The Apparition

I’m working the midnight shift at an upscale hotel in NYC. This is the hotel where John Lennon’s assassin had a room the night he murdered the former Beatle. More on that night later. I’m in the lobby it’s about three AM. I am just shooting the shit with the Bell Captain. The elevator dings, noticeable because there is not a lot of traffic in the hotel lobby at this time. Out of the elevator bank walks a well dressed, light skinned black girl. She is carrying an attaché case. She is also wearing a trench coat. She strolls across the lobby and exits through the revolving door on the north side of the hotel.

The bell Captain and I continue our conversation. He is an older light skinned black man. Says he was raised in Atlantic City. He doesn’t know that I know he gets a cut from some of the ‘ladies’ he steers to ‘clients’

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 Nebraska. In the Big Apple for the first time. A tonsitorial convention. The room is paid for by Wahl®. His wife and kids want him to bring back miniature Empire State Buildings, snow globes with Rockefeller Center inside, & I Heart NY Tee shirts. He wants to eat @ Joe’s Pier 52, See the seedier side of Times Square, and sample the goodies of the spandex queen hookers that congregate at the entrance/exits of the Lincoln Tunnel. We affectionately referred to them as ‘Tunnel Tramps’. Why guys from the Midwest seemed drawn to them is still a mystery to me.

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.