Come on, give a girl a break! I ought to post this soon.
Jay belongs to Disney Channel. What can I say?
The Sonder on Heid was certainly a nice place for a crook to hang out.
The building front was plain white with black window frames, which gave off the feel of a prison. A really fancy prison. The words Heid Building were printed in black letters along the top of the doorway, along with the building number down the side. It was a good eight stories, too.
And no balcony.
"Well, guess Jay misled us," I observed. "Why don't we–"
DJ grabbed my arm, making me yelp in alarm. Yikes, she had a firm grip. That alone was one of those things that reminded me not to get on her bad side. "The balconies are around. We'll have to go to the north side of the building."
"You've stayed here before?"
She gave me a duh look, and dragged me around to the north side, only releasing me when we reached it.
Stupid Darvosky. Of course she would've been around here. This was a tourist site. And being a celebrity's daughter – you didn't hear it from me, just so she doesn't throttle me – she would have had all the resources to stay around this place.
The north side of the building held – naturally – open balconies with rails connecting to the Kestrel. (Was it connecting or close to? I couldn't tell from the street.) The balconies were a good several stories up, no fire escape to reach them. I wasn't sure how we could get up there, but since my arm was still hurting from the last time I tried to back out, I didn't say that out loud.
DJ glared at her Forcecuff, causing the gem to light up yellow. Oh, of course. Thanks to the magic absorbed in the bracelet, she had a variety of Alter Egos to choose from. This one was Yellow, which allowed her to fly and control the winds. She punched the gemstone, and her hair and attire turned a bright golden yellow.
"Hold on," she said.
She regained her grip on my wrist and we flew in the air, like Peter Pan.
I yelped in alarm. "A little warning?"
"I said hold on."
We landed on the balcony. DJ dispelled the Alter Ego and released me again, nearly causing me to fall into the railing.
I couldn't help hearing music from inside the room. (Someone really needed to crank up the soundproofing on that building.) Hip-hop by the sound, but…
"Ugh," I commented, recoiling from the doorway. "Sir Mix-A-Lot?"
"Worse – his 'top' hit," DJ replied, putting air quotes around "top." "Or should I say, 'bottom?'"
Great. "Baby Got Back." I was starting to understand what Jay meant by questionable tastes in music. Not genre, but content. (My family had pretty much banned the song in the house.) So much for hip-hop not being in Starr's wheelhouse.
"So how do we get–" I began to ask, but then DJ whipped out a card – a hotel pass. "–in?"
"Tails copied one for us," she said without elaborating. That was just as well, since we were already breaking and entering in broad daylight.
"I really don't think balconies have keys," I commented, opening the door.
It was, indeed, "Baby Got Back" that was playing – full blast, which could not have been pleasant for anyone else next door or a floor below. Otherwise, yeah, great aesthetics. There were potted plants around, to keep oxygen going in the room. The place was decked out in a modern fashion – glass-top coffee table (with a deck of playing cards laid down on it – for reasons I didn't care to know), separate sectional couches, and LED lighting. Certainly a nice place to stay while you checked out the attractions of the old city – if you didn't mind the lowlife next door.
Or rather, the one in front of us.
"Crap," I muttered. "Hide."
We doubled behind the sofa just as he came in. I spotted a little kitchenette with a kettle and all the amenities offered by room service just before I ducked behind the build-a-couch. And I saw Starr himself.
The guy was even less attractive than the starfish he shared a name with. He was a portly guy in his fifties, from the look of him, and he didn't look to be wearing much other than running shorts and a white T-shirt with the words Godsmack Live Tour on the front. Probably his loungewear? I didn't know.
His face was similarly flabby, with dark eyes that darted everywhere like, I hate that. I hate that. And I especially hate that. His hair was thinning and gray, which gave him the look of a walrus. A really sleazy walrus.
"Now what?" I whispered to DJ. I didn't want to call too much attention to myself now that the bad guy was present. Also, it was looking increasingly unlikely I'd get back in time to catch up on my history homework. (I was seriously behind.)
She frowned. "Split up."
"Are you crazy?" I muttered. That generally wasn't a smart move in the movies. Not to mention, we'd had some nasty experiences of our own the last few times we split up. (Okay, the last one wasn't by choice, but still.)
"We wanted to test the Comclips, right? This would be a great opportunity."
"I hate this idea. Let's do it."
We had to wait until Starr ducked into a bedroom to execute that, though. No sense getting the sleazy, dangerous guy's attention when we were already breaking into his hotel.
Once he left, DJ whispered, "I'll stay here. You check that kitchenette."
Great. I was looking through the kitchen for an incense holder, while DJ stayed put. Typical.
But I did understand why she wanted me to be the one moving in. There was a reason I beat Daniel and Solomon at prank wars when we were younger. I had a walk so quiet I might as well have been sneaking around – without really trying. DJ had been very quick to pick up on that. I wondered if that was half the real reason she'd sent for me over the others.
