6th floor meeting rooms – (all day) – Illinois Association of Leather Dealers
Grand Ballroom – (7 a.m. - 9 a.m.) - Midwest Gamer departure breakfast
Note: Extra staff for the front desk has been added today to handle the gamer convention checkout. Front desk employee lunch breaks will be staggered starting later today in order to have maximum staff available for heavy checkout during the morning rush. Front desk staff should see Jay for the lunch schedule.
***
It was after eleven in the morning when my room phone rang.
I rolled across the bed and fumbled to answer.
“This is Robert.”
It was Jay down at the front desk.
“We’ve got problems,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“What, no ‘Good morning, Sunshine, how are you this fine day?’” I said, sitting up.
He ignored my attempt at levity.
“We’re getting slammed down here. All the gamers want to check out at the same time. I’ve got every station manned and I still have lines ten guests deep.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got such a great front office manager. Good luck with that…I’m going back to sleep.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…wait a second, that’s not all. The freakin’ head of the convention, the gamer regional grand poobah or whatever is down here raising a stink. He’s saying that the wait times to check out are ridiculous and he keeps screaming something about his suite not being cleaned the other day, and some other crap. He’s finagled one of the supervisors into listening to the list of issues he’s had with his stay, and it’s buying me a few minutes until he starts laying into me.”
“Again,” I said, “good thing we’ve got such a great front office manager to handle these kinds of situations.”
“Aww, come on, Robert. I went out last night. I’ve got a killer hangover and if I have to listen to this guy moan and groan, I’m liable to just barf all over him.”
I breathed a deep sigh.
“Want me to come down?” I asked.
“Would you?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” I said.
I was still feeling mean spirited after my verbal jousting with Kristen last night.
There was silence on the other end of the phone, then a meek, “Please?”
“Fine,” I gave in. “Buy me ten minutes so I can clean up, and then I’ll be down.”
It only took me five minutes since I was still wearing the same clothes from last night.
A wash of my face, a quick comb of the hair, a few sprays of cologne, and I was on my way. I didn’t even bother changing ties.
I was far from looking my best, but like a fireman springing into action, I might not look pretty, but I was ready to get the job done.
Jason was right. It was packed downstairs.
The lobby was crammed with gamers and their luggage as they mulled about waiting for roommates to arrive, rides to pick them up, valet parking to bring their cars around or for friends to finish checking out.
I wove my way through the throngs of guests – all dressed in their “normal people” costumes now – skirted the lines of guests waiting to check out that jutted from the front desk stations, and punched in the door-lock access code to the back office. Jason met me there, red-eyed and pasty looking.
“He’s demanding to talk with a manager,” he breathed on me. I could still smell the booze.
“Jesus, Jason, go chew some gum or something, you smell like a distillery. I’ll handle the gamer guy.”
He beat it back to his hovel as soon as I spoke the words.
As I walked out into the din of the front desk area, I scanned the sea of faces before me. It reminded me of a mob scene, the thin line of desk agents serving as riot police to hold back the throngs of unruly dissidents (our guests) from complete and utter anarchy. Desk agents hurriedly clicked away at their computer screens, doing their best to process and dispose of the departures as quickly as possible. The lines were moving, albeit not as quickly as some guests thought they should be.
There were guests standing with hands on hips, others scowling and huffing – as if any of it would make the lines move faster. Others didn’t seem all that bothered by the wait and were chatting to those around them or fiddling with cell phones.
I spotted my mark at the far end of the front desk. His appearance surprised me. He was a young looking man, younger than I had expected – probably in his late-20s – and kind of dorky looking, wearing thick-rimmed glasses with short cropped hair. He was leaning far over the desk, pointing at a poor supervisor who looked on in stunned disbelief as he berated her, likely for things far beyond her control or even within her ability to remedy. I recognized her as Cindy. She was great at taking care of staff, keeping things organized, and handling guest issues, but she looked as if she was out of her depth on this one. I walked over near the supervisor and waited for the irate guest to take a breath before extended my hand for him to shake.
“Robert Haze, resident manager on duty,” I introduced myself.
He glanced at me, frowned, and then begrudgingly shook my hand before looking back to the supervisor.
“Am I going to have to repeat everything to this guy now?” he questioned her, jabbing a thumb in my direction.
I didn’t even let Cindy respond.
“You don’t have to, sir, but I certainly think it would make it easier to assist you.”
He looked over at me.
“Are you going to be able to assist me? Christ! Can I at least find somebody here who can help me?”
“Sir,” I said calmly and confidently, “there’s no one in this hotel who could help you more. I assure you of that.”
“Cindy, I think there’s a guest who needs assistance at your station,” I dismissed her.
“Yes, Robert,” she said gratefully, beating a hasty retreat to help her staff.
“Alright,” the gamers president started, taking a deep breath, “for the third time, my name is Carl Crawford. I’m the president of the Midwest Gamer Association. Rarely have I been met with greater, more widespread incompetence than I have here at your hotel.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. How can I assist you in remedying these issues and help re-gain your faith in our establishment?”
