Once the guy was facedown, Bax moved in a little, not willing to accidentally see anything that would burn his retinas. He looked at Larry, who had already gone to work on Weinberg’s back. The therapist had a look of such disgust on his face that Bax got a chill.
He’d seen that look before, and it was usually immediately followed by someone getting shot. Larry was not happy.
Why in hell didn’t Weinberg have a sheet on him? For that matter, why wasn’t this massage being done in his suite? According to the brochure, most everything could be done in the guest rooms.
After an unfortunate glimpse of Weinberg’s large white ass, Bax turned, ready to end this now. On a credenza, along with bottles and towels, there were three items of interest. A water bottle, a locker key on a bungee cord and a small tape recorder. No, wait. It was a camera. Bax recognized the small device as one he’d seen in the Vice department’s bag of tricks. Even from halfway across the room, Bax could see that the recorder was on. The red button glowed in the dark.
He turned back. “I’ll let you finish your business here, Mr. Weinberg. We’ll speak again.”
“I look forward to it, Detective.”
As Bax walked toward the door, he looked one last time at Larry. The disgust was gone. In its place, raw fear.
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