Disturbed
I reached the front desk out of breath. “I locked myself out of my room. I left my sales figures on the desk and I’m already late for the meeting.”
The clerk smiled. “Room number?”
“Six thirty-three.”
I tapped my fingers on the counter while he did something behind it. His namebadge read Eliott.
Eliott handed me a plastic room card. “Your old one will no longer work Mister Wodehouse.”
“That’s fine. Thanks a million.”
I rushed to the elevator and paced until it arrived with a muted ding, stepped out of the way while the business travelers poured out.
Inside, I calmly pressed the button for the sixth floor.
I’d followed Wodehouse down and out to his rental. Since he hadn’t returned within fifteen minutes for anything like a forgotten presentation, he was sure to be gone the rest of the day. I only needed his room for two hours tops.
With his poorly cut suit and serviceable briefcase, Wodehouse was the epitome of the dependable middle manager, predictable to a fault. I’d stood facing the closed door of the first guest to vacate and waited for just that look.
The elevator doors opened and I turned right towards 633.
Wodehouse had walked past me like he owned the hotel and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Empty appearances were all his type could ever hope to achieve, so sad it was funny.
At the door, I pulled on my gloves before I slid the card into the slot and watched the light blink green.
I twisted the handle, stepped inside, turned the plastic MAKE UP ROOM over to DO NOT DISTURB.
First things first: I crossed to the desk and called room service. “This is Wodehouse in six thirty-three. Could you send up a bottle of scotch and two glasses?”
“Certainly sir.”
“While you’re at it, we’ll take two steaks, medium rare, and a shrimp cocktail.”
“I’m sorry but we’re still serving breakfast.”
“Of course. Do you have steak and eggs?” I opened the desk drawer but Wodehouse hadn’t put anything personal inside.
“It comes with our own hashbrowned potatoes and three slices of country toast.”
There was nothing of Wodehouse’s on top of the desk either. “Two of those then, still medium rare, and the eggs runny.”
“That will be about twenty-five minutes.”
“And coffee, a pot of coffee.” I glanced at my watch before hanging up. I’d start the shower in twenty.
Besides the desk, the living room boasted a sectional couch, a coffee table, the ever-present entertainment center, and three large plants which had seen better days.
I went through the door to the bedroom.
There was a double bed under an odd painting, two end tables, and another entertainment unit set on top of a bureau. Wodehouse was a messy sleeper.
I opened the mirrored closet to see three hanging shirts and a second suit. There was a black suitcase on the stand.
The last door lead to the bathroom.
The far end table contained the Gideon Bible, the telephone book, and the hotel guest services directory.
There were six drawers in the bureau, all empty except for the top right one which contained three pairs each of socks and underwear. The man sure traveled lightly.
The near end table contained a personal alarm clock, an area guidebook, a car rental agreement dated yesterday afternoon, and the ticket for a non-stop return flight two days hence. It appeared Wodehouse was a mid-westerner.
After glancing at my watch I went to the closet and started searching the suitcase. There was nothing inside or within any of the zippered compartments. Who didn’t have stubs or receipts or loose cough drops floating around in their luggage?
I entered the bathroom.
Dirty towels were crumpled on the toilet, the floor, and the counter, an amazing number of towels for one guy.
In a perfectly neat row sat an electric razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and aftershave. Wodehouse used the hotel soap and shampoo rather than bring his own.
The trashcan was empty except for the plastic bag.
After checking my watch, I started the shower.
Then I returned to the living room.
My time was my own until eleven o’clock and then I could stay as long as I dared.
There was a knock at the door, two minutes early.
After taking off the gloves, I opened the door and moved aside so the waiter could roll in the wheeled table, glad to note that the running shower was easily heard from here.
“Where would you like this?”
“Right there is just fine.”
He raised the bottle of scotch so that I could see the label, lifted the metal lid off both plates as if to prove he wasn’t leaving me two orders of waffles.
“Looks great.”
“Call if you need any coffee.”
“What about scotch?”