“Well, I’m not sure that you can, but I’ll certainly explain my concerns.”
“Very good, sir, please do,” I smiled on at him.
“First off, my room wasn’t cleaned yesterday,” he started. “I called housekeeping three times and they still didn’t send anyone down to clean it. Second, I was supposed to have all my meals here placed on the Gamer Association direct bill account, and I see here on my receipt,” as he held it up for me to see, “that they’ve been billed to my personal credit card! Third, just look at these lines!” he nodded to the checkout lines. “Is this what goes on here on a regular basis? My guests are being treated like cattle, herded through these lines as they wait to check out of their rooms. And finally, I didn’t even receive my wake-up call this morning, so it’s lucky I’m even down here to see this. I barely made a meeting with our council board this morning before a movie screening, the location of which I found out at the last minute had been changed. If I’d missed that, you’d have more trouble than you’d know what to do with, mister!”
He took a breath, then continued.
“I can’t even imagine coming back here next year if this is the type of service you’re accustomed to providing.”
Several things struck me almost instantly as he spoke. First off, we’d certainly dropped the ball on this one and I wasn’t going to pretend that we hadn’t, but it was my job to pick that ball back up and run with it in an effort to at least get this guy and his conventioneers to consider staying at the Lanigan again.
The next thing was that his words about his almost missing the meeting this morning resonated with me on a deeper level than just his particular situation. There was something about the murde
r that I couldn’t put my finger on but that had something to do with a meeting. I made a mental note to check on it as soon as I was done with this character.
And finally, while it took me a minute with him not in his costume and wearing his beard, I realized that I knew this man. And this was just what I needed to retain this valued convention.
With a slight smile that I just couldn’t hide, I said, “You’re the wizard.”
I could tell I’d caught him off guard, so I went on, “The wizard from the other day in the elevator…I mean the iron chariot,” I nodded. “You asked for directions to the Sky Ballroom.”
Mr. Crawford seemed slightly embarrassed by the fact that I recalled his wizardly alter-ego.
“Uh…oh yeah…yeah, that’s right. I remember you now,” his anger and aggression starting to fade a little. “Yeah, thanks for your help on that,” he nodded.
“Did you find Agathor and defeat him and his minions?” I asked in honest curiosity.
“Oh, you remember that, huh?” he said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Yes we did, but we lost a few fine warriors in the process.”
“Glad to hear of your victory,” I nodded. “Sorry about the losses.”
Then he seemed to regain him composure, “But that’s neither here nor there,” he said, regrouping himself as well as some of his frustration. “What are you going to do about these issues?
“I think that you should tell me, Mr. Crawford.”
“What! What!” he said, apparently dumbfounded. “Are you getting smart with me?”
“Not at all, sir,” I said calmly, “but I find that in situations such as this, it sometimes helps to inquire as to the guest’s own opinion about what would satisfy him or her most. You obviously have your room and food charges covered. I doubt you’d be interested in a complimentary stay with us, at least not until you and your group hopefully return next year. So I’d like to know what would resolve this situation most satisfactorily in your mind.”
He seemed somewhat unsure of what to say. I could tell that he was frustrated and wanted to blow off a little steam, and he probably wanted to look like a big-wig in front of his followers.
“Well, I guess, well…” he stumbled, “I’m not exactly sure. But I want something! This type of service is unacceptable, and I won’t stand for it.”
“Certainly sir, I completely understand, and I agree with you,” I nodded sympathetically. “I wouldn’t stand for it either if I were you.”
Then it hit me.
I looked around and then leaned in close, speaking confidentially to him over the din of his convention members.
“Mr. Crawford, I think I have just the thing,” I smiled.
He looked intrigued but didn’t say anything.
“It won’t make the aforementioned issues disappear, but I think it could certainly put a bandage on the damage they’ve done, and I hope it shows you just how far the Lanigan is willing to go to ensure your fine convention considers our hotel for its meeting needs next year.”
“I’m willing to listen,” he said.
“Better yet,” I said, pointing to the door that accessed the back office, “if you’d meet me at that door right over there, I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”
A long minute later, we were on our way to the back office lounge.
I could see Jay curiously peeking out from inside his office as I led Mr. Crawford along.
Mr. Crawford stopped just inside the lounge’s doorway, thunderstruck by what he saw.
“Wow! Nice games!” he said; mouth agape.
“Just got ‘em last week,” I nodded. “How ‘bout we make a deal. My sincerest apologies on behalf of the entire Lanigan Hotel and its staff for the issues you’ve encountered, and these arcade games,” I swept my hand before me like Monty Hall on Let’s Make a Deal.
I noticed Jay lurking in the doorway behind us, face frozen in horror as I spoke the words, shaking his head “no” to me, but I paid him no heed. He’d deferred to me on this one, and I was handling the situation as I saw fit. Mr. Crawford was already heading for the racing game.
“In exchange,” I held up a finger, and he paused, “I ask for your assurance that you’ll allow us a second opportunity next year to serve your convention and prove that we are indeed the world class hotel that we claim to be.”
