Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  The cocktail waitress brought Blount’s gimlet, and I gave her seventy-five cents and told her to keep the change. When she had gone, I turned to Alan.

  “I suppose we had better go as well. It is getting rather late.”

  Alan nodded. “Yes, it’s been a long day. I’m ready for bed.”

  Blount took a drink from his glass, stubbed out his cigarette, then lit another and looked at us. “Mr. Bennett doesn’t care much for me, gentlemen, as he stated. I think he thought I flirted too much with Mrs. Verte.”

  “I think he thinks something, Mr. Blount, but I’m not sure what. And I think you did flirt too much with Mrs. Verte,” I said. “I can’t really believe you are interested in her romantically.”

  He gave a little laugh and stroked his thin mustache, staring off in the direction they had gone. “For me, no. She is not my type. But for Mr. Bennett, ah, romance is in the air, no?”

  I looked after them. “Perhaps. Perhaps two lonely people are a little less lonely tonight. But certainly no thanks to you, Mr. Blount.”

  “Maybe so, maybe not. Sometimes a man doesn’t know he wants something until another man shows interest. You understand, no?”

  “You don’t really seem the Cupid type,” Alan said.

  “Cupid? Ah, oui, the little fellow with the bow and arrow, yes?” Blount laughed.

  “You said you didn’t care for Mr. Bennett, so why would you be interested in fixing him up?” I said.

  “Fixing him up?”

  “With Mrs. Verte.”

  “Ah, oui. Fixing up is exactly what he needs. I know a secret, Detective, about Monsieur Bennett. I wonder if you can figure it out.” Blount smirked at me annoyingly. Clearly, he had had one or two gimlets too many.

  “What kind of secret, Mr. Blount?”

  “That’s for you to discover, perhaps. But I will say it’s juicy, very juicy.”

  “That sounds more like gossip.”

  “I assure you it’s all fact, Detective, and facts are always juicier than mere gossip.”

  “You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Blount. You want me to discover Mr. Bennett’s secret?”

  “Let’s just say I am curious to know if you are a good detective or not.”

  “Heath happens to be one of the finest, Mr. Blount,” Alan said defensively.

  “Ah, bon, bon. But then, some secrets perhaps are better left undisturbed.”

  “Then why bring it up at all?” Alan asked.

  “It is no secret that Mr. Bennett and I are not friends. But surely your mind must wonder why.”

  “I think any man would object to another man flirting with someone in front of them,” Alan said. “Especially if he was interested in that someone, too.”

  “Certainly, Alan, but there’s something more, isn’t there, Mr. Blount?”

  He smiled thinly again. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it is for you to know, and you will not know.”

  I returned his thin smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

  “Oui, well, perhaps it is time for me to go as well. Tomorrow is another day, as they say.”

  “Good night, Mr. Blount. We’ll see you tomorrow when we pick up the tux.”

  “Bon soir, sleep well.”

  “Thank you for the drinks, sir,” Alan said.

  “Hmm? Oh, my pleasure, gentlemen.”

  By the time we’d crossed the lobby, Blount had settled back in his chair and was ensconced in his cocktail and his cigarette, having apparently changed his mind about leaving.

  Chapter Six

  “Where are we going, Heath?”

  “Away from him. He smells like trouble, and he sounds like it too.”

  “I thought so, too. Jeepers, Mr. Bennett sure doesn’t like him. What was that all about?”

  “I’m not sure. But there’s a reason behind it all, and Mr. Blount is the type of man who likes to taunt people. He wants you to know he knows something and you don’t, even if he doesn’t want you to find out what. He wants you to know he’s in control. Of course, I’m sure part of it was the alcohol talking.”

  “Mr. Blount sure didn’t seem to care for Mrs. Verte’s little joke about VD,” Alan said.

  “Some men find off-color humor like that vulgar in women, even if they may find it amusing if another man said it. Still, his reaction was curious. He had such a blank stare about him when she said it.”

