“We wait.”

One of the gunmen sat down on the sofa while the other motioned me into the center of the room.

“Kneel on the floor with your hands over your head,” Shotgun said, flashing a crooked smile in my direction.

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked.

“Quite possibly,” the one with the shotgun said, which, if nothing else, was an interesting answer. Not an imminent threat of death anyway.

“Well, I hate to spoil your little plans and I know you guys don’t like surprises, so you should know that if I don’t call the front desk and tell them I cleaned up that disturbance on the fiftieth floor they are going to send a couple of guys up here looking for me.”

The two men glanced at one other and conferred in low tones. Nine-millimeter brought me the phone.

“Call them. Let them know you are going to bed and do not wish to be disturbed,” he said.

I took the phone.

“Of course, if you say anything to warn them or anything we do not like we will kill you immediately. Those are our instructions,” Shotgun added.

“Shoot first, eh?” I said.

“Yes.”

I picked up the phone, dialed the front desk and got through to Tinco.

“Tinco. I took care of the problem on the fiftieth. Tell Hector that he can go home, I don’t want to go bird-watching this morning, I already saw an eagle. Got that? Ok, I’m going to go to bed.”

I hung up the phone and looked at the two men. They seemed satisfied. If Hector hadn’t left, he’d be up here in five minutes. Eagle was the call sign for major security alert.

I stood for a moment and the men motioned me to kneel again. All the tiredness had left me now and I was ready to raise holy hell if I got the chance. But the men were cautious. Keeping themselves well away from a sudden spin kick or a roll and punch. By the time I was halfway through either of those moves, I’d be dead. I scanned them. Skinny, young, but not that young. Experienced looking. This was not their first hit. Both in their late twenties or early thirties. The one with the shotgun was slightly older, slightly yellower, his hair greased back over a bald spot. Both had an odd burn mark above their knuckles. Some kind of gangster tattoo. I’d seen similar ones before. They were representing. Unlikely they were freelance. Unlikely they were amateurs.