Who's in 418?

Who’s in 418? (Part 2)


As I crossed the lobby toward the Front Desk, I saw Nancy waiting nervously. “You told Carol that you have a problem?” I began. Nancy went quickly to the PBX and pointed at the small display. The hotel’s phone system had been upgraded recently and part of the new equipment was a modern “switchboard”. “When ever a room dials “O” in house, their room number shows in this little window”, she explained. “About ten minutes ago, a man called for the correct time, when a room number from the fourth floor appeared, it caught my attention”, she continued. “Why would a fourth floor number catch your attention?” I asked. “The house is slow tonight and we haven’t got any rooms rented on four or five”. Nancy blurted it out, “I’m sure it was room 418”.

Well, there it was. It must be obvious that a hotel’s staff needs to know the status of every room, at all times. It starts early in the morning when the desk makes lists of check-outs, stay-overs and new-arrivals. The housekeeping department brings updated information to the front desk through-out each day, as they work their way down the long corridors, cleaning and inspecting their guest room assignments. Our desk had never impressed me very much with their procedures and organization. “It’s probably a sleeper”, I suggested. After all, hotel guests change their plans all the time. “Should I call them?” Nancy wanted to help. “No, just get the security guard down here, give me the pass key and I’ll go up there and check it out”. “Nancy, are you sure it was 418?” She was sure.

If it was an “Unauthorized” person, I didn’t want them tipped off by a phone call and I had always found it easier to explain a mix up in a guest’s registration, (which of course was the most likely scenario), while standing face to face with the guest. I took the hotel keys from Nancy and walked back to the restaurant. In the short time it had taken for me to leave, go to the front desk and come back, the “grapevine” had gone into high gear and now, everyone knew that there was “a problem in one of the rooms.” I walked over to where Carol and Maria waited in excitement at the service end of the bar. “I need to go up to 418 and check it out”, I assured them, “Probably nothing to it; just a sleeper”.

A moment later, a very small security guard walked into the restaurant looking for me. Size didn’t matter with security. They were uniformed like police, and the hope was that the silhouette of a police hat, seen from across the parking lot would be enough to deter the bad guys. Also, they carried a two-way radio. I carried brass knuckles. One of the local cops who stopped by occasionally for a drink had given them to me my first night on the job. “It can get rough in here; you may need these some day”. They were the real thing. I reached back and felt the lump of their metal in the back pocket of my trousers as I led the way to the elevator which would transport the two of us to the fourth floor of the guest room tower and room 418.

I must confess that my standard approach at a guestroom door has been modified throughout the years by the many different images that have met my eyes once the door was swung open. I could fill the pages of a book with the tapestry of impressions left behind by people who conduct their acts in the privacy of a hotel room. It is precisely the interruption of this private space and time that I intend with the words, “It’s the Hotel Manager, please open the door”, which immediately follow my quick, loud knocks. The security guard and I looked at each other in the silence that filled our ears after the door stopped rattling in its jamb. We didn’t hear any sounds from within. I repeated the knocking and the request a little louder. There came no response. I began to think that the 418 that Nancy saw on the display was more likely 148. I put the pass key in the lockset and turned the tumblers one time around. The door latch did not release. As I spun the key around the second time, I immediately knew that there was someone inside. The pass key was an E-Key. It was for emergencies only. It was the Grand Master of all hotel keys since it alone could double lock, (or un-double lock) a guestroom door. The only other way for a guestroom door to have the privacy lock in place was to be in the room and turn it with your hand. You could not do it from the outside unless you had the E-Key. We only used the E-Key on the rare occasion that we needed to lock a guest out of their room for non-payment or in an emergency. I slowly began to push the door open and I was stopped as it hit the safety chain. Now, there was no doubt at all. Someone was in the room. I spoke loudly through the crack. “My name is Dave VanArsdale, I’m the Hotel Manager, please come to the door”….. “I need to speak with you”…..”Somehow, the front desk of the hotel shows this room as vacant”…..”Most likely a simple mistake”…..”I know that you’re in there, this chain can not put itself in place”. “I don’t want to scare you, but you must answer me”, I implored the occupant. “Go to your phone and call the hotel operator so that we can get your registration corrected.” Still no response. I put my weight behind the door and easily “popped” the chain open.

