Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

  “Larry, you know I’ve been looking after Cornelius for years. I’d rate his threat assessment skills somewhere between a smoke detector without batteries and a broad passed out in a bar. Whenever he interviews new bellhops, I keep a special ‘assistant’ on hand to make sure Cornelius isn’t accidentally helping an applicant case the joint.”

  “Then why put him in charge of the bellhops?” Larry asked.

  “Because for twenty-five years he worked harder than anybody else here. And it makes him happy to do the interviews. So, I gave him the promotion. It’s not like I can’t afford paying his helper. With the kind of money I make and the debt I owe Henry, which is zero, I could pay for a whole fake staff for his son if Henry were still alive and wanted it.”

  O’Hara swilled what remained. “By the way, you know he gave me half of this hotel? His partner had the other half, I bought him out, and now this baby is all mine. Look what I’ve done...and, what makes you think I forgot the promise we made to Henry to watch out for Cornelius?”

  “No, but I haven’t forgotten either. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Sure, sure,” O’Hara said. “The hotel is a pretty cesspool, but I’m telling you, Cornelius’ living here is for the best. He can stick to his little routines and not have to worry about things like paying utility bills, and he’s perfectly fine. Every now and then, something will come up, like a small pain in his leg or a jury duty summons, and he will call his brother in a panic, but it never amounts to anything. The last person to lay a hand on Cornelius was Jimmy McCullough in fifth grade, and Jimmy’s nose is still pointing in the same direction it was when he was born. His wifey told Clare he had an operation on the nose a few years ago, but he still snores like a Harley.”

  O’Hara had both hands on the counter and looked at Larry’s. Despite years of police work, Larry’s hands were no rougher than his own.

  He put his arm around Larry’s shoulders and said, “Look, Larry, I know you’re a nice guy...basically...and you’ve had some accomplishments...”

  Larry interrupted. “Advancements need the helping hand of God, and at the end of a long day, I try to give Him the credit.”

  He’s kidding me.

  “Trust me. I know what to do with my employees.”

  “I’m up for a promotion,” Larry said in a surly voice.

  “Good for you. Every little success is a good thing. Who’s the opposition?”

  “Inspector Joe Varton.”

  “I saw his name in the Business Times recently. He solved some sort of white-collar crime. I thought you guys investigated murders and suicides.”

  “The most common causes of murder are money, revenge, and jealousy.”

  O’Hara stared at him. “What made you say that?”

  “The phone call to Cornelius.”

  “I wish you’d stop thinking you have to check up on everyone.”

  “I want you to put a man on Cornelius tonight. We can’t give him police protection.”

  “No. I have one man on duty. If this request had come a day or two ago, I could have helped you out, but not now.”

  “Call your man. I want to talk to him”

  “I run this hotel. It’s a safe place. He’s in no danger.”

  “Call him.”

  This interferes with plans.

  He picked up his cell phone. “Keck, get ahold of Fletcher. Tell him to meet me in the bar.”

  “How’s Clare?” Larry asked.

  “She doesn’t have to worry about paying utility bills either. We’ve been married twenty-seven good years. She doesn’t give me any reason to complain, and I made sure she knows her future is taken care of.”

  “And Maureen Daley?”

  “She’s fine, too” O’Hara said, removing his arm from around Larry’s shoulder and abruptly losing his amiability. “I know how to handle my business, Larry.”

  There was a moment of silence before O’Hara continued. “But if you do want to talk to Cornelius, you’d better run along up to his room. He gets anxious if he thinks he’s going to be late for his shift. He’s in 1212, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I already talked to him. I heard Maureen is pregnant.”

  “Who said that?” O’Hara shifted in his seat.

  “Just a rumor. I ignore rumors.”

  “Best to ignore that one, buddy.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Yeah, big guy,” O’Hara said in a steely voice. “Ignore that one if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Threaten and threaten some more. Just keep your nose clean. No matter how loaded you are, or how much pull you have at city hall, you’re an ordinary citizen – one, fine American I might have fun with some day – at the right time.”

  O’Hara slapped the counter. The bartender sashayed to their end. “We’re done. The inspector’s drink is on the house. All right, Leahy, let me take you to the lobby. You can find the front door.”

  “Just a minute. What about Morales and Ortiz?”

  “No knowledge of them. Glad you came today. It may not look that way, but I appreciate it. I don’t want Smith in the hotel again.”

  Fletcher walked in.

  O’Hara sighed. “Leahy wants to talk to you.”

  “Mr. Fletcher, I’m Inspector Leahy. What time are you off duty?”

  “One o’clock in the morning.”

  “Tonight, I want you to escort Cornelius to his apartment when he goes off duty. Check each room. Make sure the apartment is empty. Tell Cornelius to call 911 if he sees or hears anything out of the ordinary. Same for you, call 911. Do you understand?”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  O’Hara said, “No. Just do what you’re told.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fletcher backed out of the bar.

  O’Hara and Larry followed him, and they shook hands beside the plastic covering.

  O’Hara headed for his office.

  The slow learner in 1212 is my problem.

