I don't know if he was practicing Santeria, praying to some icon, trying to disguise a fart, or, more than likely attempting to set a romantic mood. About a year ago, while relocating, he was a guest here for about six months. Amiable enough, and he enjoyed a reputation with the bell man and valet drivers of being a good tipper.
He called the front desk at about three in the morning and simply said " There is an alarm going off in my room"
I get to his room and knock on the door. When he opens the door it's readily apparent that there had been a fire in the room. The alarm he heard was the smoke detector. The pillow is still smoldering. The top of the nightstand looks like a fireplace log. The singed down comforter and the sheets are in a heap on the floor. The carpet is burned. He has a first degree burn on his inner right thigh. He declines any first aid for it.
I asked him what happened.
He said he lit a tea light and placed it on the nightstand.
" I must have fell asleep" he said. "When I woke up the pillow was on fire"
"I tried to smother the flames with the pillow, but then the pillow started to burn and drip fire on the carpet" he continued
I wondered where the girl was.
He's going on, he took the sheets off the bed, blah blah. He's stomping on the carpet to put out flames.
I'm taking pictures of the damage to the room, his thigh, the linen, the furniture, the mattress, the Laura Ashley purse, the panty liner strip in the trashcan. All the time wondering where is the girl.
After telling him he would be charged for the damages, he was moved to another room.
The girl?
She was out driving waiting for him to call her on her cell. Prior to calling the front desk he called Valet to have one of the two cars on his room account brought to the front drive. Her car. She drove around for forty minutes. He gets relocated to another room in the hotel. He calls, or texts her with the new room number. She drives back to the hotel gives her keys to the valet driver and goes to the new room.
Cost of Room: $289.00
Valet Parking for two cars $40.00
Mini Bar Refreshments $32.00
Damage to room/linen $520.84
Playing with fire can lead to one expensive tryst:
Total $881.84.
The Second Dead Body
I never found out if she was depressed, recently diagnosed as terminally ill, insane, estranged, recently widowed, or orphaned. Initially I just knew that I had to sit with the body until the morgue truck came.
I reported for work as usual.
Immediately briefed by the Director of Security. A fifty nine year old woman, who checked into the hotel three days ago, was found dead in her room. For two days there was a do not disturb sign on her doorknob so housekeeping did not enter the room. On day three, out of concern, because the phone was not being answered, or because they needed the room, they sent security up.
Rigor mortis had set in, dissipated and set in again by the time I saw the body. I was directed to sit with the body, along with an officer from NY PD, until the morgue truck came. When I got to the room, there was a policeman, sitting in a chair by an slightly opened window. He was drinking a cup of coffee. Sensing the extreme potential for a awkward few hours, I excused myself to get something to read.
She was from Massachusetts. She had checked in, alone, three days ago. One room Service order on her first day there. After that nothing. No phone calls, no dry cleaning, no inquiries to the concierge. After the third day housekeeping insisted on entry to the room.
She was laying on her side. Legs and arms bent at at 45 degree angle. There was slight decomposing flesh smell. It was close to midnight when the morgue truck came. Two guys carrying a black rubber body bag with handles on the side. The cop and I moved out of their way. After placing the body bag on the floor they unzipped it and opened it up. Then they pulled the covers back off the, uh, cadaver. Shoulder length, mostly gray hair. Wearing the type of nightgown your grandmother wears, high collar, ankle length. The only flesh visible is the face, hands, and feet.
They turn her onto her back. Her legs and arms remain at 45 degree angles. First they both press down on her knees to straighten her legs out. Then they pull at the wrist while supporting the elbows and straighten out her arms. Supporting her shoulders and calves they place her in the body bag and zip it up.
As memory serves me she was definitely in a room above the 15th floor. 'Cause it seemed to be a long, awkward ride. Riding down in the service elevator (which led to the loading dock, far from the main entrance), the cop made some lame remark along the lines of, "Well, at least it's not a floater"
They both had that "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that line" look on their faces.
