Part 3: The Watchman

In his world, all that existed was brilliant light and a throbbing hum.
He had fallen into semi-unconsciousness, he was sure. At the very least he could not recall the last... half-hour, perhaps. Even the humming, ever present, seemed a new and startling experience. The light, always clear and defined, burned into his retinas', a Supernova of blurred images and colours. It was a good thing he had not been caught.
Leaning over to the table in front of him, for an uncomfortable second leaving the familiar warmth of his leather chair, he grasped a red mug and took a swig of the dark coffee it held. "Worlds Best Dad" was emblazoned in big, tacky yellow lettering across the front. Smirking as he read this, for what must have been the thousandth time, he relaxed back into his loving alcove and squinted his dazzled eyes at the glow before him.
Images took shape. Slowly at first, blotches of colour refined and shapes reigned themselves in from slovenly merging. Long, thin patches of Grey appeared in his vision, separating the light into uniform squares. Along the bottom edges of the light-squares ran numbers, in systematic order from left to right, top left-hand corner to bottom-right. Clear images formed in the squares; people in lavish dresses and exquisite suits entering a foyer, party goers engaged in conversation and dance in the main function room, guests wandering the halls, coming and going to their rooms. Like a child watching a nest of ants, he watched the regimented milling with a mild sense of wonder, and a vague sense of power. These people were in his charge, and he held sway over what they could do, where they could go. Soldiers, to his Queen.
Satisfied his realm was as it should be, he turned away from the security screens in order to find a snack. Beside his main, semi-circular desk there was a much smaller, older desk. Peeling red paint and a scratched and dented knob on the only drawer gave it an isolated, out of place look when taken in with the clinical, military-precision style of the rest of the room. Opening the drawer revealed; a torch, a notebook, a box of matches, some Marlboro's, a half eaten chocolate bar and a gun that was as old and battered as the desk itself. Snatching the chocolate from the drawer, he stuffed it into his mouth and turned back to the screens. Lazily sweeping his gaze across the images, his eyes finally came to rest on the camera for the main foyer.
The position of the camera allowed him to see down the middle of the oval-shaped entrance hall, situated above the receptionists' head and pointing out of the grand, towering glass doors. These doors were permanently open this evening, to receive the menagerie of guests that had begun to arrive an hour previously. On either sides of the doors he could see, flanking the arriving guests, Karl and Toshko: two of the security guards hired by the hotel, along with himself, for this event they stood ensuring no-one not on the guest list got in. Long brown hair flowing down to her petite breasts, her skin a light, golden brown and dressed in a black trouser-suit outfit, Toshko stood on the left hand side. On the right, the shaven head and black suit of Karl loomed over the arriving guests.
It was during this quiet moment, when he was satisfied everything in the foyer was running smoothly, that he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. Striding up the stairs into the entrance foyer she came: blond hair flicking lazily out behind her; long shimmering crimson dress that clung to the contours of her body and trailed out as she walked. Even through the fuzz of the camera screen, he could tell her skin was flawless, her features dazzlingly sharp and defined. In the twenty seconds it took her to sweep past Karl and Toshko, glide through the foyer and make her way towards the function hall anything could have happened: the world could have ended. He would not have cared. For twenty seconds, he was captivated.
There was a small click in his ear.
"What I wouldn't give for twenty minutes alone with that..." Karl whispered into his ear-piece, bringing him crashing back down to reality. He smiled, and leaned over to hit the button to reply, but Toshko got there before him.
"Control yourself Karl" she whispered into her ear-piece, clearly unwilling to have this conversation in front of the arriving guests. "You can see your hard on from here."
Flushing red, Karl placed his legs together slightly and clasped his hand over his crotch. The man in the security rooms smile broadening into a grin, he leaned over and prressed the button allowing him to talk to both Karl and Toshko.
"Sure do pick the classiest bunch of people to greet the high-and-mighteys', huh? Well, fortunately for the pair of you, that's where you're staying. 'Know you were supposed to be doing hall patrol, but that's covered now."
He watched on the screen as Karl and Toshko looked quizzically at each other, then heard Toshko say:
"Covered? What do you mean?"
He pressed the button again. "Chief called down a while back, said he'd reshuffled the schedule. He's got some others doing patrol now."
He watched as the pair of them continued to look at each other, a silent debate that continued for a minute, until finally they broke off.
"Alright Bill, fair enough. Means I don't have to move I suppose."
"Lazy sod" Toshko whispered.
Bill leaned back in his chair, depressing the comm. button, and breathed a quiet sigh.
They hadn't suspected a thing.
He immediately reached into his pocket, and produced a small mobile phone. Flipping it open, he scrolled through his contact list until he reached an number that was simply entitled "K". Taking a moment to slow his breathing, a diver before his big plunge, he stared at the phone. One phone-call, and his part would be over, he told himself. He pressed the call button. He felt his heartbeat rise at the first ring: triple in speed by the second. His armpits felt suddenly damp, and he visibly shuddered if anyone had been there to witness it.
There was a small, yet discernible, click as someone answered.
"Yes?" The voice on the other end sounded muffled, as if the person were standing several paces from the receiver.
"Everything's set," Bill said into the phone, willing his voice not to crack under his sudden bout of nerves. "The floors directly above and below where your man will come in are going to be clear." He though for a brief moment. "As well as the actual floor, obviously."
"Good," said the muffled voice, although it was impossible for Bill to discern emotion in the voice. "The agreed amount is being transferred as we speak. The rest when it is over." And with that, the voice hung up.
For a long time Bill sat there in his chair, staring at, but not seeing, the screens in front of him, a grin slowly spreading across his face. It had worked perfectly. No one would suspect his involvement. He was halfway there to becoming a very rich man; early retirement, a new car, maybe even a condo by the sea for himself and his wife.
Nothing could go wrong.