  •••

  Pepper Chase stood behind the front desk in the Greenwich’s lobby. In the middle of helping guests, the operator popped out from her room and told Pepper she had a call waiting. She finished checking in an elderly couple and picked up the desk phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, darling.”

  “Is that you dad?”

  “Don’t you recognize your daddy’s voice anymore?”

  He sounded drunk.

  Her thoughts bunched up. The dead-beat dad. Out of work most of the time, abusive to her mother and brothers, at the bar drinking himself into a stupor so he could get to sleep at night. She looked at her watch: half past one.

  “Yes, what do you want?”

  “I need a little money, but that’s not the real reason I called.”

  “What is?”

  “Your brother is in jail again. He got arrested for selling weed.”

  “I’m busy. I have an important job and can’t take personal phone calls. I’ll call Michael later.”

  “So, your big job in the big city makes you too good to talk to your daddy?”

  “I’ve bettered myself without any help from you or Mom or anyone else. I’ve even got a 401K plan, but I live from paycheck to paycheck and have no extra money. Ask Aunt Gertrude to help Michael. She’s your sister!”

  “You make me sorry I called.”

  “You make me sick.”

  “Is that any way to talk to your own father?”

  “I’m going to hang up.”

  “Your brother will call when he finds out.”

  Pepper felt scared and threatened. Michael was even meaner than her father, but she couldn’t hate him.

  The beatings he took are too horrible to think about.

  There was only pity and a feeling of helplessness in her heart.

  A guest stood waiting. Pepper hung up the phone without saying good-bye.

  The man in front of her was older and balding, on the short side and alone. She t
hought of Cornelius. Unlike her father, Cornelius was kind and dependable.

  Right. I’ll deliver Cornelius’ dinner to him.

  •••

  After a couple of hours of work, O’Hara strained to see the gilt clock.

  Half past three. Inspection time.

  He rode the elevator from the second floor to the first and headed for the doorman. Ever ready, he tilted his cap. The brunette clerk was giving directions from the front desk to a middle-aged couple wearing matching khaki shorts. Knowing they would regret their clothing choices when the weather cooled, he offered a skillful smile that gave way to a sneer once the couple was outside.

  Behind the desk, he landed a quick slap on the brunette’s posterior. Lawyers be damned, the hotel was his to do with as he wanted, and what were employees but hotel chattel. Not caring what her reaction was, he looked over at a bellhop and said, “I hope you’re all ready for a busy night.” He didn’t wait for an answer and didn’t expect one. His employees were in such awe of him that they couldn’t put a sentence together.

  Guests stood in twos and fours, preparing to leave and looking eager. O’Hara judged they had correctly made restaurant reservations. He weaved in and out of colorless conversations, red, white, and blue paper lanterns dangling from chandeliers, and miniature flags sticking out of wall sconces.

  The lobby was undergoing remodeling, and it didn’t look good. “When’s that damn covering coming down?” He looked around for the workmen and motioned to the doorman. “Have this monstrosity removed. Thanks.”

  The review was almost complete. The brunette stood alone at her station. He lowered his eyeglasses down his nose and took them off. “Where’s Chase?”

  “She’s up in Mr. MacKenzie’s room, sir.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  The clerk pulled herself up against the desk counter and answered, “I’m not sure, sir. She said she needed to talk to him.”

  “I’ll see about that. Don’t you have anything to do?”

  “No, sir, we’re waiting for the arrival of guests. They went on a tour and...and should be back in about an hour.”

  “Fine. Look busy. Give me the master key.”

  O’Hara put his eyeglasses back on, marched down the long hallway, and passed a framed picture of his pale gold 1964 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud, driven every day to the hotel. His hands could almost feel the hardness of its real chrome grill.

  Another vehicle remained at home in a garage with its own air filtration system. It was an orange 1972 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, the first automobile he had purchased with his own money, with an odometer reading of 135,000 miles, racked up on trips to Southern California beaches and now only driven to car shows to get him what he wanted most: a trophy.

  Maureen Daley swayed back and forth in his head. He hoped she would be dressed in something red for the evening that was fast approaching.

  “Chase will be sorry she’s in Cornelius’ room,” he remarked. Two sunbaked ladies, each with a flower tucked behind an ear, exited the elevator and looked at the man who was talking to himself. Gardenia scent trailed him onto the twelfth floor. As the elevator doors closed, he exhaled loudly, stormed the hallway, turned the master key, and pushed the door open. He had more ballast than was needed to launch a battleship.

  “Pepper, a kitchen helper usually brings me dinner. Why you?”

  “Oh, I saw him with the tray and said I would bring it to you and I’ve brought your dinner before. Don’t you remember? Would you like a glass of milk?”

  “Yes, please.”

  O’Hara kept silent, but the sound of glass landing on a glass table felt like grit in his shoe.

  After I kick them out, let that milk sour.

  “Who’s at the front desk?” Cornelius asked.

  “Doris.”

  “Shouldn’t you be there?”

  “It’s not busy. This will only take a few minutes. I’ll get back to the front desk.” A moment later, she said, “The music is lovely. What is it?

