The Case of the Guest Who Stayed Over (The M.O.D. Files Book 1)

by K. W. Callahan

  “I heard that the Lakeshore Hotel has much better service. A friend of mine stayed there a month ago and said they offered free buffet breakfasts to the entire company.”

  I ignored the comments, instead typing a personal email to Kristen to find out how her cat was doing while the R & T head honchos stood waiting.

  Since they were here, waiting so impatiently, I decided to have a little more fun with them, so after about three minutes of typing, I stopped, sent my email, and said, “I’m sorry, you said, ‘Svetski’ correct?”

  His shoulders sagged, “Yes, geez. What the hell is wrong with you? Alfred… Svetski…with R & T Plumbing. S…v…e…t…”

  “Ah,” I said, “here it is.”

  “This is ridiculous,” the baldy, Mr. Henrick Jaharlsburg, VP of Operations jumped in. “Can’t we just leave our names with you so you can adjust the charges? We feel like we’re in prison here!”

  I held my tongue regarding that fact that prison was exactly where one or more of them could be ending up.

  “I’m sorry, sir; it’ll be just a moment more.”

  Then the other one, Gerhardt, jumped in. He was the one with the gray mustache – the supposed “research and development” guy.

  “We have things to do rather than waste our time standing around here waiting on you doing whatever it is you’re doing back there. How long have you worked here? Don’t you know what you’re doing? Good God, I could have found our reservations faster myself.”

  I couldn’t help it.

  “Sir,” I said, “if you are indeed ‘in prison’ here, as your friend claims, what exactly is the rush?”

  “What?” he sputtered. “What did you…”

  Svetski cut him off. “I find it highly unusual that someone like you is the top man at a hotel of the Lanigan’s supposed stature. Isn’t there someone else we can speak to? Someone who can actually help us?”

  I remained unfazed by his words. I’d been dealt worse.

  Meanwhile, I noticed that several attractive young women were waiting at the guest service station just down from where we stood. I realized that Mr. Svetski and his cronies were ogling them while they waited, and the girls were giving the rich old coots some flirty stares back.

  I saw this as my opportunity.

  “I’m afraid there’s no one else to help you, sir. So here’s what I can do for you. Due to your inconvenience for having to extend your stay here, the hotel would like to comp one night’s stay for each of you.”

  “One night?” the three replied in unison.

  “That’s unacceptable!” Svetski said angrily, pounding a fist down on the desk. He glanced over at the girls who were watching with curiosity, took a deep breath, and jutted out his chest. “You listen here,” he leaned forward menacingly, pointing at me, “I’ve spent a lot of money here, and you’re not doing us any favors letting us stay at your hotel.” He was making sure he spoke loudly enough for the young ladies down the way to hear. “I operate a multi-million dollar business, and I’m not going to be shoved around by some jerkoff front desk agent.”

  He’d made it personal now, but I kept my cool.

  The girls down the way were watching in awe of his power, his confidence, his forcefulness, his way of getting what he wanted.

  “Sir,” I said, still remaining calm, “I appreciate your position and understand your frustration, and I think that an offer of one night’s complimentary stay is certainly more than a goodwill gesture by the hotel, especially considering the situation is not one of our making.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what you think! You’d better give us all our nights for free or I’ll be on the phone with your corporate office and I’ll get what I want from them!”

  I didn’t think Tom would care much about my giving each of these jokers a complimentary night, and he probably wouldn’t be that upset if we comped their entire stay, but sometimes people like this just didn’t deserve getting everything they wanted.

  “I completely understand your frustration,” I soothed, “but the Lanigan has nothing to do with what has created this situation. I think that the offer we’ve extended is more than accommodating considering the circumstances. The hotel certainly had nothing to do with your stay being extended. We appreciate your business and have made what should be considered a very reasonable offer as compensation for your being inconvenienced.”

  Mr. Gerhardt, the R & D guy now stepped in, his gray mustache all a bristle.