  “Heath, don’t go getting all curious on me again. We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry, you’re right, Alan, absolutely. Say, there’s Mike.”

  I waved to Mike Masterson, who was standing near a pillar, smoking a cigarette and seemingly oblivious to everything around him, which I knew from experience meant he was fully aware of everything. Mike was the same age as me, but shorter. He was clean shaven, barrel chested and solid, with thin dark hair that accented his round face and brown eyes. He looked tough in his double-breasted pinstripe suit, as if he was someone you did not want to meet in a dark alley. And I knew from experience you didn’t.

  He greeted us cordially as we walked up to him, but he kept his eyes on his surroundings.

  “Good to see you, Mike. I’d like you to meet Alan Keyes, my friend I was telling you about.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Keyes.”

  “Likewise, and please call me Alan.”

  “I’m Mike, then. Any friend of Heath’s is a friend of mine. We go back a long way.”

  I nodded. “We certainly do. You were still married to Kathy when we first met.”

  Mike grimaced. “God, yes. Seems a lifetime ago. I was young and foolish, and so were you. I could tell you some stories about your friend Heath, here, Alan.”

  Alan raised his eyebrows. “I’d love to hear them.”

  “Let’s leave the past in the past, Mike.”

  Mike laughed. “Heath could be a bit unbuttoned, to say the least, especially when he’d had a cocktail or two too many.”

  “Oh really?”

  “I’m sure he’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “I hope so. That’s a side I’ve never seen.”

  “Well, like I said, that was a long time ago. I guess we grew up,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess we did. I divorced Kathy, met the amazing, intelligent, blond bombshell herself, Margot Becker, married her, moved here, and got this job.”

  “A lot has changed,” I said.

  “It sure has. Listen, I’m about due for a break. Why don’t you come downstairs to my office, and we can catch up for a bit?”

  “That would be great, Mike, lead on.”

  He put out his cigarette in a nearby floor ashtray and turned toward a door marked Stairs next to the elevator. “My office is on what I like to call the lower level.” The three of us went down two sets of fire stairs to a subbasement, then out to a narrow hall. “Just me and the laundry down here, along with the housekeeping offices and staff toilets. I’m over this way.” We turned right and stopped at the end of the hall while he unlocked a door marked Security. Once inside, he flicked on the overhead light and I glanced about. It was small, only about ten by twelve, half of which was taken up by a large wooden desk and two chairs facing it.

  “This is it, gentlemen. Welcome to my world,” Mike said.

  “Not bad, Mike. Very private,” I said.

  He laughed. “Always the diplomat, Heath. It’s a dump, but it suffices. I don’t spend much time down here, most of my shift I’m up patrolling the lobby or the halls. Sit, sit.”

  Alan and I both took a seat in the creaky wooden armchairs facing the desk. The room smelled of dampness and stale cigarettes. The ashtray on the desktop was full.

  Mike pulled open a drawer and extracted a bottle of bourbon and three glasses, which he filled generously before handing us each one and lighting another cigarette. “You still don’t smoke, Heath?”

  “No, never started.”

  “You?” he asked Alan, holding out the rumpled package.

  “Thanks, no. I don’t smo
ke either.”

  “Figures. Sorry I don’t have any ice for the drinks.”

  “It’s fine, Mike,” I said, though it certainly wasn’t my drink of choice with or without ice.

  “Liar. But anyway, here’s to old friends and new ones.” Mike raised his glass to us.

  “Here’s to,” I said.

  “Hear, hear.”

  We drank a good portion, and Mike leaned back and put his feet up as he unbuttoned his suit coat and took several drags on his cigarette.

  “Enjoying your stay, guys?”

  I nodded. “Great hotel, Mike. Thanks again for arranging the rate for us.”

  “My pleasure. Your room okay?”

  “We’re in 804—clean and neat.”

  “Ah, they put you by the elevator. Sorry about that. Not much of a view from that room, either.”

  “It’s fine. We’re here to see the city, not the room,” I said.

