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The room smelt of last
night’s room service and sweat. I looked around, I could see the source
of the smells; there was a plate with a half eaten club sandwich and a few French fries on
the desk, while a smart suit jacket hung on the chair. I could tell from the sheets
on the bed someone had slept here last night. There were clothes folded on
another chair and recently cleaned shoes were neatly placed carefully near the
door. I noticed there was a wedding ring on the bedside table.
I went into the bathroom,
there were tiny bits of food in the sink, which told me this was a mouthwash
user, but the sink, the toothbrush and towel were all dry.
‘So he should have checked
out by twelve?’ I said. I looked at the hotel manager who was waiting by the
door.
He nodded. I looked at my
watch, it was 6 p.m.
‘And no one saw him this
morning?’ I asked. This time he shook
his head. ‘And he didn’t come for breakfast?’
‘No one remembers seeing
him, Mr Stanley.’
‘Why did you call me, not
the police?’ I said.
‘I did call the police Mr
Stanley but they weren’t interested. I want my money and you are going to get
it for me.’
I nodded and continued to
look around the main hotel room. There was everything you’d expect from an
occupied hotel room, the only thing missing was the person occupying it.
‘Can I talk to the
receptionist?’ I said. The manager nodded and we walked downstairs without
speaking.
‘What time did you start
work this morning?’ I asked the woman with a name Julie on her badge.
‘7 a.m.,’ she said.
‘And before that?’
‘There’s a night porter,’ she said.
I turned to the manager.
‘I’d say he left about
6.30,’ I said. He could be anywhere by now. ‘You’ll pay me more trying to find
him than he owes for the room.’
‘I don’t care, Mr Stanley,’
he said and he sounded angry. ‘You just find him, you understand. No one leaves
my hotel without paying.’
I nodded. ‘Can I see the
bill?’ I asked. The receptionist gave me a professional smile and then printed
out a bill. I looked at it. Two nights, two evening meals and two gay porn
films.
Wedding ring on the bedside
table, gay porn on the bill. Something didn’t add up.
‘Leave it with me,’ I said.
‘I’ll have your money by the morning.’
Coco’s was the coolest gay
club in town. I smiled at the barman Stevie G. I showed him the photo of my missing
man. He shook his head.
‘Try Rocky’s,’ he said.
‘That’s where all the new ones go.’
‘Archer Stanley! Finally a
real man for good old Rocky.’ Rocky Sidoli was the owner of Rocky’s. He was an
old friend of mine.
‘Today’s not your lucky
day. This is business not pleasure,’ I said smiling at the old queen.
I showed Rocky the
photograph and he pointed at a lonely looking man in the corner.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I
asked. The man looked up from his empty glass. He had sad eyes. He nodded
slowly. I ordered us both a whisky.
‘You Clifford Erickson?’ I
asked. He nodded.
‘I’m Archer Stanley, I’m a
private investigator.’
He nodded again.
‘Look Mr Erickson, I don’t
care what you are or who you are or what you decide to do with your life. But
I do know there’s a nice pair of shoes at a hotel near here and a hotel owner
who wants his money, and probably a wife worrying about you. So let’s go back
there, you collect your things and pay your bill and then try to find another
way to tell your wife you’re gay?’
He nodded, we drank in
silence. I felt sorry for this guy, he was confused, I knew I was sending him
back to hell, but hey, I have to make my money somehow.
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