  “You’ve got a real attitude problem fella. We’ve spent a lot of money in this joint, and you owe us a little respect. What exactly do you not understand here? Give us the rooms for free or you’re gonna have a real legal issue on your hands.”

  The good looking girls had now solely fixed their attention on the posturing going on and were watching intently. It was time to put this issue to bed once and for all.

  “A legal issue, sir?” I said, a little more loudly than necessary to ensure the girls down the way heard me. “I certainly can’t help that the Chicago Police Department has extended your stay by naming you and your associates as suspects in a murder case, but that’s the situation. It sounds like if anyone will be having legal issues, it’s certainly not me or the Lanigan Hotel. I advise you to accept my offer or you’re more than welcome to take it up with the Chicago Police Department, although I don’t think they will be nearly as sympathetic or accommodating.”

  At the mention of these finely dressed businessmen being possible murder suspects, the girls quickly moved along. This acted to let some of the hot air out of the inflated egos standing before me, and the men began to realize that their bluff had been called. It was time to fold their hands and make away with whatever they could get.

  Svetski stepped back in now, taking over, his face bright red.

  “Fine,” he said disgustedly, “we’ll take the free night…” as though he was doing me a favor by now accepting my offer, “…but I want the name and contact information of your supervisor.”

  “Certainly sir,” I said, jotting Jay’s office and cell number on the back of my business card and handing it to him.

  I’m sure that Jay would certainly appreciate taking the call, and I fully expected the conversation between himself and Mr. Svetski to be even more entertaining than the one I’d just had.

  “I’ll make the adjustments to your rooms immediately,” I smiled. “You gentlemen have a wonderful day and a pleasant remainder of your stay here at the Lanigan Hotel.”

  “Because it’s a hell of a lot nicer than prison,” I added under my breath as they departed.

  Toga-clad Jay appeared behind me as soon as the men had left.

  “What was all that about?”

  “You’ll find out later. Just expect a call from the R & T president, Alfred Svetski, about not getting their extended stays comped.”

  “The murder suspects want their rooms comped?” he laughed. “Yeah, right!”

  “I gave them one night as a goodwill gesture. I thought that was more than sufficient.”

  “I agree,” Jay nodded. “Not our fault the police are making them stick around.”

  He turned to leave. “I have to get back to…uh…work,” he muttered.

  “Good luck,” I called after him. “Tonight, I’ll be working on any high scores you may set on your little games back there.”

  ***

  After getting the comped R & T rooms squared away, I spent a few minutes checking my email and then decided to head back up to my room.

  Along the way, I stopped off at Carlisle’s Whiskey Lounge for a soda. The bar wasn’t open yet, but Marv was at his usual station getting set up. He had a row of highball glasses on the bar in front of him and was in the process of wiping them down with a dry white cloth. He was wearing a tight little purple velvet button-up coat. Perched atop his head was a tiny black top-hat and his checks were rosy with rouge. The hat was tilted slightly askew and held in place with an elastic string that ran beneath Marv’s chin.


  “Hey there, Marv,” I said merrily as I strolled up to the bar.

  “Well, well, well. Lookie who it is, Mr. Big Man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I laughed curiously.

  “Just heard from a pack of fine lookin’ young ladies in here asking when the bar was going to be open that a handsome front desk manager had just put some pushy big-wigs in their place.” He grinned at my slyly, “Just figured it had to be you. You’re the only one got balls big enough to stand up to any of those uppity assholes.”

  “Boy, news travels quick around here, huh?” I shook my head.

  He waved the hand with the white towel in it at me, “Boyfriend, you know it does.”

  “Now Marv, come on. You know me better than that. I used the utmost respect and decorum handling that situation,” I feigned offense to the critique.

  “Sure you did,” he nodded. “I know you. You got that way of making assholes look like idiots without ever getting yourself into any real trouble.” He sighed wistfully, “Don’t get me wrong. I envy you. I wish I was better at it myself. Might save me some of those write-ups I’ve got in my employee file.”