  “I suppose. Too bad about the weather, though, but it’s supposed to clear up soon.”

  “Can’t do anything about it,” Alan said.

  “Very true, Alan.”

  “We met Mr. Blount today,” I said.

  Mike nodded. “Yes, I noticed you chatting with him in the lobby, along with Mr. Bennett and the jolly blonde.”

  “Right, Mike. That Blount is an odd fellow. Something doesn’t seem right about him,” I said.

  Mike took another swig from his glass and took another long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t talk to him much, but I’ve bought a few things in his shop, dealt with him a couple times. I don’t think he’s on the square.”

  “I agree, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Mike blew a couple of smoke rings into the stale air. “He’s French, you know. Maybe that explains it.”

  I laughed. “I know a few French people, and they’re nothing like Mr. Blount.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Mr. Blount told us he’s had his shop here for several years,” I said.

  “That’s right, he has. He keeps his nose clean, mostly. There was some trouble a few years back. A young girl killed herself over him, apparently.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. A young girl, just nineteen.”

  “How was Blount involved?”

  “I don’t know the details, but there was the implication he had taken nude photos of her and sold them to some seedy publication.”

  “Wowzer, so what happened?”

  “The pictures got out, and she killed herself. But he was absolved of any wrongdoing. Word is he bought himself out of serving any jail time.”

  “He mentioned he does portraits in the back room. How strange.”

  “Like I said, Blount’s a strange fellow.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t let him bother you. Just enjoy yourselves and have a nice weekend. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” Alan said. “I seem to have to keep reminding Heath we’re on vacation.”

  Mike laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  I smiled. “You both know me too well. What’s Mr. Bennett all about?”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders and took a puff of his cigarette. “Buttoned up, straitlaced, dull, predictable. He’s worked here quite a while.”

  “Fifteen plus years, he said,” Alan replied.

  “That sounds about right. He’s single, lives alone, doesn’t bother me, and I don’t bother him. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  “You always are.”

  “Sometimes those buttoned-up straitlaced, dull, predictable ones can surprise you.”

  Mike laughed. “Don’t I know it. We had a convention of school librarians in here a few years back. Damn, they really kept me on my toes. Noise complaints like crazy.”

  Alan and I laughed, too. “It’s always the buttoned-up ones that come unglued.”

  “Or unbuttoned. So what all did you do today after you checked in?”

  Alan grinned. “This is my first time to Chicago. We visited the Wrigley Building and saw the Carbide and Carbon Building today, a bunch of others, too. And we rode the L, did some shopping all up and down Michigan Avenue, and ate and drank a lot. Tomorrow we plan on going to the Museum of Science and Industry, and maybe the Field Museum and some nightclubs.”

  Mike whistled. “Sounds like a great weekend. Wish I could join you, but I have to work. Margot would love to see you, too. She sends her regards.”

  “How is Margot?”

  “She’s fine, getting prettier and smarter every day. One of these days we’ll make it back up to Milwaukee to see you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Mike stubbed out the cigarette in the already full ashtray and drained his glass before looking at his watch. “Guess I better get back to work, gentlemen.” He swung his feet off the desk and returned the bottle to the desk drawer.

  We finished our drinks too and stood up. “Right. What should we do with the glasses?”

  “Just leave them on the desk. I’ll rinse them out in the men’s room sink later.”

  That thought did not appeal to me as I wondered how often they’d been rinsed out previously, but I didn’t say anything. “We’ll see you before we leave, then.”

  “You’d better. I’m working the night shift again tomorrow, but I’m on day duty Sunday and Monday. Those are the big checkout days, always problems.”

  “Sounds brutal, working Saturday night and then back again on Sunday morning.”

  He nodded. “It is brutal. I get home at two a.m., back here at nine a.m., but I just have that rotation once a month. Margot hates it only slightly more than me.”

  “I bet.” We walked out of his office as he flicked off the light and locked the door. “I think we’re going to call it a night, Mike. It’s been a long day, and we have another one tomorrow.”

