Out in the hall, Benedict kept the phone pressed to his ear and his face turned from the salon.
Benedict: Junia. Lionel Pemberton. Every account he has, and every account his name touches.
Benedict: And the two men he keeps on Marrow Street. Find them tonight.
Inside the salon, Lionel Pemberton laughed too loud and set his glass down hard.
Lionel: Ten minutes and the waiter comes back with his tail down. Watch.
Then he pushed the tall door open and went after him.
Marielle came out after her husband, and Lionel caught her bad wrist and pulled her back.
Lionel: Not so fast, servant's wife. Your husband is on the phone begging for his job.
His grip ground the cut palm sideways, and fresh blood slid down to her fingertips.
Marielle: Let go of me.
Lionel: Beg me first. Beg me like your husband used to beg for tips.
He shoved her into the corridor wall, and her head hit the gold paper with a flat sound.
The hotel workers pressed themselves flat against the elevator and studied their shoes.
Lionel: Take a good look at her. She beds the man who scrubs this hotel's floors.
Lionel: And she walks through this hotel like a lady. Everyone here knows what she is.
A woman at the salon door covered her mouth, and nobody told him to stop.
Lionel: I have two men downstairs. One word from you, and they take your husband to Marrow Street.
Lionel: They break both his hands, and then I come back for you. Nobody here will lift a finger.
She believed him. Her fingers would not stop shaking, and the blood ran down to her wrist.
Benedict slid the phone away and came back around, and nobody in that hall said a word.
Benedict: Say that again. Slowly.
Lionel: You have no money and no name, Roe. What will you do, mop the floor?
Then his own phone rang in his jacket, and it rang again before he pulled it out.
Lionel: What? Speak up, I am busy. What do you mean, canceled?
Lionel: That suite was paid up front. My name opens doors in this city.
The hotel manager kept talking, and Lionel's face began to change.
The manager hung up, and the phone rang again at once.
Lionel: Otis? Otis, slow down. Frozen? My accounts do not freeze.
Otis from Bellcrest Bank kept talking, and Lionel's voice went thin and high.
Lionel shoved the phone into his pocket and walked fast for the lobby doors.
Lionel: Move. Get out of my way.
His shoes skidded on the marble, and he caught himself on a pillar.
He did not reach the door. Two hotel men in gray suits stepped in front of it and held up a printed page.
Lionel: Fetch the owner. I want a name, and I want it now.
Neither man moved, and the taller one pointed back down the hall.
Lionel turned around, and his mouth was wet and his hands were open.
Lionel: Roe. Benedict. We were at the club together, remember? Old friends.
Lionel: Tell them it was a mistake. One call. You can do that.
Benedict studied him until the quiet got heavy, then spoke so low that Lionel had to lean in.
Benedict: Apologize to my wife.
Benedict: Louder. On your knees, where the staff can hear it.
Lionel went down on the carpet, and his knees hit the marble edge hard enough to make him wince.
Lionel: Mrs. Dunley, I am sorry. I am nothing. Please forgive me.
Marielle did not say one word while the man who had called her cheap knelt on the carpet and begged.
Marielle: Benedict. What did you do?
Benedict: Nothing that will last. Come on. Your hand needs cleaning.
He put his arm around her and walked her away, and Lionel stayed on his knees on the hotel carpet.
Behind them, the staff were already whispering, and one of them had his phone out.
She tipped her head back to study his quiet face, and the doubt she had carried all night sat heavier in her chest.