You could just barely hear it when the hotel card key beeped and the man entered. I knew the brand of door: ETO custom two-panel models, featuring quiet hinges and “ample soundproofing.” A staple of Marriotts all over the country.

Vihaan was backlit in the doorway, a silhouette. He stood for a moment, sliding his card-key back in his wallet and fumbling with a briefcase. Made me laugh to see him decked in a dress suit. It fit that overgrown bellhop like scuba gear on a zebra.

He walked in and turned the lights on. There were eight of us.

“What’s good, porky?” I said. “Have a seat.”

The texts had been coming for months. Weird shit, pointless. Just fuck you at three in the morning. Your bitch Courtney goin down too they got her ugly ass on conspiracy was another late-nighter. There were long rants, calling me a coon and worse. Lots of talk about snitching that would have interested a shrink. The boy had problems in the head.

I didn’t answer. Just thought about it. And started to track him o…