Instead, I did a little more people watching and then sauntered back upstairs to my room. There, I changed out of my clothes and into my swim trunks and headed down to the fitness center where I swam a few laps in the pool and then did some relaxing in the hot tub.
By the time I got back up to my room and had showered, shaved, and dressed, it was approaching five. I was wide awake and felt fine, so I figured I might as well get a head start on work.
***
The elevator I took downstairs to the lobby was packed with gamers in full costume. From what I could discern, there were several troll-like creatures with greenish faces, long rubber noses, and wearing baggy burlap clothing. There was a wizard, complete with staff, fake beard, and cloak. Then there were what I would guess were some sort of elves with pointy ears, long blond hair, and hunting bows in their hands with quivers of rubber arrows strapped to their backs.
I smiled at the group as I stepped into the elevator. “Heading down for a few games before dinner?” I asked nonchalantly as I reached over and punched the button for the 11th floor.
“We knoweth not of what games you speak, odd man in armor suit of cloth,” said the wizard. “We playeth no games. We are prepared to fight to the death to defend our kingdom against the vengeful forces of Agathor the Destroyer and his minions.”
“Gotcha,” I nodded. “This Agathor? He’s a pretty bad guy?”
One of the trolls jumped forward menacingly, “Doth thou maketh jest of Agathor the Destroyer? Thou shall payeth with thou’s life!”
I shrugged, “Just asking?”
One of the elf things chimed in meekly, “Thou must be watchful of those Agathor sends forth into the world of men who toil in buildings of stone and steel. His spies lurketh in corners unknown and wear cloaks dyed in the guise of friendship and that hide their truest desire to do evil to all.”
The elevator stopped on the 11th floor, the bell dinged, and the doors opened.
“Well, have a great time and enjoy your stay at the Lanigan,” I nodded cheerfully as I began to step off the elevator. The wizard with the long beard barred my way with his staff.
“In this vast world of Lanigan in which we are but your humble guests, couldst thou direct us to the Ballroom of Sky?”
It took me a moment, but then I got it.
“Oh, sure,” I nodded. “The Sky Ballroom is on the fourth floor.”
They stared at me blankly; then I remembered last year. I had to form my words in something akin to their old world phrasing.
“Sorry,” I regrouped. “Ride the magical iron chariot that melts through floors (the only way I could think to describe an elevator in their terms) down to the forest known as fourth in the heart of Lanigan. When the bell has rungeth, and the iron chariot’s doors open, follow the grass of green cloth (my best description of carpet) through the passage to the right and you shall find the land you seek at its end. Beware though; the Ballroom of Grand is in the lands adjacent. It is filled with mystical creatures known as pharmaceutical sales representatives. They would be greatly displeased, possibly to the point of war, if disturbed by your presence.”
The wizard unbarred my way and as I stepped off the elevator he said, “Ah, you are very kind, sir. Your knowledge is great, and we give many thanks for your wisdom.”
“Any time,” I nodded. “Have a great day.”
The iron chariot’s…pardon me, elevator’s doors closed, and I continued on my way to check room 11-121. I wanted to make sure that everything was still secure there. I didn’t want the Lanigan to be the future source of a Detective Marino botched investigation story.
I didn’t even have to walk all the way down the hall to see a CPD officer sitting in one of our banquet chairs outside 11-121. The door to the room was sealed with yellow and black crime scene tape. It wasn’t exactly the image the Lanigan wanted to be promoting with a huge group in house, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Detective Marino wasn’t taking any chances, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. I wouldn’t either.
The officer gave me a blank stare as I passed, rounded the corner and headed down the opposite hallway back to the elevator.
I took the service elevator down to the lobby level, avoiding anymore run-ins with wizards, warlocks, elves, trolls, and the likes, and headed for my office.
The lobby was jammed with socializing characters, some of them known to me by way of various movies, television shows or comic books, and others I’d never contemplated in my wildest dreams…or nightmares.
The heavy, gray-white marble tables sprinkled throughout the lobby were jammed with costumed gamers hard at play. As I moved between the tables, taking in the scene, sometimes one would jump up from his chair and enact a death scene or make a grand speech as his character was eliminated from the game, posturing all the while, urging his fellow teammates forward into combat.
At one table, two wizardly looking characters were standing and shaking wands at each other while chanting spells in unknown tongues and then making “shewing” noises, complete with sounds of explosive impact in what I guess were attempts to annihilate one another.
I actually found that I was a little jealous of the gamers. I kind of wished I had a passion other than work with which I was so enthralled. In a way, I guess there was my interest in automobile racing, but then I wondered if it wasn’t so much the hobby as having others with whom to share my passion that I envied.
I decided to walk over to Carlisle’s Whiskey Lounge to grab a soda before starting work. It was always dimly lit inside Carlisle’s, which gave it a kind of mysterious feel, as if you were entering some sinister opium den in the back alleys of old London. There was a single pool table far in the back. Its bright green felt was about the only thing that broke up the monotony of the lounge’s drab décor. Pictures of dogs, horses, pheasant, and fox hunts lined the walls, and the hint of old leather and stale beer hung heavy in the air.
