Oh no.

Jack swallows the cake, pockets the wrench and gets out his pistol as quietly as possible. But he can't help the few noises of clicking metal that echo off the water and tiles. Even the noises he makes himself are chilling -- because who knows who else can hear them?

He gets up on his knees, peeks over the top of the reception desk. It's intuition by now to have the gun in his hand, already cocked.

Maybe he'll get lucky and whoever it is will just walk on by.