  “Marv, I just dealt with the situation as best as I could, bearing in mind both the interests of the guests as well as of our lovely Lanigan Hotel.”

  “Whatever,” he shrugged carelessly. “I’m just glad you put that murderin’ pack of thieves in their place.”

  I laughed. “Boy Marv, you’ve got a mean streak in you. You ever want to come work at the front office, you just let me know.”

  “Oh no,” he said, setting the last glass down and hanging his towel on a rack. “You wouldn’t catch me over there.”

  “Why not? It’s not a bad gig.”

  “It’s not the work. It’s all those damn front desk bitches.”

  I looked at him, confused.

  “They look so much better than me,” he grinned. “They’d steal all the hot pieces of ass like you before I could get ahold of ‘em. I wouldn’t stand a chance of ever gettin’ laid.”

  “Jesus, Marv, you’re a mess,” I laughed.

  “Now what can I get ya?” he grinned at me. “The usual?”

  “You got it,” I said, just shaking my head at his unique ways.

  He filled a glass with soda and handed it to me with a garnish and cocktail napkin.

  “There you are, Mr. Man,” he smirked at me.

  “Thanks, Marv,” I called, as I left Carlisle’s and walked back toward the lobby.

  I paused near the lounge entrance and turned, “By the way Marv, what are you supposed to be?”

  He looked at me and smiled, pulling an umbrella from behind the bar, opening it and twirling it at me, “Why I’m Fairy Poppins don’t ya know.”

  All I could do was just shake my head, smile, and wave a fond farewell, leaving Marv standing there, beaming like the Cheshire Cat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A steady flow of people had begun to trickle through the lobby as I left Carlisle’s. Most people wandered slowly, gawking at their surroundings, pausing to snap a few photos beneath the lobby ceiling’s mural or in front of the entrance to the famed Lake Ballroom. Others sat sipping coffee or conversing at the tables and chairs scattered throughout the space.

  A few guests had drifted up to the mezzanine level above. Huge 14-foot mirrored, floor-to-ceiling double doors skirted the perimeter of this area and opened onto small balconies that overlooked the lobby.

  Every so often a door to one would open and a guest’s head would curiously peek through, or a guest would emerge to snap a few photos from one of the tiny landings.

  I particularly liked these spots since they made for great places to observe relatively unnoticed the guests and goings-on during busier days or when events were held in the lobby.

  I took the lobby escalator down to street level. Activity was picking up nicely here too.

  I wove my wave through the throngs of visitors passing through the Lanigan’s retail spaces and swiftly ducked behind a black door that blended almost indiscernibly with the wall.

  As the door closed behind me, I wondered just how many people passed each day without ever noticing it was there.

  Behind the door was one of six lobby-to-roof stairwells that had been built into the Lanigan’s design for additional fire protection after the great Chicago fire had ravaged the city. Initially there had been more, but several such stairwells had been converted to elevator shafts over the years as the patience and physical abilities of the world’s traveler gradually dwindled.

  This particular stairwell was located near the center of the hotel, and it was one of four that continued from the lobby level down to the first sub-basement level. At this time of day, it was more time-efficient to take the stairs as opposed to waiting for an elevator. And for someone who didn’t get outside the hotel much, it was better exercise too.

  I walked down to the 1B level, exiting the stairwell into the hallway that ran through the back of house area outside human resources. Passing by the door, I could see our HR director inside his office, his assistant sitting in a chair before his desk, listening to him lecture. I walked through the double doors that separated this area from the level’s public spaces. Before me, two hallway thoroughfares intersected in a sort of t-junction.

  I stopped in the middle of this empty intersection. The hallways were much wider than they needed to be nowadays, but I could imagine a time when this portion of the hotel was bustling with activity like it was upstairs.