As I approached the huge, well-oiled antique mahogany bar, around which I had a feeling the Lanigan itself had been built, I saw Marvin Garish.
Marv was a flamboyant, fortyish transplant from south Miami, known as Marvin “Gay” by many of the staff. The comb-over on his balding gourd was excessively slicked down this evening.
“Well, well, Mr. Robert, haven’t seen you around these parts lately,” he lisped.
“Been busy lately, Marv, as I’m sure you know.”
Marv kept tabs on all the hotel happenings and juicy gossip.
“Yeah,” he drawled slowly. “Heard some poor ol’ fool went and got himself keeled up on eleven,” he eyed me with a hint of drama.
“Unfortunately,” I nodded.
Marv leaned in close over the bar. “Got any idea who done it?” he whispered.
“No idea, Marv; and thankfully it’s not my job to find out.”
He stayed close, glancing about secretively. “Well, I can tell you it sure as hell wasn’t me.” He paused, waiting.
I knew what was coming, but was willing to play along.
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“’Cause I heard that handsome old devil was a highfaluting VIP with that group we had in house the other day; you know, R&T. He’d been coming to the bar here each night. Kept givin’ me the eye don’t ya know,” he said, putting a hand to his cheek.
I nodded, although I highly doubted Mr. Doddsman had been giving Marv the eye. Marv thought every guy who walked into the bar was giving him the eye.
“If I had done it,” he sang, “that fella woulda been in the bed where I left him dead.”
I shook my head, laughing, “Nice, Marv.”
“Now what can I get ya!”
“Just the usual.”
“Will do,” he said as he filled a glass with ice and sprayed several shots of cola from a soda hose into it. He garnished it with a lime wedge and tiny stir straw and handed it to me along with a cocktail napkin.
“There you go,” he smiled, giving me a wink.
“Thanks, Marv
. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” he called after me as I headed back out into the lobby, “You keep me updated on that little incident, okay?”
“Will do,” I called back, even though I had no intention of ever discussing the matter with Marv any more than I just had. There were certain people you just didn’t tell things to in a hotel unless you wanted everyone to know, and Marv was definitely one of those people.
***
I paused to provide directions to several sets of wayward guests as I passed back through the lobby to my office.
Jay had already gone for the day – or so I thought – but as I checked my mailbox, the distant sound of beeping and the soft rumble of electronic explosions drew my attention to the hallway.
Jay’s arcade games had arrived today. There was a racing game that came complete with seat, steering wheel, accelerator and break peddles, and gear shifter. There was also a multi-game that included several well-known video games from the early and mid-80s. Both were designed in the classic, boxy, arcade-style game console of the period.
Jay was standing before the multi-game, pounding the “fire” button and maneuvering his on-screen spacecraft between a hail of enemy bombs and kamikaze-style attacks, bobbing and weaving his body to correlate with his movement of the joystick.
I stood in the doorway watching him for several moments until an enemy craft circled in from behind and plowed into Jay’s, blasting it to bits. He slapped the joystick sideways in disgust.
“Damn!” he hissed. “Almost a new high score.”
“Working late, huh?” I said.
He looked over to where I stood.
“Just testing everything out,” he grinned. “Have to make sure the products we received meet the Lanigan’s high standards.”
“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “Well, if you’re that dedicated, you want to stick around and help me out with a few guest service issues that managed to find their way into my mailbox during your shift?”
Jay took a quick glance at his watch.
“Oh man, I nearly forgot. I need to stop by the pharmacy and pick up a prescription before they close.”
“Sure,” I nodded. “I bet. Couldn’t go another day without your estrogen pills?”
“Shut up,” he scowled. “All I know is that you’d better not try one of these games. They’re addictive as hell. Before you know it, you’ve been here for three hours.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a big boy now. I don’t need such toys.”
“Whatever,” he said, pushing past me and out into the hall. “Just remember, I gave you fair warning.” Then he stopped and turned around to face me, a glimmer in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “The high scores I’ve got on those games are impossible to beat anyway. So I’ve got nothing to worry about. Have a great night!” And with that he breezed around the corner and was gone.
I looked over at the racing game. The demo game was running and the computer was cruising its open-wheeled vehicle past competitors until it rear-ended another race car and was destroyed in a flash of flame and bouncing tires. The inevitable “Game Over” sign flashed up on the screen, blinking repeatedly just in case anyone was in doubt. Below this, it beckoned: “Insert Coin.”
Thankfully, there was a switch that allowed the games either to be operated freely or with coins. Jay had obviously switched the games over to the free play; otherwise, he would likely have blown his entire paycheck by now and would be asking me for a loan until next payday.
I shrugged, “I’ll bet I can beat his high score in one drive,” I said to myself.
Two hours later, not only had I demolished Jay’s high score on the racing game, but I had established what I felt was an insurmountable new high score that would remain untouched for years to come by other Lanigan staff.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight.
“Damn it, Jay!” I said aloud. “Such a bad influence.”
