[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

Quinn was hiding next to a car parked on the far side of the Porsche. Orlando was crouched in the shadows at the corner of the building. Quinn risked a peek and saw the two men walking toward Borko's car. The guard stopped at the front of the Porsche and watched as Borko got in. While the guard's attention was occupied, Quinn crept toward the front of the parked car, narrowing the gap between himself and the guard to under ten feet. The Porsche's engine started, then Borko backed it into the street and drove away.

Before the guard could return to the warmth of the hotel, Quinn came up behind him and threw an arm around the guard's neck. Using his free hand, he landed two quick, powerful punches to the man's jaw, knocking him unconscious. He picked up the man's gun and tossed it under a parked car, then dragged the unconscious body into the shadows next to the building.

'Are you sure he's out?' Orlando asked as she emerged from her hiding spot.

'He's out.'

Instead of waiting for the other guard to come and check on his friend, they pulled out their guns and entered the hotel. The remaining guard was standing near the elevators. The moment he spotted them, he reached for the gun in his shoulder holster. But Orlando shot first, hitting the man in the arm. The guard yelled in pain, his gun tumbling out of the holster and onto the floor. Quinn raced forward and punched him in the face. The man fell against the wall, then toppled to the ground.

There was a noise to Quinn's left. He shot a look over at the night clerk who was just picking up the phone. 'Nein,' Quinn said. 'Come here.'

Reluctantly, the night clerk came from around the corner and approached Quinn. 'You have a room we can lock him in?' Quinn asked in German.

The man nodded.

'Help us.'

Once they had both guards locked in a small office off the lobby, Quinn turned to the clerk. 'What room are they in?' he said, playing his hunch.

'Who?' the clerk asked.

Orlando raised her gun, pointing it at the clerk. 'Third floor. Three-twelve.'

There were no guards outside room 312. 'How many people inside?' Quinn asked.

'Three, I think,' the clerk said.

They reached the door. 'Is there a code?' Quinn asked, his voice a whisper. 'I don't know.' 'Then just knock. Tell them their boss sent up some food.'

The clerk hesitated.

'Do it,' Orlando said, playing up her self-chosen role as the enforcer.

The man knocked. Quinn could hear footsteps approaching from the other side, then, 'Who is it?' 'Herbert,' the clerk said. 'Your boss wanted me

to bring you something to eat.' The door opened. Standing just inside was a man in his mid-twenties.

'It's about fucking time. I'm starv –' He stopped when he saw Quinn. He reached for his gun, but he was too late.

Quinn shoved the clerk across the threshold into the man, crashing them both to the floor and dislodging the pistol in the process. Quinn entered behind them and picked up the gun. Orlando followed next, shutting the door behind her.

A second man jumped up from a chair to Quinn's right. He was starting to grab for his weapon, an Uzi resting on the end table next to him. Quinn shot the man once in the shoulder, knocking him back into the chair.

Quinn and Orlando stood in the middle of the room, guns pointed at the guards. 'Anyone else here?' he asked the injured man. 'Don't fucking lie to me.'

'No one,' the man grunted.

Quinn surveyed the room. In the corner was a bed. Someone was lying on it. Orlando had glanced at the bed, too. Quinn could see it in her face, the disappointment and continued fear. The person on the bed was far too big to be her son.

Quinn finished his sweep of the room. To the left were two doors, side by side. Next to one of them was a heavy-looking dresser with a TV on top.

'Where do those go?' Quinn asked, pointing at the doors. 'Closet and bathroom,' the clerk said from his position on the floor. Quinn looked back at the man in the chair. 'You carrying anything else?' The guard hesitated, then pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a Walther PPK in an ankle holster. 'Pull it out slowly and toss it over here,' Quinn ordered.

The man did so.

'What else?' Quinn asked.

The man shook his head. Quinn walked over, grabbed the Uzi off the table, and slung it over his shoulder. He then turned his attention to the person lying on the bed. A Caucasian male, mid-twenties.

Nate.

Quinn looked back at his three captives, then motioned to the closet door. 'Inside. You two in the

closet,' he told the guards. 'And you,' he said as he looked at the clerk, 'you can have the bathroom.' The clerk and the guard on the floor got to their

feet and started toward the closed doors.

'You, too,' Orlando said to the injured man.

It took the man a moment to stand up, but he was soon following the other two across the room. The guard who hadn't been shot opened the closet door, and he and his partner squeezed inside the tiny chamber.

Quinn walked over to the door. 'Phones,' he said, holding out his hand.