The Girl in the Hotel

by Gregory French

  “I don’t know anything about all that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, but you are going to take my card. Hear anything, you call me. Only me, none of the uniformed imbécils. I am Senior Detective Rosa. Donde, that half-wit, is my wife’s nephew.” He handed Kazu his card.

  “A bunch of doped-up, rich surfers. Five of them. In a red four-door rental. Anything at all, you call, right?”

  “Yes.” Kazu slid the card into his cash pocket.

  “Take off your expensive sunglasses, Kazu Danser.”

  Kazu remained perfectly still.

  “Now,” Detective Rosa ordered, all friendliness vanished.

  Kazu removed the shades slowly.

  “Interesting,” the detective observed, “Now the hat.”

  Kazu did as ordered.

  “Even more interesting. I’ve seen those eyes, that face before. Your hair long and black when not shaved off?”

  “Yes,” Kazu looked away, opening his almond-shaped eyes as wide as he could, rounding them as much as possible.

  “Yes,” the man pondered. “Don’t know where, but it’ll come to me. You have a record? Recent arrests?”

  “No, just a surfer, only I’m not a rich one.”

  Marlaina’s voice of impatience and frustration carried from the side door of the restaurant.

  “That idiot.” The detective walked away to the argument starting to boil inside the diner.

  Kazu put his sunglasses and hat back on and went to the rear of the gas station. Out of sight, he picked up rubbish and pressed it inside the dumpster.

  After a slow day at the Or Petrol y Restaurante, Kazu walked away at sunset, up the narrow road and along the highway shoulder to the yellow Surf Or… Hotel.

  In his basement apartment, he showered in cold, refreshing water. He put on one of his new shirts and his dirty black shorts before heading across the basement to the kitchen for his Pepsi in a reused cup and a sandwich in a paper bag.

  He ate his dinner seated on the aluminum ducting that crossed the basement, chewing and sipping thoughtfully, watching fellow employees cross this way or that. Some pushed laundry carts or carried maintenance tools or headed upstairs with room-service trays.

  Hoping for a glimpse of Ed, ideally not with a rich surfer with an airplane, he walked the shadows and side walkways to his loveseat table off to the side of the top deck.

  The vibe on the deck and pool below was festive but not as manic as the night before. The music volume was subdued and young and old surfers and their girlfriends or dates were a happy looking bunch talking loudly and laughing. Others were getting in line at the buffet table which was about to open.

  “How’s my partner in crime?” Ed asked at his shoulder, her lips at his ear.

  He turned around, and there she was, smiling, watching for his gaze, her wonderful cleavage cupped by a black swim top. He breathed from her before speaking, taking in the familiar scent of oranges and spices.

  “Better now.” He returned her smile, his less secretive and openly pleased.

  “How was your day at the gas station? Rip off a lot of American tourists?”

  “No, I was told not to today. Just pumped gas and cleaned front and rear windows.”

  Ed rounded and sat down beside him, putting her bare feet up on the low table. When she scooted over so that their hips touched, he looked down, smiling, treasuring the contact.

  “Hear anything about my missing surfer dudes?” she asked.

  “No, but I found this.”

  Reluctantly leaning from her thigh against his, he pulled cash and a business card and a charred envelope from his front pocket. He handed Ed the envelope.

  She read, “Borgoña y rojo cuatro puerta Chevrolet Impala.”

  “That’s the car,” she handed the document back, “Where did you find this?”

  Instead of answering that, he said, “The policia came by looking for the five. Seems they were looking for their friends who didn’t make it to the airport.”

  “And again, where did you find this?”

  “Back in the hedges here. There’s a graveyard.”

  Ed looked away.

  “This place,” her voice was angry. “No, that evil witch. I want to bring this place down. But first things first. Ever been to her other hotel?”

  “Didn’t know there was another.”

  “The Hotel Or. It’s hidden well. In the jungle, north of here. It’s a nasty strange place, like a castle, like a sick movie. She does terrible things there.”

