by Stephen John
“He did?” Ida Belle asked.
I glared at her, “Yes, he did.”
I turned back to Thompson. “You don’t have to take my word for it. He will tell you himself when he gets here. If you review your security footage from that morning around nine-thirty, you will see Mr. Le Blanc speaking to her in the hallway just outside his room.”
Thompson squinted at me, trying to determine whether I was full of crap. Consuelo had told us that Carter had, in fact, spoken to her that morning, to ask for towels, not to let me into the room. The security footage had no audio, however, only video, so Carter could have been giving her the recipe for Gougères for all he knew.
Gertie caught on right away, “That’s right Mr. Fancy Pants, Carter asked Consuelo to let us in. What do you think of them apples?”
Thompson sighed, “It doesn’t matter. Consuelo should have directed you to guest services at the time you asked. And she should have told Mr. Le Blanc to check in with guest services, too. The hotel does not permit her to allow people in the room.”
“That’s funny,” I replied. “That isn’t what your employee manual states. Consuelo? Do you have the manual?”
Consuelo handed me a copy of the Camano Bay Hotel Employee Manual. I turned to page nineteen, where I had previously highlighted the following passage, which I read to Thompson, “Hotel employees will be pleasant to hotel guests at all times, and will graciously accommodate all reasonable requests.”
“Let me see that,” he said.
I handed it to him and turned back to Consuelo, “When Mr. Le Blanc asked you let me into his room that morning, did you consider the request reasonable?”
She looked at Thompson wide-eyed, and then looked back at me, “Yes, ma’am—very reasonable.”
“Who else thinks it’s reasonable?” I asked. “Raise your hand.”
“I think it sounds reasonable,” Ida Belle chimed in, raising her hand.
“Me too,” Gertie said, hand raised.
I raised my hand, “Me too. What do you think Mr. Thompson?”
He stared at me coldly.
“It’s okay, Mr. Thompson,” I said. “You can raise your hand, too.”
He handed me back the manual, “The language in the HR manual does not override our contradict security protocols. Our security protocols are clear. This matter is closed.”
“You have a different manual for security protocols?” I asked.
He smiled, “We do, and Consuelo violated them.”
“Consuelo,” I asked. “Do you have a copy of the company security protocols manual?”
“I do not,” she said. “They never gave me one.”
“Really?” I said in faux incredulity. “I see from the back of this document I am holding they required you to read and sign your Employee Manual. Did you not have to read and sign you understood the security protocols as well?”
“No ma’am,” she said. “I never saw them before.”
I sighed and shook my head in mock exasperation, turning back to Tiny Tom, “Mr. Thompson, do you not cover the security protocols with all your staff?”
He leaned forward and for the first time, appeared nervous, “Well—I, you see—we—”
“So, you have rules you expect your employees to follow that you do not share with them? Is that what you are saying?”
“No,” he stammered.
“And why is it you enforce a security protocol that seems to be in direct conflict with the employee manual?”
“Uh—”
“Is it the responsibility of your employees to determine which of the rules to follow when two rules contradict each other?”
“I—uh—,” he stammered. “This situation was not the only factor in her termination. Consuelo’s work performance has been—”
“Exemplary,” I interjected, completing the sentence for him. “At least that is what her supervisor said in her latest review. Consuelo, you have a copy of your annual review?”
She smiled, holding it out.
“I read the review,” I said, taking it from her. “The Director of Housekeeping thinks highly of Consuelo. He gave her a 4.5 out of 5 rating, but you only gave her a twenty-one cent per hour raise to meet the new city minimum wage requirements? She’s been here three years, sir, and still making only minimum wage? That’s shameful. Would you like to read it?”
“That’s unnecessary,” Thompson said, perspiring. “Look, I will speak to HR later this week and we’ll review the matter. Until then—”
Gertie made a loud honking noise. It was annoying, “Wrong answer Mr. Thompson,” she snarled. “This matter needs to get handled today—now.”
Thompson pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead, “Listen, I can’t—”
I held up my finger and smiled, “Oh, I almost forgot. There is one more thing. Did you know this hotel has had three complaints filed over the last thirteen months? Of course you knew—you’re the manager. The complaints allege that the hotel quoted higher rates to its guests than are published on your rate sheet. Senior citizens filed all three of the previous complaints— all were guest over the age of seventy.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Thompson barked.
“Gertie, are you over seventy?” I asked.
“I’m in that general range,” she replied.
Ida Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head.
They named “Clerk Kent in two of the three complaints,” I noted. “It’s all a matter of public record for anyone who knows where to look.”
“Preposterous,” Thompson reiterated.
“Gertie, what rate did you pay for the room you booked?” I asked.
“Three hundred and seventy-nine dollars!” Gertie bellowed.
“Hmmm,” I responded, “That’s interesting. I called your corporate office this morning, and was told the highest rate for that room was three-hundred-twenty-nine. When I told them the day and room number they said there had been a mistake. They plan to call you and speak to you about that—good luck with that conversation. Your hotel overcharged my friend. How do you explain that, Mr. Thompson?”
“I must look into it,” he said, slumping in his chair.