Mr. Crawford barely hesitated. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not even looking at me. He was fixated on the games, looking them over, caressing them, inspecting them. “I’ll have the meeting planner speak with your sales and marketing department before he departs this morning to discuss rooms and rates for next year.” He sat down in the racing game and fingered the coin slots in the fronts of the machines.
“Do they take quarters?”
“They can be set either way, to accept quarters or to offer free plays. I’ll provide the keys necessary to unlock the fronts. Right inside there’s a marked switch on the control panel that allows you to adjust the setting.”
Mr. Crawford chuckled and said half to himself, “I’ll put them in my basement. When I have friends over, I’ll set them to accept quarters, and when their gone, I’ll switch them back over to free play for my personal use.” He paused and then looked over at me, “But how will I get them there. I drive a small car. There’s no way I can haul these back with me.”
“Don’t worry. The hotel will have them delivered to your home or wherever you’d like them sent,” Mr. Crawford.
I paused, watching him, already knowing the answer to my next question. “Will this be enough to put the unfortunate issues you’ve experienced behind us?” I asked.
I turned and gave Jay behind me an evil grin. He just rolled his eyes, put his hand over his stomach, and staggered away.
“Yes, yes, definitely. Thank you,” Mr. Crawford said excitedly. “I see that you’re running a stand-up operation here after all. Your customer service is top notch. No reason at all why we shouldn’t book here next year. In fact, I thought the rates were quit reasonable and I just love having restaurants here inside the hotel that are so convenient and don’t leave our group members wandering around downtown in search of food.”
He stood from the racing game to walk over and vigorously shake my hand. Then I led him back out to the lobby where we said our goodbyes. In the process, I was sure to take an address and contact number to get in touch with him regarding delivery of the games.
I then went back to my office, picked up the phone, and dialed Diana Massa in the sales office.
“Good morning, sales and marketing, this is Diana,” she answered as required. I could tell she was peeved though.
“Good morning, Diana, this is Robert down at the front desk.”
“Oh my god, Robert, you’ll never know the trouble I’m in with the gamers. Someone down there decided to change their movie review to another room and Mr. Crawford is livid. In fact I think he’s down there right now, and…”
But I cut her short.
“It’s all settled Diana, and Mr. Crawford is a happy man, believe me. In fact, you should be expecting a call from their meeting planner to discuss arrangements for booking next year’s convention.”
“Really,” she said, sounding slightly doubtful.
“Yes, and make a note, Mr. Crawford felt the room rates were a good deal this year, so you might want to push next year’s rates a little higher. That ought to help you out on your commission.”
“Oh wow! Thank you, Robert!”
Oh how the tunes had changed this morning.
“Thank you so much,” Diana sang like a canary on her perch.
“Sure thing, Diana. Have a great day.”
“You too, Robert. You and your staff do such a great job, keep up the good work. I know you guys are swamped down there today, so please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thanks, Diana,” I smiled as I hung up the phone.
First it was someone “down here” who had screwed up her convention, but after we’d
fixed everything, it was, we do “such a great job.” That was sales. First to point fingers and quickest to change their tune once you solved their problems for them. But they were good people all the same, just not much backbone. They were too used to spoiling clients. Like overindulgent parents, they could never say “no.”
I hung up the phone and sat thinking for a minute. I was pondering what Mr. Crawford had said about how he almost missed his meeting.
“THAT’S IT!” I said aloud, pounding my fist down on the desk. I picked up the phone again and immediately dialed Detective Marino’s cell.
I tapped my fingers impatiently on the desk as it rang. While I waited for him to answer, I began pulling up the room status histories for the R & T VIPs. The first one was for Alfred Svetski. It came up as “checked out.”
“Crap,” I hissed.
I pulled up the room reservation for Henrick Jaharlsburg as the phone went to voicemail and Detective Marino’s voice instructed me to leave a brief message. His room had also checked out.
“Crap, crap, crap!” I hissed.
The beep on the other end of the line indicated that it was time for my message.
“Marino,” I said hurriedly. “Robert Haze. Call me back asap, or better yet, get your tail over here. I know who did it! I know who murdered Doddsman!”
I hung up and moved on to quickly check the next two reservations for John Polaski and Paul Gerhardt. They had both departed as well.
I glanced at the checkout times on each of the last two reservations. They were listed as 11:37 a.m. and 11:40 a.m. respectively.
I looked at the time on my computer. It was 11:43 a.m.
I shot out of my desk chair, taking a quick glance at the name of the desk agent who had checked the rooms out before rushing out to the front desk. I found the desk agent, Sarah. She was in the middle of checking out a guest, but I interrupted.
“Sorry, Sarah, but I’ve got to know, did you just check out a group of four middle-aged gentleman?”
She looked confused and slightly perturbed at the interruption. The guest didn’t look too pleased either, but I didn’t let that deter me.
The Case of the Guest Who Stayed Over (The M.O.D. Files Book 1) Page 22