  “Are we going there?”

  “No, not yet. No need. For now, I want to kill the stupid air.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You will.” Ed’s mood lightened, her raspy voice friendly and warm again. “You’ll help me?”

  “Yes.” Kazu smiled. Ed had scooted closer.

  “You have one of those shoebox apartments in the basement?”

  “Yes, number five.”

  “Okay. I’ll come for you late tonight. Steal a hacksaw from somewhere.”

  Before he could agree, she kissed his neck just under his ear.

  “My new best friend,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Her hand took his and placed it on her breast over her heart. “Told that one-handed drunk, Constance, that I’m out of the hosting business. She was too hungover to fight. Leave your apartment door unlocked. I’ll slip in to get you.”

  Offering Kazu a coy and secretive smile, she stood and turned her knees to his, her body before his face. He looked up along her bikini to her lovely eyes which were locked on his face.

  “I’m going to spend the evening in the office,” she said. “Constance will be down soon, I’m sure, spilling drinks and lies and putting on her show. I want to get into the finance records. See you much later.”

  With that, Ed stepped away. He watched her weave through the partiers and wait staff, disappearing in through the lobby doors.

  If Ed had planned on finding Kazu asleep, she was out of luck. She crept the two steps between the door and the bed. Seeing it was empty, she picked up the hacksaw that lay there.

  Kazu looked up from the new panel in Jappy the Avenger where the hero and his sexy partner, Kiki, were climbing the wood steps with knives and hammers in hand, to the door to freedom lit by a swaying amber lantern.

  “There’s my Kazu. Ready for some crime?” She looked across the narrow apartment.

  “Do enjoy crime…” He got a smile from her. “… And danger. Especially in the middle of the night.”

  He watched Ed pull the blanket off his made bed and fold it three times.

  “We need the pillow?” he stood from his desk closing his image-novel.

  “You wish.” She laughed kindly. “Not for what we’ll be doing.”

  Carrying the hacksaw and blanket, Ed led the way out of the basement and across to Casimir’s yard and lawn hut.

  The night air was warm and the black sky full of stars and the light of a nearly full moon.

  “What do we need here?” Kazu asked.

  “A shovel and three, no, six hand rags.”

  Familiar with the layout, it only took Kazu a couple of minutes to find everything in the dark.

  They walked side by side along the rear of the hotel to the fenced-in silver tanks where Ed tried the lock on the gate. It didn’t budge.

  “Would’ve been nice,” she said.

  Kazu stepped back and watched Ed climbed the fence with the blanket over her shoulder. She lay it out atop the razor wire, climbed over smoothly and jumped down.

  “Throw the tools over,” she spoke through the wire fencing. He did and followed her over into the tank yard. At the back of the three tanks, a pump hummed as it fed three four-inch pipes extending and disappearing into the jungle to the north.

  “I’ll go first.” Ed took up the hacksaw and began sawing across the top PVC pipe.

  “Is this where I ask what we’re doing?”

  “Not quite yet.”
/>   She sawed through to the bottom curve of the top pipe and handed Kazu the saw for the two below. They took turns until they had three cuts completed, a foot apart. Ed took the missing sections and threw them over the fence into the deep brush.

  “Try not to breathe much of that,” she warned.

  “It does have a tasty smell,” he replied but began breathing with his head turned.

  “Come on, we’ll do another cut in the jungle.”

  Ed tossed the saw over the fence. Kazu climbed first. Ed followed, tugging the blanket off the spiking razors. She threw it into the shadows before jumping.

  Following the three pipes as best they could in the tangle of limbs and rocks, they climbed forty yards in. With foliage hiding the moon except for small flicks of light on the soil, Ed took the shovel, saying, “Me first, again.”

  The pipes had gone underground some distance back. She dug a hole aligned to their run. A couple of feet down, they heard the shovel tip strike hard plastic.