We get to the loading dock and one of them rolls open the rear door to the morgue truck. I had never seen a morgue truck before. I'm thinking it going to be a hearse, black, with the word CORONER painted on it in white, you know, like on Perry Mason, or M Squad.
This is a truck the size Sears® uses to deliver your new refrigerator.
There are four shelves with approximately 36 inches between them. Looked as if each shelf could hold three bodies across, two bodies deep. Initially the way they tossed her body onto the third shelf seemed callous. But then I realized, this was their job.
How is the question "Honey, how was your day?" get answered in their household.
Do they participate in "Bring your daughter/son to work day?
They could not weep, or say a novena for each corpse they hauled away.
The First Dead body
I'm fifteen years old. East New York, Brooklyn. Walking along Hegeman Avenue. Between Cleveland and Ashford Street. A white Valiant turns off Hegeman Avenue onto Ashford, towards Linden Boulevard. There's an A & P on the corner of Ashford & Linden. The front passenger side door opens, and the body of a nude young black woman rolls out.
One of the many grandmothers who pass their days in the front window called the police. Soon the street is blocked off. A tarp is thrown over the body. The news crews show up shortly thereafter. The story is on the six o clock news. Three days later detectives arrive. Showing pictures and asking if anybody knew the woman. Turns out she was a long term heroin addict. Died of an overdose. She was shooting in her inner thighs because all the veins in her arms had collapsed.
I reported for work as usual.
Immediately briefed by the Director of Security. A fifty nine year old woman, who checked into the hotel three days ago, was found dead in her room. For two days there was a do not disturb sign on her doorknob so housekeeping did not enter the room. On day three, out of concern, because the phone was not being answered, or because they needed the room, they sent security up.
Rigor mortis had set in, dissipated and set in again by the time I saw the body. I was directed to sit with the body, along with an officer from NY PD, until the morgue truck came. When I got to the room, there was a policeman, sitting in a chair by an slightly opened window. He was drinking a cup of coffee. Sensing the extreme potential for a awkward few hours, I excused myself to get something to read.
She was from Massachusetts. She had checked in, alone, three days ago. One room Service order on her first day there. After that nothing. No phone calls, no dry cleaning, no inquiries to the concierge. After the third day housekeeping insisted on entry to the room.
She was laying on her side. Legs and arms bent at at 45 degree angle. There was slight decomposing flesh smell. It was close to midnight when the morgue truck came. Two guys carrying a black rubber body bag with handles on the side. The cop and I moved out of their way. After placing the body bag on the floor they unzipped it and opened it up. Then they pulled the covers back off the, uh, cadaver. Shoulder length, mostly gray hair. Wearing the type of nightgown your grandmother wears, high collar, ankle length. The only flesh visible is the face, hands, and feet.
They turn her onto her back. Her legs and arms remain at 45 degree angles. First they both press down on her knees to straighten her legs out. Then they pull at the wrist while supporting the elbows and straighten out her arms. Supporting her shoulders and calves they place her in the body bag and zip it up.
As memory serves me she was definitely in a room above the 15th floor. 'Cause it seemed to be a long, awkward ride. Riding down in the service elevator (which led to the loading dock, far from the main entrance), the cop made some lame remark along the lines of, "Well, at least it's not a floater"
They both had that "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that line" look on their faces.
We get to the loading dock and one of them rolls open the rear door to the morgue truck. I had never seen a morgue truck before. I'm thinking it going to be a hearse, black, with the word CORONER painted on it in white, you know, like on Perry Mason, or M Squad.
This is a truck the size Sears® uses to deliver your new refrigerator.
There are four shelves with approximately 36 inches between them. Looked as if each shelf could hold three bodies across, two bodies deep. Initially the way they tossed her body onto the third shelf seemed callous. But then I realized, this was their job.
How is the question "Honey, how was your day?" get answered in their household.
Do they participate in "Bring your daughter/son to work day?
They could not weep, or say a novena for each corpse they hauled away.
