothing. But inside, he wanted to smack her for being so stupid.

The receptionist worked the keyboard. “I’m sorry, the only rooms we have available now feature a single king-sized bed.”

“A king-sized bed would be fine,” Ben said calmly. If Paula uttered one single word of protest, he was going to find something and gag her with it.

“Very good, sir,” the receptionist said. “And how many keys will you require?”

Simultaneously, Ben said, “One,” and Paula said, “Two.”

Ben stared at Paula and said, “One,” the single syllable sounding like a growl.

Paula stared back but didn’t respond.

“And what credit card will you be using?”

“I’ll just use cash.”

“All right. And we’ll require some form of ID. A passport, or…”

Ben pulled out his wallet and put three hundred U.S. on the counter.

“I’d just be more comfortable if there were no record of the transaction,” he said. “And please, keep the change.”

The receptionist looked down at the money for a moment. He produced a magnetic key in a paper sleeve and handed it to Ben with a gracious smile.

“Your room number is here,” he said, gesturing to the sleeve. “The elevator is just past the bar. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, glancing at the card. Room 535. “I’m sure we will.”

They walked over to the elevator. As soon as the doors had closed and Ben had inserted the room card and pressed the button for five, he said, “What were you thinking?”

She looked at him. “What’s your problem this time?”

“My problem is, what do you think we look like? We’re supposed to be a horny couple shacking up here to have sex. And you’re asking for a room with separate beds. You can have the goddamned bed, I’m happy to sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t see that my request was incommensurate with-”

“With two people who came here to fuck?”

“Maybe you snore. Maybe you thrash in your sleep. There are a lot of reasons two people might want to sleep in separate beds after they make love.”

“Yeah? Not in my experience.”

“Well, if you can find girlfriends so patient they can tolerate your personality generally, I expect they might be able to tolerate you in other ways, too.”

“Yeah, well likewise, I can think of all kinds of reasons a guy might want to get up and go home after he was done fucking you. But that’s not the point. The point is, most people who come to a hotel to have sex prefer to do it in the same bed. What you did was a mistake. Mistakes like that get you noticed. Getting noticed gets you killed.”

Paula took a deep breath as though to answer, but stopped when the doors opened. There was no way anyone could have anticipated them here, but out of habit, Ben swept the area with his eyes before moving out of the elevator. They walked down the corridor and Ben let them into the room.

As soon as he had double-locked the door, Paula said, “And you’re lecturing me about getting noticed? The first thing you did in Taibbi’s bar was practically castrate his bouncer. And then every chance you got to get in Taibbi’s face, too, you did. Yeah, that’s you, Mr. Invisible.”

Ben walked past her into the room. Marble bathroom on the right. King bed in the room past it; dresser, flat-screen television, desk on the left. He glanced out the window at two massive, kidney-shaped pools in the courtyard below, then pulled shut the curtains and turned to her. “We’ve been over this already. When I need to be direct, I’m direct. When I need to be invisible, I’m invisible. If you don’t know the difference, you’re a goddamned amateur.”

Her lips were pressed tightly together and she was breathing so hard her nostrils were flaring. Ben realized he needed to back off. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true, but true didn’t mean it was helpful.

“Look, you’re smart in a lot of ways, I can see that. And you’ve got good instincts, you know how to play a role. But you need to use your head, too. Why can’t you be smart enough to see this isn’t your ordinary investigation? That right now you’re operating outside the world you’re accustomed to? Did you not hear Taibbi when he was talking about what happened to his men? When was the last time you were investigating someone who could ghost up behind you, sever your carotid, and walk away from the arterial spray before your body even hits the floor? I’ll tell you when the last time was. Never. Otherwise you’d be dead. And Larison is only half of it. We don’t even know who else is after him, or whether they might take an interest in us, too. Do you get it? You’re smart and you’re good at what you do, but right now you are out of your league and if you want to stay alive, you need to listen to me when I talk to you.”