  “They’ll find the first cut and think they’re cool when they fix it.” She handed the shovel backward and began pulling the dirt from around the pipes. “Dig forward so we can cut off at least a foot.”

  A half hour later, Ed tossed the last section of pipe off into the trees. Kazu shoveled dirt into the hole. They knelt and smoothed the soil and pulled vines and rocks over the spot, hiding it as best they could in the faint light.

  “That’ll do for now, “Ed said. “Wish I was up at the Or when the stupid air stops. Like to see how the workers handle the residents. Here’s hoping there’s a revolt. Maybe Constance will be taken hostage. No one would negotiate for that drunken pig.”

  After returning the tools to the hut, Ed followed Kazu to his apartment. They were both covered with dirt and branch scrapes.

  “I’m gonna go,” she told Kazu. Seeing the stillness in his expression, she added, “But let’s clean up first.”

  She removed her wig and tossed it to him and squeezed past the foot of the bed, past his desk, and entered the bathroom.

  Hearing the shower running, Kazu removed his dirt-caked shoes and hat, and smiling, followed the sound of warm running water.

  29

  Kazu woke with a start sitting in his desk chair. He stood and tumbled onto his bed where Ed had napped after they had showered each other. She had snuck out during the night and left behind a faint scent of orange and spices on his pillow. Hoping for more sleep, he climbed in under the sheets. His thoughts were a groggy swirl of images of sharing his bottle of bath gel with Ed while soil washed from their clothing.

  The circling images were dissolving into dreamy chaos when someone knocked hard on his apartment door. He was too close to sleep to care or even be curious. His eyelids were already twitching as he sank into dreamland.

  Sometime later, he woke fast and alert, sweeping his hands out before his face, batting away the tentacles of a nightmare of imprisonment. Without a window or a clock, he didn’t know what time it was but sensed it was his usual waking hour—5:00 a.m.

  There was a bright yellow card on the cracked concrete just inside his door. He retrieved it.

  Ka Choo,

  Come to my office at 9:00 a.m.

  C.S.

  He found Sand waiting for him in a chair beside the outdoor elevator. Sand greeted him with a sleepy, friendly smile, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “Morning, bro. Had myself a long night. Fifty-year-old real estate agent. Very enthusiastic. You?”

  “I slept at my desk, not sure why.” Kazu did know but was keeping his friendship with Ed and their late-night air-pipe sabotage a secret. He tapped the elevator call button as Sand drank off the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash can.

  “Something’s up, and it’s got your name stuck to its side,” Sand said.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Might be.”

  The elevator bumped and clattered upward revealing the construction yard before miles of southern jungle and coastline.

  “You’ve got this down,” Sand said. “Got a note from Constance. This is your last time with the safes, but you’ll be my backup.”

  “Maybe she wants me at the gas station earlier? I’m supposed to see her at 9:00 a.m.”

  “Could be. Can never relax when you work for crazies.”

  The slow and clanking elevator rose past the third floor.

  “How did you end up here?” Kazu asked.

  “Always wanted a life of screwing overweight women and cracking safes.” Sand’s smile took the edge off the sarcasm. “There was no money in surf fame in my country. I had completed university, majoring in literature and blondes. At night, I worked the ladies at the fine hotels. They liked their healthy and strong surfers. Especially the handsome ones like me.” He laughed.

  The elevator came to a stop at the top floor.

  “Escorting is easy work, but also sad. If I fall in love someday, I might be screwed. All I know are the mechanics. Might be ruined. Time will tell. When I hang with the other escorts here, they have the same worry.”

  Forty minutes later, Kazu parted with Sand in the lobby and returned to the basement, having seen the time on the reception desk clock. He ate his breakfast sitting on the AC ducting before going to his apartment and pulling on a clean shirt. At what seemed like 8:45, he headed up to Constance Snapp’s office.

  Ed was at her side desk flipping her fingers through files on a cart. Her hair was new—curly, short, and blonde. She raised her eyes to him slowly, her gaze worried and pensive.