  “Madame Butterfly.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Opera.”

  O’Hara whispered, “How stupid she is.”

  “How is it?” she asked.

  “It’s good. I had an argument wi...with Mr. O’Hara today.”

  “What about?”

  O’Hara’s lips tightened.

  “Gerald Smith.” O’Hara heard three sucking sounds in a row. “Mr. O’Hara hasn’t made an announcement, yet, but it’ll get around. He...he fired Gerald.”

  Pepper gasped. “Why?”

  “Gerald was late three times and didn’t call.”

  “I haven’t seen Gerald for a few days. That explains why. Gerald’s a good guy. That’s unfair.”

  O’Hara pulled on the lapels of his suit jacket as he prepared to charge.

  “Gerald is staying at Topaz Lake. Pepper, you should return to the front desk now.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, then stammered out the words, “Mr. MacKenzie, can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “No.”

  “I know someone who’s interested in you.”

  “I’m too old to be in love.”

  “You don’t really mean that, do you? I’m twenty-four, and I don’t think you’re old. Oh, I meant to thank you again for the dozen red roses you gave me on my fourth anniversary last week. You know how much I love roses and working here, but I was so surprised.”

  What made him do that?

  O’Hara pulled the cigar out of his mouth. He looked for a napkin or a place to toss it and stuck it in his pants pocket.

  “Mr. O’Hara called me an old man, and I told him he’s four years older.”

  Pepper giggled. “You shouldn’t have said that. You need someone to look after you.”

  “I pl...plan to keep working and not retire like Ralph said I should. Tomorrow I’ll be with people I really like. We volunteer to help people with disabilities. When I’m not doing that, I like to spend time with my sisters’ children.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. You’re still young, Cornelius, about the same age as my father.”

  “I nev...never heard you talk about your father.”

  “I don’t like him, I mean, I don’t like to talk about him. So, are you in love with someone?”

  Is she after him?

  Cornelius didn’t answer.

  “Why was Mrs. Daley here?”

  “I gave her a present.”

  Why?

  O’Hara scratched his head.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Cornelius said.

  “You think my hair is pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think I’m as pretty as she is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you think you could fall in love?”

  O’Hara watched as Pepper entered the living room and looked around. He stepped back into the darkness of the entry hall. On top of an end table next to the black chesterfield she found gold cufflinks and pocketed them. She saw his suit jacket lying on the back of the chesterfield, lifted it, and examined the tag inside the collar. She skillfully re-laid the jacket and returned to the kitchen.

  “You never told me you shopped at Wilkes Bashford. Where is that?” Pepper said.

  “I...the tailor comes here. Father Ralph orders my suits. He says that’s where Mr. O’Hara shops. I don’t know much about that.”

  “Don’t you think you could fall in love, Cornelius?”

  There was no answer.

  She asked again, “Don’t you think you could be in love?”

  The apartment was quiet.

  Suddenly, she blurted, “I love you, Cornelius,” and flew out of the kitchen.

  O’Hara took a position between her and the front door and yelled, “What are you doing here?”

  Pepper pushed past O’Hara and threw open the door.

  O’Hara spoke loudly to her ba
ck. “If I find you in here again, I’ll fire you.” He followed her out into the hall and saw her entering the elevator. “I’ll fire you!” He turned around and saw Cornelius coming out of the kitchen. “This is the last time she comes inside your apartment. She’s on duty and has no business here. Do you understand?”

  With a starched white bib still attached, he answered, “Yes, sir. I apologize for our...”

  Before Cornelius could finish, O’Hara was on the elevator and riding it to the second floor.

  As he entered his office, his secretary said, “Mr. Fletcher called.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said he has a report.”

  “What about?”

  “I didn’t ask, sir.”

  “Get him in here.”

  Three minutes later Bud Fletcher walked into the inner sanctum.

  O’Hara faced the window and said, “What have you got, Fletcher?” He swung around in his desk chair and flicked his cigar in a lead-glass ashtray.

  “Mr. O’Hara, Gerald Smith was in the hotel this morning.”

  “And?”

  “I asked him to leave. You told me he had been fired.”

  “Did Smith leave?”

  “Oh, yes. Security escorted him out the front door.”

  “Fix the report. Larry Leahy took him out. I’ve warned you before about lying.”

  “But I’m part of security.”

  “You’re my investigator! If Smith enters again, send for security. Do you understand?”

  “Yes...yes, sir, but I’m the only man on duty tonight.”

  “Exactly. Now, as for tonight, keep doing what you do and forget about Leahy’s request to escort Cornelius to his apartment.” O’Hara turned around and said, “Go back to work.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  O’Hara buzzed Keck and demanded Smith’s cell phone number.

  A minute passed while he waited.

  “Mr. O’Hara, what’s his name?”

  “Gerald Smith! I’m surprised you know your own name.”

  “Oh, yes. I see it.”

  She recited the numbers slowly, and he became impatient. “Thank you.” He put down the receiver, snuffed the cigar in the ashtray, and took out his cell phone. He did not want the call to appear in the hotel’s phone records.

  The voice that said “hello” sounded hoarse.