I climbed out of the simulated racecar cockpit, stretched my stiff body, and walk down the hall to my office.
“I can’t believe I wasted two hours on that stupid thing,” I muttered as I sat down at my computer and logged in.
The first thing I did was make sure all the R & T VIPs had their stays extended for several more days per Detective Marino’s instructions. Then I opened my email. I had a total of 68 new messages, the majority of which could be deleted without being read. As M.O.D., I got copied on just about anything and everything whether I needed to be or not.
There were a total of four messages that were clearly relevant to my work, the rest went bye-bye in a flurry of mouse clicks.
Three minutes later, I had caught up on the day’s activities and had a list of things to attend to throughout the night. Then I checked my voicemail.
There was something from Tom about a restaurant server at the Navigator Club who he noticed hadn’t been wearing proper footwear when he’d had lunch there today. Why he was telling me this and not the restaurant manager, I wasn’t sure, but that’s who I forwarded the message on to.
There was a message from Kristen saying she’d be a few minutes late due to her train schedule, and there was a message from Detective Marino asking me to call him.
I looked at my watch, opened my desk drawer, pulled out the detective’s card, and dialed the number he’d written on the back.
I was expecting to leave him a message, but he picked up. “Detective Marino,” he answered.
I immediately saw the similarity between the way he answered the phone and the way I answered mine. It was almost eight o’clock and the detective sounded fresh as a daisy.
“Hi detective, Robert Haze from the Lanigan.”
“Hello, Robert. Needed to speak with you about a few things. When will you be available?”
“Well, I’m working the night shift, so…”
“That’s fine,” he interrupted, “I can be there in about 45 minutes if that works for you.”
Man, this guy didn’t beat around the bush. I guess that was the life of a Chicago police detective, you either got it done or you were done.
“Sure,” I said. “That’ll work for me.”
“Good. I’ll come to the front desk.”
“See you then,” I said, hanging up the phone.
I liked the detective’s directness. As a hotel manager, I had become accustomed to easing into things with guests, not wanting to offend or step on toes. But as a police detective, I could see the time wasted on such pleasantries could be the difference between cracking the case and having to put it in the cold case file.
I wondered what the detective wanted to ask me. Was I a suspect? I found the thought somewhat intriguing – even slightly exhilarating.
But as it turned out, I’d been watching too many crime dramas on television lately and had no reason to worry. In fact, it wasn’t even really anything all that interesting. The detective just needed a few hotel standard operating procedure questions answered and wanted some clarification about the timeline from when the victim was found.
Sitting in my office, Detective Marino laid several pages out before me as I finished what was left of my now flat soda that had warmed while I drove my way to triple-initial fame on Jay’s stupid video game.
A couple of the pages were copies of the assignment sheets given to the housekeeping room attendant for the dates of Mr. Doddsman’s stay. On Friday the 27th, the room attendant had marked the space next to Doddsman’s room with a “PS” indicating a privacy sign.
“I asked the attendant about your procedure for privacy signs on stay-over rooms and she told me that a room attendant is supposed to notify a floor manager,” the detective said. “This manager will in turn contact the room by phone, either to speak to the guest directly to determine if they would like service or to leave a message indicating that if they would like service that they should contact the housekeeping department or the front desk.” He looked at me, “Is that standard procedure?”
“Yes it is,” I s
aid.
“Okay,” he nodded. “It appears that the floor manager did leave a message for Doddsman on Friday afternoon regarding his room having a privacy sign on the door and for him to contact housekeeping should he need service. It seems that he never did.”
The detective directed his attention to a copy of recorded key swipes that had been taken by security for room 11-121 for the dates of Mr. Doddsman’s stay. He had highlighted certain key swipes and had notes written next to them.
“It appears that our victim, Mr. Doddsman, entered the room at 8:17 a.m. on Friday,” the detective said, pointing to a key swipe on the list that read: Guest Key #1. So we can determine that he was still alive at that point. It also appears that the front desk only made one key for Mr. Doddsman during his stay, so that makes my job a little easier since there aren’t multiple keys out there floating around.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “That’s normal for a single guest in a room unless the guest requests an extra key.”
“Since only entries are recorded on the room lock, we have no idea at what time Mr. Doddsman actually left his room that morning or why. We only know that he came back at 8:17 a.m. We’re still in the process of interviewing the other R & T company heads to try to determine Doddsman’s whereabouts before and after this time to help us narrow down his time of death and who he may have seen or spoken to before he died. However, since there are no further entries on the reading from his room lock, it appears that he was killed at some point after he returned at 8:17 Friday morning.”
“That’s a pretty big time gap from Friday morning until security found him Sunday morning,” I said.
The detective nodded his agreement and pointed to the room attendant’s assignment sheet. “Next to the space for room 11-121 on Saturday the 28th, the room attendant had initially marked the room with a “V” to indicate a vacant status as she probably assumed the room was empty before she actually checked it.”
The Case of the Guest Who Stayed Over (The M.O.D. Files Book 1) Page 10