  “Thanks for your bed,” she said. “She’s with Marlaina. Problems at the other hotel.”

  “You slept okay?”

  “Yes, your bed sucks, but I liked being in it. I watched you do your drawing until you dropped your pencil. Have a seat?” She pointed to the empty secretary’s chair. “That fool is running an errand for her.”

  Kazu remained where he stood beside Ed, the file cart between them.

  “I swear, whoever did this filing was meth-icated,” she spoke to the row of fat, disorderly stuffed files.

  Kazu smiled when she reached over and gently caressed his hand. “Last night was really cool,” she said. “I bet it’s a beehive at the other hotel. A kicked beehive.” Her smile was mischievous.

  Constance’s door opened.

  Marlaina’s face was red with anger and her eyes were tightened down. She held a stack of folders in her handless arm and passed by in determined, quick steps.

  “What-a-bitch,” she growled as one word.

  “Guess that went well,” Ed snickered. “Your turn.”

  “Next!” Constance yelled through the open door.

  Kazu left Ed’s side.

  Constance was centered at her three-sided desk wearing a pretentious looking Panama hat—an attempt at casual tropical style hampered by the long-sleeve purple wool sweater over a black bikini top. Each item of apparel on its own was fine, but the combination said, conflicted.

  “Ka Choo, sit.”

  He did, seeing the unlit cigarette set between the fingers of her latex hand. Her swimtop revealed artificially perky cleavage.

  “I have a few things I need to work through with you. I have some concerns about my hotels. Number one, I believe you did some sawing on my aeration system last night. I don’t need proof to know.” She sipped from a coffee cup of clear liquid and ice cubes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kazu lied.

  “Bullshit. I have a way of knowing stuff. We’ll let that go for now. I have my other concerns. My second item. I keep current on local news, what’s up in the cities.” She used her good hand to take the top newspaper from the stack on the left side of her desk.

  “Open it,” she instructed placing the folded newspaper forward on her desk.

  Kazu ignored the paper, looking at her confident, surgically marred, almost lovely face. She formed a smug smile with her inflated lips.

  “I know you were sniffing around about
Billy, the worthless surfing celebrity. I’m very good at adding two plus two.”

  She took a long sip from the coffee cup. Kazu opened the newspaper to the two-page spread of photos and text under the bold, explosive headline.

  Surfista Famoso Billy Hamil Encontrado Asesinado!

  Carson Staines, Fotoperiodista

  30

  Kazu translated as he read.

  Once celebrated American surfer, Billy Hamil, has been found murdered! The body of the former king of ‘smooth’ surf wave riding was found in the backyard of his run down, sad surf camp on Isla de Marionettes where the recluse spent his winter months. His bullet-holed body was half eaten by rock crabs, one leg was stolen, and the other was missing a foot. Authorities were able to identify the celebrity even though his face was destroyed by a shotgun blast! Authorities are confident…

  Kazu stopped reading and looked to the first of three large photographs. The first was of a younger Billy—tan, fit, long blond hair and grinning with big surf in the background. The second was of what remained of his body in a tangle of vines on the gray rocks at the back of the camp. Kazu noted the photograph credit and looked up to the article’s byline. The name was the same—Carson Staines, the photojournalist who had wandered into Billy’s camp some days before.

  The third photograph had a lurid and large heading:

  Billy Y Jappy El Asesino??? Billy and Jappy the Killer???

  The photograph was the one Staines had taken of Kazu, his back turned, standing in the side yard in the shade of the canopy. Staines had tagged on a description to the image:

  I took this photo while researching the sad life of Billy Hamil just a few days before my discovery of Billy’s body. I believe the youth pictured is no less than the assassin known everywhere as ‘Jappy the Killer.’ He escaped before I could confront him with my suspicions. What role did this murderous boy have in Billy’s death? I’ll be continuing my exclusive research and reporting.