The security guard let me go in first. As I walked cautiously into the room, I glanced left into the bathroom. It looked empty. One look around the bedroom and I knew. He was under the bed. I reached down and lifted frame, box springs and mattress up above my head. “Hi Johnnie, why didn’t you answer me?” It was one of the dishwashers. He stayed silent as he rolled out from under the bed. I lowered it back down to the floor. The security guard had remained in the doorway, and I moved back that way to prevent a hasty exit. “Where is she Johnnie, the bathroom?” I looked in and saw the young girl hiding behind the shower curtain. “How did you get in here?” I tried to scare her. She didn’t want to talk either. They were both partly undressed, so I told them to get their clothes back on. “You going to fire me?” Johnnie asked. “How did you get into the room?” I demanded. Of course I would fire him, but for now let’s see if we can learn anything. “Give me the key that you used.” I stayed in the entryway and Johnnie and the girlfriend made a sudden rush, trying to get past me into the hallway. As I caught him by the wrist, I turned to the guard and said, “You keep the girl from running off and radio for the cops, and I’ve got him”.

She looked at me from under the visor of her “police hat”. It was like seeing a deer caught in the headlights as she almost sobbed back at me in a timid little voice,” We aren’t allowed to put our hands on anyone!” It was a girl! The small security guard was a woman! It had not occurred to me until that very instant that she could be a woman. I mean, they just never were. I don’t have a problem with her being a woman guard but it’s not fair to hide it like that. I had at least ten guys downstairs, who were my employees, who would have been glad to accompany us to 418 and be my back-up as I dealt with the “traitorous” Johnnie. Johnnie interrupted my amazement by pulling me off my feet as he bolted away, breaking the hold I had on his arm. I caught my balance and started after him. “Call the cops!” I yelled to her over my shoulder. The girlfriend was running away in the other direction. He sprinted the long hallway and darted around the corner into and down the stairwell. I was gaining on him, taking each landing in two strides with my long legs. When we reached the bottom, he went through the heavy steel door just ahead of me. He turned and slammed against the outside just as I was coming through it. It stopped me in my tracks. I felt the pain shooting up from my left ankle. My foot had been the only part of me to make it through the door before it shut. I freed the foot from its confinement. It still held my weight. I was livid. My right hand slipped quickly into the back pocket and its fingers each found their intended opening in the clammy brass. In a single motion, I pushed back on the heavy door, and leaped for Johnnie as he tried to turn and run out the nearby exit. I caught him by the collar and spun him around. His fists had already landed once and were ready to seek another target on my face when I brought the hammer blow home to the top of his head. Johnnie went limp at my feet with me drawing my arm back for another thump on his pumpkin.

I thought I may have killed him. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he did not move at all. Time stood still. I walked to the stairwell door, opened it and looked up. No one was following. My ankle was screaming with pain. Maybe he broke my leg. The exit door opened and I turned to see Johnnie heading out and across the parking lot. The same parking lot that Cass had a house trailer parked on. Rocky! The trained German Shepard, that no doubt would eat Johnnie if told to, was in that trailer. I hopped on my one good leg over to the small steps leading to the door. I pounded and shouted for five minutes, no response. Not even a bark from the killer dog!

Well, the pass key wouldn’t open the door to Cass’ house trailer. Not that I tried it. Head lights shown up at me pounding and shouting at the dark and unresponsive dwelling, so I stopped. It was Roger, in his Corvette, who pulled up to me as I climbed off the porch. “Get in,” he called to me. I climbed into the second seat and looked back up at the trailer. “He wouldn’t wake up,” I complained to the “plain clothes” detective. “Don’t worry; we caught them at the motel next door.” I’ll take you over and you can ID them for us.

Sure thing, there was Johnnie and his girlfriend, surrounded by at least a dozen cops, sitting on the Motel’s curb. I told the two “love birds” that if they would pay $50 for the cost of the room, they would be off the hook with me. His girl complained loudly at Johnnie as she got the money out of her purse. She didn’t look so innocent in the harsh glare of the street lights. As it turned out, she was a pro and now here she was, having to pay the tab! Once she handed me the fifty, Johnnie stood, turned and started walking away from the group. One of the cops shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?” In what was left of his surliest attitude, Johnnie turned and spat out the words, “I’m going home.” “The man got his money.”

The police took a dim view of Johnnie’s attempted leaving before being dismissed and there was a brief scuffle before the now hand-cuffed and shackled Johnnie landed head first in the back seat of a patrol car. It was not hard to read his lips as the police car pulled away; “I will kill you,” he mouthed at me with a murderous look in his eyes. He hasn’t yet. Roger came by a few days later and called me over to his bar stool, next to Cass. “Yeah, I was just telling your boss about that dumb dishwasher that you thumped last week.” “Believe it or not; after you pounded on him and we pounded on him, he decided to give the turnkeys trouble, later that night, while they were giving him a ride in the elevator down at the county jail.” Some guys just never learn!

Cass just kept his eyes on his drink, one of those clear ones. He never asked me about the story and I never offered to tell him. The numbers had all worked the next morning and I am sure he never heard me at his door. He sure knew how to sell excitement.