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Authors: Alan Russell
Tags: Suspense
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hotels can be a great job. Next to being a parish priest, I can’t think of another profession that allows you to
help mankind more. At times you feel like you’re being paid to be a good Samaritan. It’s a job where the psychic income
can
be very high. Recently I helped Dr. Jonas Salk book some rooms for his friends. No, I didn’t create the polio vaccine, but
at the Hotel California you get to experience a lot of secondhand immortality.”
“Who’s Dr. Salk?” the kid asked.
God, thought Am. I’m that next generation. That’s one thing Southern California doesn’t give courses in—how to be middle-aged.
Am took out his notepad. It was time to play the house dick. Larry had applied for a job at the Hotel ten days ago. Human
resources had supplied him with an application. He had been told to fill it out, and that he would be contacted if an opening
became available. Larry had left his completed application atop an empty counter. He figured that the woman who had helped
him would process it when she returned. That didn’t narrow Am’s list of suspects, as human resources was a frequently visited
department and anyone could have walked in and picked up Larry’s application.
Larry said that he had been called three days ago by a man who identified himself as Mr. Fletcher, head of human resources.
He had agreed to meet with Mr. Fletcher at a nearby Denny’s, was told to look for a man wearing a carnation. Fletcher had
explained he liked conducting his interviews away from the Hotel so as to put the candidates at ease. Am had heard the same
story from all the others Fletcher had “hired.”
Fletcher always remained seated during his interviews, making it impossible for anyone to guess his height. Am couldn’t be
sure whether he was dealing with the same individual, or a cabal of personnel-director imitators. Copy-cat hirings might be
a new fad for Hotel employees. So far Fletcher had been a blond, a brunet, and a redhead, and his complexion had ranged from
pasty to tanned. He was said to be between forty-five and sixty-five. The only thing that had remained the same was his made-up
name, and the enthusiastic use of his hands. The man liked to gesture, to use his digits in operatic form.
Any distinguishing marks? No, said the kid. Anything that made Fletcher stand out? No.
Any reason for me to be optimistic about figuring out who the imposter is? thought Am. No.
Chapter Ten
The fog was showing signs of lifting, which on this morning wasn’t necessarily a very good thing.
The whale wasn’t improving with age, and that was playing havoc with the Hotel. For once, Am found himself grateful for being
removed from the rigors of the front desk. Beleaguered clerks had told him that virtually everyone in the Hotel was asking
for new room assignments. All of the guests were convinced there had to be a better room location, somewhere upwind from the
whale.
City crews were on the scene trying to figure out what to do with thirty tons of putrefying mammal. Apparently they didn’t
have the kind of equipment that could just raise up the whale and haul it away. The word was that some vivisection was going
to be necessary. The sight of a whale being butchered on the beach would undoubtedly stir up the guest hornet nest once again.
Despite the smell, the beach was crowded with the curious. There was a lot of picture taking going on, Lilliputians excited
by the presence of the whale. The park and recreation department had sequestered off the area around the whale. Yellow “Do
Not Cross” tape was rapidly becoming a part of the Hotel colors. Am hoped the Hotel prankster wouldn’t get it into his mind
to paint a white outline of the whale in the sand after it was removed.
The boardwalk was crowded, something that usually only happened during the summer. There was gridlock along the beach wall
closest to the whale. Among the spectators was a familiar face, and a familiar
help mankind more. At times you feel like you’re being paid to be a good Samaritan. It’s a job where the psychic income
can
be very high. Recently I helped Dr. Jonas Salk book some rooms for his friends. No, I didn’t create the polio vaccine, but
at the Hotel California you get to experience a lot of secondhand immortality.”
“Who’s Dr. Salk?” the kid asked.
God, thought Am. I’m that next generation. That’s one thing Southern California doesn’t give courses in—how to be middle-aged.
Am took out his notepad. It was time to play the house dick. Larry had applied for a job at the Hotel ten days ago. Human
resources had supplied him with an application. He had been told to fill it out, and that he would be contacted if an opening
became available. Larry had left his completed application atop an empty counter. He figured that the woman who had helped
him would process it when she returned. That didn’t narrow Am’s list of suspects, as human resources was a frequently visited
department and anyone could have walked in and picked up Larry’s application.
Larry said that he had been called three days ago by a man who identified himself as Mr. Fletcher, head of human resources.
He had agreed to meet with Mr. Fletcher at a nearby Denny’s, was told to look for a man wearing a carnation. Fletcher had
explained he liked conducting his interviews away from the Hotel so as to put the candidates at ease. Am had heard the same
story from all the others Fletcher had “hired.”
Fletcher always remained seated during his interviews, making it impossible for anyone to guess his height. Am couldn’t be
sure whether he was dealing with the same individual, or a cabal of personnel-director imitators. Copy-cat hirings might be
a new fad for Hotel employees. So far Fletcher had been a blond, a brunet, and a redhead, and his complexion had ranged from
pasty to tanned. He was said to be between forty-five and sixty-five. The only thing that had remained the same was his made-up
name, and the enthusiastic use of his hands. The man liked to gesture, to use his digits in operatic form.
Any distinguishing marks? No, said the kid. Anything that made Fletcher stand out? No.
Any reason for me to be optimistic about figuring out who the imposter is? thought Am. No.
Chapter Ten
The fog was showing signs of lifting, which on this morning wasn’t necessarily a very good thing.
The whale wasn’t improving with age, and that was playing havoc with the Hotel. For once, Am found himself grateful for being
removed from the rigors of the front desk. Beleaguered clerks had told him that virtually everyone in the Hotel was asking
for new room assignments. All of the guests were convinced there had to be a better room location, somewhere upwind from the
whale.
City crews were on the scene trying to figure out what to do with thirty tons of putrefying mammal. Apparently they didn’t
have the kind of equipment that could just raise up the whale and haul it away. The word was that some vivisection was going
to be necessary. The sight of a whale being butchered on the beach would undoubtedly stir up the guest hornet nest once again.
Despite the smell, the beach was crowded with the curious. There was a lot of picture taking going on, Lilliputians excited
by the presence of the whale. The park and recreation department had sequestered off the area around the whale. Yellow “Do
Not Cross” tape was rapidly becoming a part of the Hotel colors. Am hoped the Hotel prankster wouldn’t get it into his mind
to paint a white outline of the whale in the sand after it was removed.
The boardwalk was crowded, something that usually only happened during the summer. There was gridlock along the beach wall
closest to the whale. Among the spectators was a familiar face, and a familiar
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