“You know what I think?”
“You’ll tell me no matter what I say,” he replied.
“Clerk Kent is not seeking truth, justice, and the American way,” I continued. “He’s taking advantage of senior citizens thinking older people will complain less. And I also think you are providing him the direction to do so.”
“That’s B.S.” he chirped.
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” he said.
“Mr. Thompson, aren’t you paying Clerk Kent a bonus based on how much revenue he generates, giving him an incentive to upsell and overcharge?”
Thompson glared at me but fell silent. He sighed and sat back, interlocking his fingers across his big belly, “What is it you want?”
“Hire Consuelo back today—now.”
“Done,” he said.
“And with a thirty-percent increase in salary, effective from her last review with back pay. Plus, you will increase her scheduled hours from thirty hours per week to forty hours per week, making her full-time and providing her benefits. That should just about set things right from the raises you’ve missed with her over the years.”
He looked at me, and sighed again.
“Or should I call your corporate office again and express my concerns?” I asked. “Maybe The Seattle Times and KIRO-TV and KOMO-TV would be interested too?”
“Okay. Done,” he said. “Are we good?”
“Not quite,” I said. “There’s the matter of Clerk Kent out there taking advantage of senior citizens.”
“I’ll fire him after his shift tonight,” he said.
“You didn’t put up much of a fight on that,” I replied.
He shrugged, “The guy is a slime ball.”
“Then we’re good,” I said smiling and standing. “Oh, and Mr. Thomps
on, I have given Consuelo the name and the telephone number of the police officer who told me about the complaints filed against this hotel. He doesn’t have a high opinion of you or your hotel already. If you mistreat Consuelo after I’m gone, this officer has offered to step into my place and make your life hell. You had better not mistreat or create a hostile environment for her. Are we on the same page, here?”
He nodded, “Yes—no need to worry.”
Carter Le Blanc appeared in the doorway, “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.”
I smiled, “That’s okay. We’re all done here. Unless Mr. Thompson has a question he’d like to ask Mr. Carter.”
Thompson shook his head, “Nope.”
As we passed through the lobby Clerk Kent made eye contact with Gertie. He scowled at her. She smiled at him, formed a hand pistol and pointed her index finger.
“Pow!” she said.
Clerk Kent gave Gertie a confused look then scowled at her. She smiled and waved, mouthing the words, “Bye, bye now.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Consuelo said, in tears. She hugged me, then Ida Belle, then Gertie.
“You take care of yourself now,” Gertie said to her, “and call us if something comes up.”
“I will,” she said. “Goodbye.”
She walked through the front door. I noticed a little skip to her step.
“Does anyone want to tell me what just happened?” Carter said. “Why are you three in my hotel and how did you meet the housekeeper? And why did you need me here?”
Ida Belle and Gertie laughed.
“You were window dressing, Carter,” I said. “No worries.”
“But—,”
“Carter, I need to chat with Gertie and Ida Belle,” I said. “You go ahead to the DEA meeting with Paul. I’ll be behind you.”
Carter shook his head as if to shake off the cobwebs and walked away.
Ida Belle looked at me with a wicked smirk, “Carter didn’t know what was going on or why you asked him here, did he?”
I shook my head, “None.”
“So, what would Carter had said if the manager asked him about his conversation with Consuelo?”
I shrugged, “That he asked her for towels, I suppose.”
Gertie snickered.
“We did a good thing today, ladies,” I said.
“You did,” Ida Belle said. “How did you know about the senior citizen complaints?”
“Gertie’s arresting Officer,” I said.
“Officer Hernandez,” Gertie said. “He’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?”
“You made quite the impression on him,” I said, flashing back to the look on his face as he described Gertie’s orange undies. “After you told him about Consuelo, he shared the complaints made against the hotel.”
“You know me,” Gertie said. “I’m all about the first impression.”
“That’s an understatement,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, you did moon the guy with your bright orange undies,” I said.
“Oh dear, I forgot,” Gertie replied. “I should call him to apologize. I don’t want him to think I am weird or anything.”
“That’s a bell you’ll never un-ring,” Ida Belle said.
“Smart elec.”
“What’s your next move?” Ida Belle asked.
“Carter and I are meeting DEA Agent Tim Young with Paul Pride and his new attorney.”
“What can we do?” Gertie asked. She was feeling chipper now that Consuelo had gotten her job back and Clerk Kent was getting his comeuppance.
“I’m glad you asked,” I replied. “I need you ladies to babysit for me?”
“Babysit?” Ida Belle replied.
“Yes. I’m not worried about Ariel Pride but Miss Sally Green makes me nervous.”
“How so?” Gertie asked.
“Ariel just wanted her brother safe. This situation turned her life upside down. She thought she was coming into money and now she isn’t. She is an unhappy woman at the moment. I think we need to keep an eye on her. I will give you the address of the safe house Carter has her in.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Ida Belle said.
Chapter 16
The local DEA headquarters was on 5th Avenue in downtown Seattle. Like many things in Seattle the building was modern looking, with fountains and sculptures in the front. The entrance was semi-circular, with an enormous arch. The inside looked as modern as the outside.