  “Sure, makes sense.” He stopped a third of the way down the hall and punched a button. “Take the service elevator up to your room.”

  The elevator door slid open and we stepped in. “Thanks, Mike, see ya.”

  “See ya. Nice to meet you, Alan.”

  “Likewise. Have a good night, Mike.”

  We stood staring at each other briefly until the elevator door closed, then I pushed the button and we were off.

  Alan glanced over at me as the elevator climbed up, creaking and groaning. “Mike seems like a nice guy.”

  “Top notch.”

  “Does he know?”

  I shrugged. “I think so. He’s a smart fellow, and I’ve known him a long time.”

  “And he doesn’t mind?”

  “Doesn’t seem to. He’s a live-and-let-live kind of fellow, and so is Margot. That’s why I like them.”

  “The world needs more of them.”

  “I agree.”

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning we awoke early, Alan actually crawling out of bed first. I lay there a while, feeling the warm spot on the bed where his body had been, smelling the pillow, breathing in the scent of his hair tonic, and feeling content. While he was in the shower, I got up and opened the curtains. Another gray day, but I refused to let the fog, rain, and drizzle dampen my spirits. I even found myself singing aloud a bit as I pulled the two beds apart, moved the nightstand back into position, and tidied up. Alan emerged from the bathroom, wearing only a towel emblazoned with The Edmonton in fancy script, and surveyed the room.

  “It looks like we slept in separate beds all right. I don’t see any indication they were ever pushed together.”

  “Good. The games we have to play, I guess. Sleep well?”

  “Very, in spite of the occasional noise from the elevator. These mattresses are amazingly nice. They sure beat the one I have at home. And fresh, clean sheets every day, golly.”

  “You should invest in a new mattress for your apartment. A good night’s sleep is important.”

  “Yeah, I should. I
really slept soundly last night. How about you?”

  “You snore,” I said with a grin.

  He laughed. “Take the good with the bad, mister. Better get showered. We have a lot to do today. What about breakfast?”

  “How about the coffee shop here in the hotel? It’s convenient, and then we can visit the museum. The weather doesn’t look too good for the Garfield Park Conservatory, so maybe we can do that tomorrow.”

  “Sounds great, but you need to shower, shave, and get dressed first.”

  “I won’t be but a minute, faster than you can shake a martini.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “Very funny.” I picked up a pillow and threw it at him as I scurried into the bathroom and shut the door. The hot water was invigorating, and soon I emerged to find Alan already dressed in his day suit and a spiffy red tie.

  “New tie?”

  “Yup, I bought it just for the trip.”

  “I like it—it matches your eyes.” I grinned.

  Now it was his turn to throw a pillow at me, which I dodged unsuccessfully, and we both laughed. He watched as I dressed. I liked sharing a morning like this, just the two of us. After what Alan said was an “eternity” of my primping, combing my hair, and shaving, I was finally ready.

  “I think I could have shaken about four or five pitchers full of martinis in the time it took you to get ready.”

  “Wise guy. I just want to look my best for you.”

  “You always do.”

  “Better. Well, since you don’t have any of those martinis, why don’t we get this day started?”

  “As I always say, if you’re waiting for me, you’re wasting your time.”

  We left the room for the day, my shoulder holster secured under my suit coat, the umbrella on my arm. Alan had his camera about his neck again and his lucky rock in his pocket, I was sure.

  The coffee shop was opposite the Acorn Bar, behind the marble staircase and under the mezzanine. We slid easily into a booth across from a table for two who were apparently just finishing. The woman sitting there looked very familiar, a beautiful blonde with killer legs crossed neatly beneath a white pleated skirt. She wore a tight red sweater and a small white hat that looked like the top of an acorn. She was seated across from an extremely attractive man wearing a dark suit and an eye patch that made him intriguing and mysterious. At his feet was an instrument case. As the waitress brought our coffees, I finally remembered where I had seen her before.