Room 702

by Benjamin, Ann

  Throwing pillows aside, Brendan uncovers his Blackberry and frantically goes through the contacts. Unsurprisingly, Ken is not to be found.

  “Damnit!”

  Brendan knows there are other ways of contacting his former agent. He knows actors that Ken, now a very successful agent, represents. And still, he cannot bring himself to make the call.

  “How can I turn my life around?” he asks his younger self. Brendan stumbles to the desk and pulls out a piece of the letterhead. Using the hotel branded ballpoint pen, begins scribbling out nearly incoherent thoughts. Finishing the letter and signing his name with a flourish, feeling suddenly manic and terrified, Brendan frantically scans the room, then folds the paper and slips it behind the giant black and white picture of James Bond.

  Looking at the glossy framed movie poster, he says, “Richie and I will come back for the letter, Mr. Bond. Your mission, should you choose to accept it is to protect it until I can come back.”

  James Bond does not respond to this missive.

  Brendan snaps his fingers and says, “Precisely, Mr. Bond! We have to make sure the enemy isn’t spying on us.”

  The actor begins tearing the room apart, desperate to find a hidden camera or device – convinced the paparazzi or other secret agents are somewhere close by. Scrambling about, his heart rate accelerates, moving to unhealthy levels. Brendan pauses. He’s had a similar reaction once – enough to scare him into the first of a handful of unsuccessful rehab stints. As if his heart is going to beat out of his chest, the actor falls to the ground.

  This time he is not so lucky.

  His heart goes into an irreversible arrhythmia. His organ stutters, then shuts down, refusing to beat.

  Without oxygenated blood flowing to his vital organs, Brendan limply raises his hand, unable to make a move towards the phone.

  As he gasps for his last breath, in the end, his death is not as painful as it could be. Still frozen on the screen, young Brendan silently watches.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  May 1, 11:02 A.M.

  The next morning, a knocking sounds on the door of the suite. As with every time Brendan Sullivan checks into the Winchester, he immediately places the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. The housekeeper knocks a few times, but then goes about her business and cleans the other rooms on the hall.

  Another hour passes, and, alerted to the non-response, the manager, Julian, knocks again on the door of room 702. They have tried, unsuccessfully, for the past hour to reach the occupant by phone (both in the room and on his mobile device). He is joined by their security agent, Dante. Brendan has stayed with them before, and while occasionally messing up rooms and sometimes leaving drug paraphernalia behind, he is still a good guest and genuinely liked by the staff. Brendan tends to stay at the Winchester when he is particularly stressed, claiming the chi is better in the hotel than his mansion in Malibu. Although the staff do like the celebrity, some of them gossip the real reason he comes to stay is that the actor is lonely and likes to interact with people. Brendan’s on a first name basis with the bar staff, and while not over the top, is known for leaving decent tips to everyone.

  In fact, Julian personally escorted the celebrity to his suite the previous day. He tries to recall if there were any issues at check in, but cannot remember anything out of the ordinary. Julian thinks back to the previous day and remembers Brendan only had a small duffle bag, so Julian didn’t believe he planned on staying for long.

  Not wanting to disturb any of the other guests on the hall or draw any attention that a famous actor is refusing to answer his door, Julian taps his key card on the door and again asks, “Hello? Mr. Sullivan? Is everything okay?”

  Julian looks to Dante and says, “Let’s go in.”

  Sliding his all access card into the slot, the door beeps but when Julian moves to open the door further, they are blocked.

  While the key card releases most of the locks on the door, after the manager moves to go inside, it becomes apparent Brendan has latched the decorative chain.

  “I’ll get this.” Dante produces a pair of small bolt cutters and precisely snips through them. With the chain swinging, he says, “After you.”

  The pair cautiously step through into the room. To date, Julian has been fortunate to only deal with one death while he’s been on duty. He hopes today will not double his list. Brendan gave them a bit of a scare the previous year, when he had come close to severe alcohol poisoning, but fortunately a bar employee had found him before the actor had unceremoniously choked on his own vomit. When the cleaner had come back and mentioned Brendan had failed to open the door in the morning, the entire staff had gone on alert.

  Unfortunately, the sight which greets the pair is the last they would prefer to see. A body, unclothed, lays prone on the floor. Even from a distance, from his bluish gray skin tone, it is quite apparent Brendan Sullivan is dead.

  Standing a safe distance away, Dante asks, “Suicide?”

  Julian, preferring not to look at a dead body, turns aside and answers, “I’m not sure. He seemed relatively happy when he checked in yesterday.”

  They stand a moment longer. The weight of the realization of what has happened settles over them. There are protocols to follow and this is not the first time someone has died in the Winchester. However, this is the first time a celebrity has passed away.

  The hotel manager picks up his walkie-talkie and, on the manager’s specific channel, says, “Dawn, can you come up please? We have a floral emergency in Room 702.”

  The term ‘floral emergency’ is code for a death at the Winchester. Dawn’s voice immediately crackles back, “Be there in two.”