The First Dead body
I'm fifteen years old. East New York, Brooklyn. Walking along Hegeman Avenue. Between Cleveland and Ashford Street. A white Valiant turns off Hegeman Avenue onto Ashford, towards Linden Boulevard. There's an A & P on the corner of Ashford & Linden. The front passenger side door opens, and the body of a nude young black woman rolls out.
One of the many grandmothers who pass their days in the front window called the police. Soon the street is blocked off. A tarp is thrown over the body. The news crews show up shortly thereafter. The story is on the six o clock news. Three days later detectives arrive. Showing pictures and asking if anybody knew the woman. Turns out she was a long term heroin addict. Died of an overdose. She was shooting in her inner thighs because all the veins in her arms had collapsed.
The Apparition
I’m working the
The bell Captain and I continue our conversation. He is an older light skinned black man. Says he was raised in
So about forty minutes later the phone at the Bell Captains podium rings. It’s a guest who is requesting someone come to his room because he felt a presence in his room and was uneasy. I get on the radio and tell dispatch where I’m headed, and go up to the room.
I get to the room. The guest is a guy in his forties, balding, about 5’6”. He’s wearing grey plaid slacks and a tee shirt. He’s only got one of the lamps on. It throws an eerie cast on him but keeps the rest of the room in shadow.
“So, what happened?” I asked
“I was laying here in bed, not totally asleep but not fully awake, when I felt I wasn’t alone in the room.” he said.
I’m taking notes, peripherally checking for movement in the darkened portion of the room.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You ever get that feeling? you’re alone but you don’t feel like you’re alone. It’s as if I felt a presence in the room, almost like an apparition.” he said.
“Yes, go ahead”. I said, looking around the room. His suit jacket was hanging on the chair, a couple of tissues in the waste basket. My bullshit detector just left the Power Save mode.
“That’s when I looked around and noticed that my Rolex® watch was missing, as was my attaché case with $5000 cash in it.” he said.
First of all, although this is an upscale hotel, he was mighty calm for someone who just lost $5K. Secondly forty minutes ago the Bell Captain & I watched a young lady leave the hotel with an attaché case.
“Sir, did you have any guests or visitors tonight?” I asked. Making no attempt to hide the fact that I was expecting to be lied to.
“No, I’ve been here alone.” he said.
Now, NYC had enacted the “John Law”. For years the police would only arrest the prostitutes, after realizing it’s a two way street, Police and prosecutors targeted the johns also. If this guy had a lot to lose, wife, job, reputation, he is not going to admit that he purchased the services of a street walker and risk being arrested.
“The reason I ask,” I said, “ I may have seen someone leaving the hotel, Oh, about a half hour ago with an attaché case” “Could you describe the case for me.”
So he describes the attaché case. It’s a generic Samsonite® model.
“Are you sure you didn’t have a guest in your room?” I ask.
“No I was here alone.” A lame attempt to save face. I’ve seen it many times before. Some barber form
Knowing that he had no recourse that I couldn’t rebuke. I decided to give it to him straight.
“Well here’s the deal. Forty five minutes ago I, along with a witness, saw a young lady leave the hotel with an attaché case. Unaware that a crime had been committed, I had no reason to stop her. Had you called me, or been in a position to call me, there’s a chance your belongings could have been recovered. When I put together the fact that forty minutes have passed, and there’s a subway half a block away, I’d say your goods are gone.”
That ‘I stepped on my dick’ look came over his face.
I continued “Now, I could call the police, and they would take a complaint if you wanted to press charges. But you would be leaving yourself open to a solicitation charge if you admitted having a hooker in your room. And as all arrests are a matter of public record, that option may not suit you best.”
The silence, as he was either making up his mind, devising a story to tell his boss, wife, mother, or contemplating suicide, was long and excruciating. I was uncomfortable. I gave him my business card and told him to call me if I could be of further assistance.
I filed my report with dispatch and the night auditor. Confident that he wouldn’t call the police, file a claim with homeowners insurance, or lodge a complaint over the way I handled the matter. History is rife with the tales of people who have gone to big cities, and had their clocks, and or wallets cleaned. Dime will get you a dollar he’ll bring his wife on his next trip, or she will insist on coming. Literally.
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