He laughed. “I’d have to charge you for that.” He handed me a leather folder with the slip and a hotel pen. I held the folder by the thin outside edges and suspected the pen wouldn’t last the morning.
“Money’s no object.” I wrote in a twenty-five percent tip, approximated the signature I’d seen on the car rental agreement. “I couldn’t afford to keep my job if it didn’t come with an unquestioned expense account.”
“Thank you, Mister Wodehouse.” The room service waiter backed out of the room, smiling. “Just leave everything outside your door when you’re done.”
“You bet.”
I put the gloves back on and then confirmed that the DO NOT DISTURB sign was still hanging from the doorknob.
After grabbing the pot of coffee, I headed for the bathroom to turn off the shower. I retrieved the hangered shirts, crumpled them into a ball, stoppered the sink, and placed them inside. Then I emptied the coffee pot over the wrinkled mess, the hot liquid reaching the overfill drain, just enough.
I wouldn’t need to order another pot after all.
Back in the living room, I opened the scotch and tipped my head back, letting the molten nectar burn a path home.
With my free hand I hefted one egg at a time and hurled it at each wall in turn. The last egg was slightly overdone leading to a less-than-spectacular splatter.
I took another drag and placed the bottle on the center of the desk. What, no coasters?
The steaks were warmer than the eggs so I concentrated on the hashbrowned potatoes, scanning the room for an adequate application. “One potato, two potato, three potato, four.”
Nothing sparked for me.
I went into the bedroom, spun a slow circle. Nothing came to me here either.
After scooping the two orders of hashbrowned potatoes into one of the metal lids, I went into the only room left and tipped the contents into the toilet. Then I tossed in a small dirty towel and used the plunger to stuff the mixture in.
Should I flush before I left or would that mean Wodehouse would lose the opportunity to discover my visit? Yes, I’d skip the flood and give Wodehouse the satisfaction of disbelief.
The steak had cooled enough for me to pick one up and I bit off chunks as I paced the room looking for ideas.
The hotel would sue Wodehouse for damages and he’d come after them for their lack of security. Actually I was doing the guy a favor, spicing up his bland life with a story he’d tell until the day he died.
“Five potato, six potato, seven potato, more.”
I paused for another sip of scotch. Then I resumed my thinking and my steak.
It was a nice piece of meat, cooked just the way I liked it, tender on the inside and slightly crispy on the outside.
What was I going to do with the toast?
I’d eat one slice which left me with almost half-a-dozen. Even the thought of globbing on jelly first didn’t spawn any sudden creative burst.
There was no point rushing genius. The toast would wait.
I tore open the sugar packets and poured the white powder through the vents atop both televisions.
While I was in the bedroom, I noticed the time and couldn’t believe my eyes. I had to start making calls in five minutes.
I laid the second steak in the middle of the living room carpet and sat at the desk with my piece of toast.
At exactly eleven o’clock, I dialed the first number.
“Simons and Brown.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Fred Wassermann. I’ve been calling Brown every day for two weeks now.” I swung my legs up onto the desk.
“He’s been very busy.”
“I’m happy for him. Meanwhile, my ex-wife has taken off with the kids. Brown was supposed to get me custody to keep that from happening.”
“I’ll let him know you’re expecting his call.”
“You or one of your clones has said that each time I’ve tried to talk with him. Are you sure Brown still works for your firm? Maybe he retired.”
“Perhaps you’d like to speak to Mr. Simons.”
“Do you think he’s capable of tracking down my ex-wife and bringing back my kid? He doesn’t have to slap her around or anything, just get my son for me.”
There was a slight pause before the transfer went through.
“Mr. Simons.”
“There’s something I forgot to tell your secretary. I planted a bomb in your office. You have five minutes.”
I disconnected and wiped toast crumbs from my shirt.
One down, three to go.
“Commonwealth Financial.”
“This is David Wanker from across the street and I can see black smoke pouring out of your building.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s kind of hard to miss. Have you called 911 yet?”
“Bye—”
I took a sip of scotch and rolled it around on my tongue as I dialed the next number.