I gave my name at the front desk and a young woman immediately ushered me into a private room. Carter and Pride’s attorney were there already, seated. Hank Haddad was a fifty ish year-old man with wispy salt and pepper hair and black glasses. DEA Agent Tim Young was there, along with three other Men-In-Black types I assumed were other DEA Agents.
“Thank you all for coming,” Man-In-Black #1 began. “I’m Special Agent Steve Jones. With me are Special Agents Stan Smith and Peter Allen. You have already met Tim Young.”
My phone rang. It was Ida Belle. I allowed the call to go to voicemail.
“Mr. Haddad, I understand your client is in possession of a large quantity of drugs he has been transporting for a man named Manny Montoya. Is that correct?”
Haddad stood, “Before I say anything, I wish to go on the record we consider this meeting an initial courtesy meeting. We do not consent to this meeting being recorded in any form. We are here on a fact-finding mission.”
“We are not being recorded,” Mr. Haddad, “but we want to cut to the chase. Besides Mr. Pride’s testimony, the recovery of the drugs is an instrumental part of any accommodations we might make.”
My phone buzzed again. It was a text message from Ida Belle. I took a quick peek. My heart sank. It read, Sally Green took off. She took off an hour ago. Ariel believes she is headed for the drugs.
Oh crap, I thought. Sally Green knew where the drugs were being kept. If she steals them and disappears, Paul Pride will lose one of his bargaining chips. I knew Paul placed them in a storage facility near the Southcenter Mall, in a suburb south of Seattle.
“Yes, let’s cut to the chase, please,” Haddad said. “If my client were to have information as to the whereabouts of a large amount of cocaine and agrees to testify against Mr. Montoya, we would want him held harmless of all charges and have him placed in Witness Protection along with his sister and girlfriend.”
Agent Jones laughed, “Held harmless? Your client has been moving drugs into the U.S. from Mexico for months. He has a previous record. This would be a third strike. That’s a mandatory life sentence. We’d be willing to cut it back to twenty-five years if he testifies, and we recover the drugs.”
Haddad turned back to Agent Jones, “We have a lot of work to do. I suggest you sharpen your pencil and roll up your sleeves.”
I stood, “Gentlemen, I have another matter. I need to leave.”
Carter looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“Don’t leave town,” Jones said. “We will have questions for you.”
“I understand,” I said and left the room.
I called Ida Belle as I made my way to the rental car, “I’m so glad you called,” she said. “I was just speaking to Ariel. This whole thing took a turn for the worse.”
“Worse than Sally stealing the drugs and disappearing?” I replied in astonishment. “How does it get worse than that?”
“Ariel said she overheard Sally whispering to someone on the phone at least three times,” Ida Belle said.
“Did you hear who it was?”
“No. Ariel said she could not hear what was being said, but she heard Sally address the man as ‘Ricki’ several times.”
“Oh crap! That’s Ricki Garcia. He’s Manny Montoya’s muscle. He’s the one who was circling around Sally’s apartment looking for Paul.”
“Why would Sally be talking to him?” Ida Belle asked.
“There’s only one explanation,” I replied. “She’s furious that Paul is turning state’s evidence and is
trying to strike her own deal with Montoya.”
“She’s crazy!” Ida Belle spouted. “She’ll get herself killed.”
“And ruin Paul Pride’s negotiations,” I added. “She has over an hour head start on us, which means she has already made it to the storage facility and picked up the cocaine and is likely headed to meet Ricki Garcia.”
“And certain death,” Ida Belle added.
“Probably so. That stupid woman. Is Ariel there?” I asked.
“Hold on, I’m putting her on speaker. Go ahead.”
“Ariel, did you hear Sally say anything else? Anything at all?”
“Not really,” Ariel said.
“What about where they would meet?” I asked.
“No—uh, wait a minute. I heard her say, something about ‘see you at the store,’ but I didn’t know what the store was.”
The store was likely the retail store Sally intended to buy, Queen Anne Collectibles. I was already downtown, only a few blocks from Queen Anne. With any luck, I might get there before the transaction was complete.
I punched in Queen Anne Collectibles on my navigation device and was just about ready to hit ‘begin,’ when a text came through from Carter.
“Are you all right? What’s going on?” he wrote.
My brain was buzzing. I was on an adrenaline high. Should I tell Carter what was happening and have him send out help? What if the deal was done and I couldn’t produce Sally or the drugs? It might all look like a setup to the DEA. I would survey the scene first before worrying Carter.
“Fine. I gotta go,” I replied.
The dream retail store that Sally Green appeared to be risking her life for, turned out to be a tiny, dilapidated-looking store front with shoe-polished drawings on the windows advertising 40% off and an inventory sale.
I pulled into a parking spot across the street. The place was open for business though I couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. An ancient ‘open’ sign was flickering in the window, however. I didn’t see the black Lincoln that I had previously seen Ricki Garcia driving.
Perhaps I had beaten Ricki Garcia there; maybe he’d been there and gone; perhaps this was not the place where the transaction would occur.
There was only one way to find out. I parked.