  Directly to my left, the hallway led to what was once the employee cafeteria. Part of this space was now empty; the other portion had been converted to meeting rooms used largely for staff training by the human resources department. Down the hallway and to the right were several public restrooms – that seldom saw much use – as well as the lonesome beauty salon.

  At the end of the hall that stretched before me, lay the Polynesian Restaurant. Closer, and on my right, was the guest elevator bank, and ahead and to my left, was the previous location of the old Triton Club, now shuttered and empty.

  As usual these days, the entire floor was devoid of activity. It was such a stark contrast to what was going on just one floor above me on the street level.

  Down the hall to the right, I could see an attendant through the salon’s glass door sitting at her station reading a newspaper. Besides her, the salon was empty. I turned the other direction and headed for the Triton Club. As I walked, one of housekeeping’s public space attendants pushed her blue supply cart around the corner toward me. We made eye contact and nodded as we passed. She was an elderly black woman.

  Suddenly I stopped and turned, “Excuse me,” I said.

  She stopped pushing her cart and turned to face me. “Yes, sir?” she replied.

  I stepped closer and held out my hand, “My name’s Robert…Robert Haze. I’m the manager on duty.”

  She removed a yellow latex cleaning glove and produced a dry, yet surprisingly soft hand.

  “Linda Evens,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I nodded.

  She gazed at me expectantly, probably waiting for the inevitable request to clean an office or stop what she was doing and take care of a dirty bathroom somewhere.

  “How long have you worked here Linda…if you don’t mind my asking?”

  She paused, tilting her eyes toward the ceiling, pondering. “Hmm, well, let’s see here…I started back in ’66 if that tells you anything.” She shook her head at the realization. “Can’t believe it’s been that long,” she chuckled. “My goodness. Time certainly does fly, doesn’t it? I was just a young girl then, full of hopes and dreams.” She paused, looking down at the white-trimmed forest green of her cleaning uniform and said, “And just look at me now! Realized every one of them for sure!” she laughed sarcastically, yet good-naturedly. “But I can’t complain. The hotel has been good to me over the years.” Then she gave me a quizzical glance, “Why do you ask?”

&
nbsp; “I was wondering if you were here when the Triton Club opened?”

  “Oh my, yes!” she said. “I was here before it was opened. Back when it was the other place.”

  “What other place?” I said, confused. “I thought the Triton Club was the only business that ever occupied the space.”

  “Oh no,” she said, in a whisper that was almost secretive in nature. “There was another club, a club that was only open for a couple years. It closed up not long after I started here.”

  “Really?” I said, surprised.

  She stood a minute thinking. “It was called the Street Light Club,” she said finally and with a soft chuckle. “Boy, I haven’t said that name in quite a while. It was a wild place! Parties every night. Lots of promiscuous women.”

  She leaned in close. “Even had a secret room in the back for men to meet up with…you know…other men and that sort of thing!”

  “Nooo,” I said, half amazed, half not believing her. “Really? Here? At the Lanigan?”

  She nodded, a proud look on her face. She knew she’d got me now. An ear that cared. An ear that listened. An ear that wanted to hear more. It was just a matter of reeling me in.

  “Do you know where the secret room was?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “I did have to clean up in there once a long time ago after an…accident,” she dangled the word slowly like a carrot before a horse.

  “An accident?” I said, turning to stare at the locked door leading into the old club space.

  She nodded. “A murder,” she whispered.

  “No kidding,” I hissed back.

  “Yep, just like we had here last week.”

  God, was there anyone who didn’t know about what happened up on eleven?

  “It was an older gentleman,” she continued. “Of course he wasn’t stuffed in an armoire or anything like that, but he sure as heck was dead. Slashed him up good with a knife.” She paused, shaking her head, looking at the wall.

  I could see her remembering, thinking back.

  “Cut him up good real good. Even cut off his…um hmm, if you know what I mean. Blood everywhere! I spent almost an hour in there before the police even arrived.”