“United Gas and Power.”
“Hey, this is Joe over at Washington and Main. We got a bad leak here and I’m afraid it could blow. We probably want to evacuate the whole freakin block and I need some extra hands if I’m going to keep this thing from knocking down half the city.”
“Are police on the scene yet?”
“Nobody here but a bunch of rubberneckers hoping to meet their maker.”
“I’m dispatching three crews and will contact police and fire.”
“Thanks. Pray for me.”
It was a good thing I hadn’t had any ideas for the toast because I was still really hungry. I snagged two more pieces and nearly swallowed one whole before I called the final number.
“Yes?”
“Done.”
I stood and stretched.
Thirteen minutes remained until my next series of calls.
The unused toast was still nagging at me. I could grind it up into crumbs and then…what?
I giggled as the image of crumbs sideslipped into something else. After retrieving a towel from the bathroom, I wrapped it around the two glasses. Then I slammed the package against an inside wall a couple dozen times.
In the bedroom, I carefully unfolded the towel on the bureau. Then I used a room service spoon to slide glass fragments into each of Wodehouse’s socks which I carefully refolded and replaced in their original position in the drawer.
What were the odds he’d check his socks before pulling them on tomorrow morning?
I shook out the remaining glass shreds in the shower, turned on the water and watched them sparkle their way down the drain. The towel went onto the floor with the other dirty laundry.
Thirsty, I went back to the bottle of scotch.
I took another slug to loosen my imagination. That toast was really bothering me. The word country aside, it was nothing more than warmed bread. How could I be defeated by bread?
“A man can’t live on bread alone. The best thing since sliced bread. Bread is slang for money. Okay, toast then. Toast always lands buttered side down. He was toast.”
Lifting a lamp, I hurled it at the coffee table but the cord came up short so it landed on the couch. Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood. I picked up the desk chair and smashed the lamp to smithereens.
I tossed the chair aside to catch my breath. I didn’t want to be panting when…I glanced at my watch and swore. I was two minutes late.
The toast was going to be the death of me.
My fingers were shaking as I dialed the first number which rang and rang. Hurry up and answer the phone.
“Truesdale Elementary School.”
“Hi, I’m calling from the parking lot. I just saw some kids slip into the building with rifles.”
“Oh my god.”
“You had better call the police.”
Late, I was late.
“One Price Dry Cleaning.”
“What?”
“One Price Dry Cleaning.”
“Shit, I must have misdialed.”
I took a deep breath, counted to two, splashed some scotch down my throat.
“Speedy Towing.”
“There’s got to be a fifteen-car pileup off the highway ramp, wrecked vehicles all over the damn place.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
My dialing finger hovered over the buttons. I couldn’t remember the next number. There was a double digit. Think, dammit, think. Oh yes.
“911. Your call is being recorded.”
“There’s a jumper on top of the bank. I can see him from my window—” I broke the connection. The cops would know I called from the hotel but there were at least five banks visible from here.
Now the only question was whether or not my tardiness would cause any problems. All that planning and I was two minutes late on my end. He’d waste me if he was caught because I blew the timetable.
I fortified myself with another belt of scotch before dialing the final number.
“Yes?”
“It’s me. How did it go?” I closed my eyes.
“Smooth as silk.”
“Clean getaway?”
“Free and clear.”
I nearly whooped with relief. “How much did we get?”
“Thirty-seven dollars. The clerk tried to hold out on me but I could see the roll of quarters from where I was standing.”
“Were there cameras?”
“Doesn’t matter. The store had three cans of lighter fluid on the shelves so I torched the place. We don’t need to worry about the clerk describing me either.”
“Good deal. I’ll meet you at the parking garage.”
“In thirty?”
“Better make it forty-five. There’s a complication.”
“Need help?”
“Nah. I can take care of it, no problem.”
“Forty-five then.”
I hung up and raised the bottle of scotch in celebration before taking another swig. Then I sighed, wiping my mouth with the back of my arm. It was a little early yet to celebrate.
What the fuck was I going to do with that toast?