  With efficient Dawn on her way to help monitor the room, Dante places calls to the Beverly Hills and Los Angeles police departments respectively. As a former police officer and detective, he has contacts in both areas, and wants to ensure this event will go as smoothly, quietly, and professionally as possible. In addition to directing all traffic to the back entrance of the hotel, he efficiently notes to the Beverly Hills branch that an ambulance is necessary. As he hangs up the call, a sharp knock on the door alerts them that Dawn has made it to the floor in record time. As she enters the room, she says, “Who…?”

  Sighting the body, her voice dissipates.

  Dante looks at the shocked pair and says, “I need to get downstairs and greet the police. Y’all going to be okay in here?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Julian says and straightening up, continues, “Head down to the loading bay and do not inform anyone what is going on. If you must say anything, please tell everyone it is a medical emergency. Do not mention who it is.”

  “You got it, boss. I’m sure you’re both aware that we need to protect the chain of evidence in here – so no one in or out.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Dawn says to Dante’s retreating figure. While they wait for the authorities to arrive, Dawn comments, “It’s a slow news day. This event is going to play big. Have you called Mr. Mohammed?”

  Mr. Mohammed Osman was the owner of five Winchester hotels in the United States. With most of his business in other far more profitable industries, the Winchester chain is a small project in his large conglomeration. The GM sighs and says, “Not yet.”

  The relationship the hotel has with their owner is one of near benevolence. They understand he has plenty of money and does not particularly seem to care if the hotel runs at a profit or a loss. Mr. Mohammed did have highly specific demands, but for the two times a year or so he visits the hotel, they were easy enough to keep. Not having experienced something like the level of the media circus that was about to unfold, everyone is a bit hesitant about how to proceed.

  Julian claps his hands together and says, “No one wants the blame of Brendan’s death to be pointed at the hotel.”

  Dawn answers, “I know this is against procedure, but should we try and get Jill first?”

  “The PR girl?”

  �
��Exactly. I think she’ll know best how the Winchester comes out of this and how we should handle Mr. Mohammed.”

  Jill Reynolds is the one-woman show behind PR for the Winchester brand. Simply known as ‘The Fixer’ throughout the five properties, she is given a nearly obscene salary, and keeps the Winchester brand name frequently in the media. When luxury brands want a place for an opening or a designer needs a place for a launch, Jill is on their speed dial and one of her hotels is almost always the location. Although technically based out of the New York Winchester, Ms. Reynolds flits between the properties on a quarterly basis. Thirty-two year old Jill is an intimidating force and has her eyes on much bigger chains and Europe or Asia for her next role. The GM, even with his years of experience as an hotelier, nods and, scrolling through his Blackberry, finds her number.

  Already dialing, he asks, “What time is it in New York?”

  “Probably close to 3 P.M.”

  Julian places his phone on speaker so Dawn can hear the conversation.

  Jill, in her usual no nonsense voice, answers crisply, “Jill Reynolds.”

  “Hi Jill, this is Julian and Dawn from the Winchester Beverly Hills.”

  “Is something the matter?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, there is.”

  “What exactly?”

  “We’ve had a death in the hotel.”

  “Why are you bothering me?”

  “It’s Brendan Sullivan.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where is the body?”

  “We haven’t touched it. It’s here in the junior suite on the seventh floor.”

  “Do the cops know?”

  Dawn pipes up, “Yes, Dante has gone down and is waiting for them in the delivery bay. He thought it best not to attract attention. He’s going to bring them straight up through the service lift.”

  “Good move,” Jill responds. “The last thing we need is to not look as though we weren’t compliant with the authorities.”

  “What else can we do?” Dawn knows her and Julian’s roles in this situation are critical. Although someone dying is not their fault, the handling of the situation could mean the difference between promotion and termination. They have friends down the road at the Beverly Hilton who witnesses a similar tragedy. When Dawn woke up this morning, late and irritated, she had no idea how her day was going to play out like this.

  The pair can literally hear Jill’s brain starting to switch gears, and she starts baking orders, “Call F&B and get plenty of coffee and pastries ready. Make sure there are water, sodas, and fruit. I don’t care if you have to go through all our stores or call another property. We’re going to show all law enforcement the Winchester level of hospitality.”

  “Agreed,” Julian answers.

  “Furthermore, Julian, you are not to leave the room until correct authorities are present. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “In fact, if there is any way to ensure that a member of the Winchester staff is always present in the facility, that would be ideal. Don’t let the police bully you, but if they need you out of the room, that’s okay too. I’m sure Dante will know how to handle this.”

  “Understood.”

  “Additionally, make Dante aware that as of the time he clocked in this morning, he is on double overtime for as long as needed. I’ll sign off on this. I know our staff are all trustworthy individuals, but we need to complete continuity. I’m not going to pass this around. Things cannot leak unless we decide they do.”

  “We’re listening,” Dawn answers.

  “Next, are there drugs present?”

  “We haven’t checked.”

  “Do it – as far as I’ve heard, Mr. Sullivan has been known to do more than an occasional line on property. Don’t touch anything. I’ll wait.”

