Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas kicks the door open into the hallway. Murderbone surges beside him. Under the buzzing fluorescent light, the figure in the grey coat freezes, one hand half-raised, a keycard flashing between their fingers.

The hallway answers with a distant door slam. A thin strip of light leaks from the stairwell, and the grey-coated figure backs toward it, trying to keep Dallas talking while looking for an exit.

Murderbone growls low, blocking the stairwell. Dallas spots a fresh scuff mark on the wallpaper near the ice machine, a hidden panel where someone has been coming and going tonight.

The grey-coated figure swallows hard and finally cracks, pointing with two trembling fingers toward the service corridor. Adelaide Wren is not just nearby, she is using the motel's back route to reach the annex files before Dallas does.

Dallas slides the panel open with one clean pull. Behind the ice machine sits a narrow service cavity, dry, dusty, and packed with fresh footprints.

He reaches in and finds a folded annex badge, a motel route sketch, and a stamped file tag marked for removal tonight.

The tag is recent. Whoever used this knew the hallway layout.

Murderbone noses the opening and snarls toward the service corridor, where the air shifts with a faint draft from somewhere below.

Dallas pockets the badge and route sketch, then spots a second mark on the wall, a grease line that points past the corridor door toward the laundry access.

Dallas rises from the panel without a sound and cuts past the ice machine, badge and sketch already in his coat pocket.

Murderbone slips at his heel, then pauses at the laundry door, nose working the greasy air pouring through the frame.

Dallas takes the service route, shoulders brushing damp paint, and finds the laundry access standing ajar ahead of him.

Inside, washer steam hisses through the room, carrying the smell of bleach, detergent, and old paper.

Pinned to a rolling cart beside the dryers is a fresh annex transfer slip, still warm from the copier, with Adelaide Wren's run marked in red ink.

At the far exit, a heel scuff answers from the next hall, and someone beyond the door draws in a sharp breath.

Dallas ghosts along the washers and stops at the far exit, close enough to hear breath on the other side.

He leans in just enough to catch a shape through the cracked door, a woman in a gray coat pressed tight to the hall wall.

Dallas slides the door wider with two fingers. Steam spills out around his sleeve as he studies the corridor, the woman already half-turned toward the annex route.

In the cart light, the transfer slip matches the route sketch in his pocket. The timing is real, and it is tight.

Dallas snaps the revolver up through the steam and points it at the gray coat in one clean motion. Murderbone launches past his knee toward the hallway, low and silent.

The woman jerks back as the dog crashes into her path, forcing her shoulder into the wall instead of the corridor.

Dallas holds the barrel steady. The steam thins just enough to show her hands empty, one palm braced to the tile, the other half-raised in surrender.

Murderbone pins her line of retreat while Dallas takes the route sketch from his pocket and aligns it with the doorframe. The mark on the paper matches the stairwell beyond the laundry room.

Dallas slips past the woman in gray and takes the stairwell in a single burst, coat snapping through the steam. Murderbone cuts the corner first, nose low, then vanishes up the steps.

The laundry room door hangs open behind him, hissing wet heat into the hall. Ahead, the annex route opens into cleaner air, and the smell of paper and bleach drifts up from below.

Dallas reaches the landing and spots fresh scuffs on the stair edge, chalky dust on the rail, and a bent file tag caught in the tread. Someone hurried here recently, carrying weight.

Murderbone stops at the next turn, hackles up, staring at a half-open annex door down the service corridor. A strip of light leaks under it, steady and bright.

Dallas reaches the annex threshold and finds the door still open, just enough to see a file cart abandoned inside. One folder lies face-down on the floor, its label torn clean away.

Dallas lunges through the doorway and snatches the rolling file cart by its handle, stopping it dead before it can rattle deeper into the annex. The metal wheels shudder, then settle.

A torn folder skids against his shoe. Inside the cart, a stack of transfer sheets sits under a binder clip, and the top page carries the fresh initials A.W.

Murderbone pushes to the open door and sniffs hard at the threshold, then lifts his head toward the interior hall, tense but certain.

A narrow strip of carbon paper slips loose from beneath the top packet, showing a duplicated room number and a cleanup stamp that matches the annex file code.

From somewhere deeper in the annex, a drawer shuts with a sharp metallic crack.

Dallas cuts past the cart and drives into the annex corridor, coat flaring behind him. Laundry steam spills from a side vent and turns the hallway into a white blur.

His shoes strike the tile once, twice, then he slips through the haze and into the service wing without slowing.

Murderbone surges ahead of Dallas, nose low, then snaps his head toward the left branch as a paper trail skitters across the floor.

Dallas catches the corner, shoulder-checks through the swinging service door, and bursts into a narrow records antechamber lined with half-open drawers.

At the far end, a gray coat disappears through an inner doorway, leaving a file box tipped on its side and a ledger sleeve hanging open.

Dallas drives through the inner doorway as it starts to swing shut, catching it with his shoulder and forcing it open. The room beyond is tighter, darker, and littered with fresh paper slips.

A file cart sits crooked in the center aisle, one drawer hanging open. Beyond it, a gray coat flashes past a second door deeper inside.

Murderbone barrels in after him, nails skidding on tile, then stops hard at the scent trail leading under the next doorway.

Dallas reaches the tipped file box, snatches a torn ledger sleeve from the floor, and sees Wren's stamp still wet on the corner.

He slips through the open doorway at the far end and catches a clean view of the stack room, empty except for a desk, a half-open safe, and a trail of papers leading toward the rear exit.

The gray-coated woman in the hall points after him, voice tight. 'Go, before she seals the back door.'

Dallas slips through the rear exit and into a narrow service corridor, the door banging once behind him. Papers skitter along the floor toward a darker stairwell ahead.

Murderbone surges after him, nose low, then veers toward a fresh trail of dust on the tile. The scent leads straight to the back passage.

Dallas catches the edge of a gray coat at the turn and closes the distance in a blur. His hand clamps down on a swinging ledger case before it can disappear.

The gray-coated woman skids to a stop under the stair light, breath sharp, eyes locked on the case in Dallas's grip. A second bundle of file slips spills from her arm.

Dallas rips the case open and finds the ledger inside, along with a stamped file tag and a wet transfer slip marked for the annex storage room. Ahead, the rear door stands open to the alley.