Bennie entered the glistening lobby of the Sheraton, which was empty, and she walked to the reception desk as a young desk clerk emerged from a door behind the counter.
“Checking in?” he asked, pleasantly.
“No, I’m looking for someone named Bennie Rosato. She looks like me, she’s my identical twin. Did she check in tonight? It would have been in the past few hours.”
“I can’t give you that information. It’s confidential.”
“But it’s important that I see her. I have some medicine she needs and I forget where she told me she was staying.”
“Hmm.” The desk clerk glanced around. “Between us, I haven’t seen her and I’m the only one on.”
“Where are the other hotels, the chains and the smaller ones? She could be at any one of them.”
“The Hilton is right next door, and there’s a few others on Charlotte and Cumberland Streets. Our business district is only about ten blocks square, starting behind me.” The desk clerk pointed backwards, and Bennie thanked him and left.
Outside, she scanned the street for Alice, but no luck. No one was on the sidewalk. There was almost no traffic, and it flowed one-way on Bay Street, downhill and to the left. Next door, the Hilton was huge and well-lit, and she walked toward it, passing only a group of rowdy teenagers in oversized T-shirts. She made her way through the Hilton’s parking lot and entered the lobby, which was brown, gold, and empty except for a gaggle of women in fuchsia dresses, chattering away.
The desk clerk was on the phone, but she hung up as soon as Bennie came to the desk and asked for her twin sister.
“I’m sorry,” the desk clerk said. “Our guests are confidential.”
“But I have some medicine she needs to take tonight.”
“I see.” The desk clerk bit her lip. “We’re full, with three conventions and the Anders wedding. Is she with any of them?”
“No.”
“Then she’s not here.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep looking.” Bennie left the hotel, went back outside, and surveyed the street. No Alice, and it was still empty. Across the way blazed the hot-pink-and-orange sign of a Dunkin’ Donuts, but the store was closed at this hour, as was a Thai restaurant and a Pirate Museum flying a black skull-and-crossbones flag.
She took a left toward a stucco building that read BRITISH BANKING CENTRE, passed a Scotiabank, then followed Bay Street. It ran parallel to the water, guessing from the fishy odor. The night was black, the humidity oppressive, and sweat beaded on her forehead. The streetlights were few and far between, making haloed orbs, and many of the shops were covered by corrugated security gates.
She walked alone on a dark, gum-spattered pavement that ran under an overhang, past touristy T-shirt and pastel-colored gift shops, then a block of perfume shops and fancy stores like David Yurman, Fendi, and Gucci, all closed. Near the end of the block, sandwiched between a duty-free liquor store and discount jewelry store, she could see the brass letters of the BSB bank sign, the Greek columns on its façade out of place in the tropical vibe.
She walked to the bank, which had its fluorescent lights on, inside. A security guard strolled among the tellers’ windows, which were festooned with turquoise-and-black crepe paper. Alice was nowhere in sight, but it made sense that she’d stay in a hotel close to the bank.
Bennie looked around. Charlotte Street lay to her right, and in the middle of the block was a lighted Colonial Inne sign. She went that way, entered the hotel lobby, and told her sick twin story to the desk clerk, who accepted a twenty for telling her that her twin sister had not checked in, though she might be at another hotel.
“Which one?” Bennie asked him.
“The Wayfarer.” The desk clerk pulled out a street map, placed it on the wooden counter, and turned it around so that it was properly oriented, then drew a jagged pencil line to an X about eight blocks away.
“Do I take a cab?”
“No, you can walk it in fifteen minutes. It’s off the beaten path, and many tourists favor it. The sign is small and painted pink. Just follow Charlotte, then take a right, and stay with the pencil line.”
“Thanks.” Bennie folded the map, went outside, and took a right. She walked a few blocks, then stopped and tried to read the map in the light from a closed restaurant, its chairs upside down on the tables. She could barely see the pencil line, so she walked left, then right, keeping an eye out for Alice.
She turned the corner, where it got darker, but there was no pink Wayfarer sign. She heard footsteps and turned, but it was a skinny man holding a cigarette that trailed a snake of smoke. She kept going down the street, then turned right. The block was deserted except for a big man in a baseball cap, walking in her direction. She saw a flash of pink at the end of the block. She couldn’t read the sign but it had to be The Wayfarer.
She picked up her pace. The big man kept coming, then seemed to block her path. “Excuse me,” she said, going around him, but he stepped in front of her.
“Hi, Alice,” he said gruffly. The brim of his cap shadowed his face. “I’m a friend of Q’s.”
“Who?” Q? Bennie flashed on the name. The man Alice had pissed off, back home.
“You thought you could hide from him, by comin’ down here? He’s got friends everywhere, including the cops.” Suddenly the man grabbed her by the shoulder, whipped out a hunter’s knife, and pointed it at her chest.
Bennie gasped, terrified.
“Q wants you to know you’re getting what you deserve.”