I headed slowly in at first, but upon hearing Starr's voice at the door, I was quick to haul keister. I managed to get behind the kitchenette counter before Starr came back around – this time with a phone up to his ear.
As if on cue, the music shifted from Sir Mix-A-Lot to AC/DC – which, as far as I was concerned, was very much NOT an improvement.
No offense to you AC/DC lovers out there, but absolutely nobody in my family had been a fan of their songs, any more than they were about "Baby Got Back." And the one time I wound up listening to it (totally by accident) … well, I didn't really care for Brian Johnson's singing – if you could call it that. Really, what kick does one get out of a guy who screeches worse than Miriam Stegner throwing a tantrum?
"God!" I muttered at the shift. "What crawled into his sound system and died?"
However, I could thank – or curse – my perceptive nature, otherwise I would have failed to notice the one plus of the situation. Between the blasting speakers and the guy on the phone with Starr, the forger might not even hear me sneaking around his kitchen. I peeked over the counter to catch some of the guy's chat.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Starr said, in a low drawl. "Found it off of some sneak thief, who found it by accident."
Was he referring to the censer? I found myself leaning in, interested in what he was saying. I couldn't help it. Sure, we were crime fighters, but we were careful crime fighters. A lot of our job is to gather intelligence before we make a strike plan. Besides, if there was one thing DJ hated, it was people making a judgment without accounting for all the details. And since she was in the room with me, I didn't want to just jump in – and risk her smacking me, if Starr didn't kill me first for breaking into his room.
"Look, you did your part of the deal, boys," he said quietly to whoever he was on the phone with. His tone held a hint of affirmation. "We can talk about it at my base in Vegas."
Hmm. So he had a base out in Las Vegas? It made sense the more I thought about it, though. There was every kind of opportunity to cheat using fake money to gamble, to swindle a casino out of a ton of money. Plus, from the playing cards on the coffee table, he was pretty good at their games.
Also – how many bases did Starr have? I figured a crook would have to be pretty mobile and know how to lay low. He'd have to have six or seven hidey-holes, at least.
Mind on the mission, I scolded myself.
He then turned aside, and I had to clamp my jaw to keep from outright screaming. There was a Palestine flag draped over one of the armchairs. A red flag (whoa, bad pun) if I ever saw one. Not that I'm judging Palestine – or anyone supporting it – but it wasn't something I needed to see after this morning and the news of the missile strike. And given the state of affairs right now, it could put me in serious danger. I had to find that censer – fast.
Speak of the devil – I caught a light from the kitchenette sink, on the other side of the setup. I looked over and saw it – a sooty, ancient-looking kettle… hold up. That wasn't a kettle. No way did a kettle glow like that. Or smell like Biblical-era incense.
"The censer," I whispered, feeling a pang of rage. I imagined Starr hiding the true censer under a load of soot and then keeping a decoy elsewhere in the room. I mean, you simply do not do that to a relic. I was starting to understand why Jay wasn't going down there himself – and not just because the music was so trashy. He would have strangled Starr for desecrating the relic like this.
I held my Comclip to my face and pressed the blue button – DJ's channel. "Rose to Royal," I whispered, cranking down the volume knob so that I didn't broadcast my location to Starr, who was still engaged on the phone. "Do you read me? Over!"
"I read you, Rose," DJ replied, her voice emanating out of my speaker. "What's the situation?"
"The package is in the kitchen," I replied, keeping the anger out of my voice. "I repeat, the package is in the kitchen. Under a load of soot."
I don't know where the term "package" came from. It just sounded like the sort of thing you might say over a comm unit – and the sort of thing DJ might respond to.
"Roger that." DJ's voice quavered with barely concealed fury. Of course, she was ticked off – this was just as important to her religion as it was to mine. For her, it was proof the folks in her Bible were real people. Besides, her church had a much harder line on profanation of sacred things. "Now for the hard part."
That was the easy part? I thought. But I didn't say it into the Comclip.
I didn't blame DJ for being apprehensive, though. Even if Starr didn't support Palestine – at least, judging from the flag – and didn't kill me on sight, it was going to be dicey getting the censer out with him in the room. I had to pray he didn't notice the relic leaving.
A knock diverted my attention. It seemed to be coming from Starr's hotel door.
Drat. I'd missed some of Starr's phone conversation. I turned back to the creep.
"Look, I'll give you the censer," Starr said. "I just–" The knocking got louder. "All right, hold up. I gotta address this… case. If it's the guy – I gotta go."
He hung up and went to the door. I ducked down below the counter as he passed, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
The knocking got louder.
"All right, all right, I'm coming!" Starr yelled. "Jeez, don't get your pants in a twist, fella."
A guest? I thought, peeking over the counter again. It was clear from Starr's wardrobe and the state of his hotel room that he hadn't been expecting any. And who would want to visit Starr here?
I got my answer when Starr opened the door.
Who's coming up? We'll see.
Verse for the update: Nehemiah 8:6. Stay tuned.