He hears the murmurur of voices, shouting and something lower, softer, followed by a sudden shout. It comes up through the floor boards, just barely on the verge of hearing. He spins on his heel, ducking back out of the dingy little salesroom and into the hall. There's a door, tucked beside an old concession stand, and it's open just a few inches, but there's a wicked looking lock on the door with key still in the lock. Where they keep the valuables, Tom thought hysterically, and glanced up, catching Mike's eye.

No more talking. Now, this close to the door, he could hear the voices clearly.

He indicated the door with his gun, swallowing hard. Here, he mouthed, edging closer to the open door.