  Julian doesn’t question how she knows this, but says, “We’ll look.”

  The duo searches the room, only to find the suite in complete disarray. Given the current state of things, it is impossible to know what drugs are present. After finding only empty baggies, Julian answers, “It’s entirely possible. However, whatever he used is now gone.”

  “Did we provide any of them?”

  “I’ll have to check with Ethan.”

  “Call him,” Jill directs. “I think the media will want someone to blame, and we need to keep our distance. While you’re entertaining the local police, I’ll draft out a statement and release it publicly, once his family has been notified. We need to break this story.”

  “What about his publicist?”

  “I don’t give two shits. Let them say whatever they want. For now, this is ours.”

  Dawn, aware of the guests checking in today, volunteers, “I’ll get started on walking the guests scheduled to stay here today and tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. Doesn’t the Peninsula owe us a favor from Christmas last year?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Make it happen. Additionally, please be very wary of media trying to get in. This is the kind of story that could make some young blogger’s career.”

  “We’ll be vigilant.”

  “Furthermore, as I see this spinning quickly, I’m going to book the corporate jet and get out to you as soon as possible.”

  “We’ll have your suite waiting for you.”

  “Thank you. Now, have you informed Mr. Mohammed?”

  Julian uncharacteristically fidgets and responds, “We were hoping you might break the news to him.”

  Jill keeps from sighing in frustration over the phone. However she got the reputation of being able to deal with the owner, she still isn’t sure if she likes it. He was a well educated man, but one prone to various levels of outbursts. Jill understands he likes things a specific way, and once he makes a decision he wants to see his wishes completed quickly. Anything can tip him off, from not having his favorite whiskey, to the texture of the pillows. While he doesn’t particularly care for how much profit the hotel brings in, something like this has never happened before. Jill can’t gauge what his reaction will be.

  “Fine. I’ll let him know, but keep your phones on in case he has follow up questions.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Julian asks.

  “I think he’s vacationing in France. The last thing we want is for him to find out about this through other channels.”

  “Agreed.”

  A knock at the door alerts the group. Julian says, “That’s probably Dante with the police.”

  “See you later today.” The line goes dead.

  The pair opens the door, unsurprised to find Dante escorting two police officers. The first one, a tall African-American man, asks, “Who found the body?”

  From this moment forward, the suite becomes a swirl of activity. The hotel staff counts themselves lucky. Most of the guests from the previous night have already checked out, leaving housekeeping to clean the rooms and a less populated hotel. The reservations staff begins reshuffling the rooms, placing people anywhere but the seventh floor. With carte blanche from Julian, they upgrade and work the rooms like a giant chess game. Under Dawn’s instruction, they also begin calling hotels nearby to source rooms for incoming guests. It is all hands on deck as they call the incoming guests and inform them of an undisclosed emergency at the Winchester, cheerfully offering a nearby hotel, with no additional charge. The local police have posted officers on the floor as well as at the front of the hotel. At the moment, only those with previously booked reservations are allowed into the Winchester. Guests with current bookings are contacted an offered alternative location should they want to move to a quieter location. When patrons inquired as to the reason, the hotel staff calmly mentioned a surprise inspection and would rather their guests seek peace and quiet elsewhere.

  Back in Room 702, Brendan Sullivan is wheeled out in a body bag.

  Inside the room, detectives and officers scour over every inch of the
space, trying to uncover if there was any foul play involved.

  Unfortunately, as tests will consistently and conclusively prove, the ending Brendan’s life is the sad misfortune of drug use.

  His death will be ruled an accidental overdose (although many will wonder if it was a suicide attempt).

  Checking her watch, Jill notes the late hour as she walks into the suite. She is joined by Ethan deSoto, the night manager. They look at the chaos in silence.

  “He called me last night.”

  “What? Have you told the police?”

  “Not explicitly.”

  “They’ve asked for our phone records. I’m sure they will contact you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide, and neither does the Winchester. Not exactly.”

  Jill’s already given statements to a number of major news publications exonerating the Winchester or any involvement in Brendan’s death. She asks, “What did he want?”

  “Not drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking. As far as I know, he gets them offsite.”

  “And? Why did he call?”

  “He wanted a call girl.”

  The request sinks in. Jill asks cautiously, “What did you say?”

  Ethan rights a chair over and sits down, “Am I speaking to Jill the fixer who wants to help protect the staff, or Jill the PR woman with an ear to Mr. Mohammed?”

  She moves aside the comforter and seats herself on the bench at the end of the bed. Finally she answers, “Just tell me.”

  “Look, I’m sure it’s no different in any of the other properties, but one request that consistently comes up is that of an, ahem, escort.”

  “I’m not that naïve, Ethan. I realize these things happen.”

  “So, when Mr. Sullivan came to visit earlier this year, I sent up our ‘regular’ girl.”

  “There’s a regular?” This fact surprises Jill, who thought she knew everything that happened on property.

  Ethan shifts uncomfortably and says, “She gets the job done, and I don’t have complaints. She doesn’t steal and keeps our customers happy. What more do you want to know?”