As he walked from the bed to the door, a disquieting thought chilled him. What if it wasn’t the police? He’d just let someone know he was in. Tony’s eyes darted back toward the telephone perched on the nightstand beside the bed. One call would clear everything up, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Since when did he become such a sissy? He was pushing 40. He was neither a frail old man or a scared little kid. He’d been a star wrestler in high school, for chrissakes.
The knocking repeated.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tony said. He advanced toward the door, ready for an eyeful of whatever lay beyond the peephole.
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