The Broken Clock is Right Thrice: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #4

Chapter 18 - Chiromancy

"The secret of being a top-notch con man is being able to know what the mark wants, and how to make him think he's getting it."

~ Ken Kesey, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

The knock at the door sounds again. Zandra stays in place, doing her best to remain motionless against the counter of the vanity.

"Zandra? I can't reach you by phone. Everything OK in there?" comes Sunglasses's voice over the sound of the hairdryer.

That's strange, Sunglasses. I don't remember hearing the phone ring.

Then again, it's hard to hear inside that tunnel.

Zandra remains silent. Sunglasses tries one more knock before giving something else a shot. Zandra hears the whir-click of a keycard unlocking the door. Her eyes shoot to the manual lock on the door, the one that secures from the inside without electronics to prevent situations like this one.

It's unlocked.

Think fast.

"I'm in the bathroom, asshole," Zandra says.

There is zero advantage to anyone knowing that I know about the tunnel. None. Not even if Sunglasses is supposed to be offering protection.

Never show what you know, not completely. Secrets are currency.

Zandra gives herself permission to move around. She walks to the entry of the bathroom, blocking the view behind her. She glances at the phone by the bed. The receiver is loose from its base. She must not have hung up after requesting the extension cord.

"Oh, sorry," Sunglasses says from a sliver of open door. It's not enough to see Zandra.

Zandra lights him up. "You think you can just barge in here whenever you want? What the hell are you thinking? And when did you get a keycard to my room?"

"I thought there was an issue."

"Yeah, there's a big issue. Now fuck off back to your room," Zandra says. With her hand braced against the entryway of the bathroom, she kicks the door shut. "Call me if you want to talk."

Zandra secures the door with the manual lock, cursing herself for not taking the extra precaution. She turns off the hair dryer before setting the receiver back into place. She waits. Sunglasses doesn't call.

Zandra debates stretching out on the bed for some much-needed sleep, but the threat of someone crawling through the tunnel keeps her from letting her guard down. She bunches up pillows and blankets to make a nest on the bathroom floor. Another blanket she packs into the tunnel before placing the unplugged desk lamp in the cabinet. If the blanket pushes out from the other side of the tunnel, the lamp will fall over to alert Zandra, who takes center stage in the nest like a spoiled egg.

It's not like I'm going to get much sleep, but I may as well try.

Sleep comes faster than she expects, although it doesn't last long. She wakes a couple hours later, her mind racing. The blanket and desk lamp remain in place, as does the sheathed lawnmower knife up her sleeve. Try as she might, she can't fall back to sleep, so she turns the TV on and listens to infomercials until the first streaks of dawn enter the room.

Breakfast starts in 20 minutes.

Zandra leaves the TV on, hobbles out of the room, and hangs a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob. Even on the third floor, she can smell the grease and coffee of breakfast wafting up from the lobby.