Heaven, INC: Chapter : THE HOTEL ROOM

What a drag it is getting old.
—19th Nervous Breakdown,
THE ROLLING STONES

IMPERIAL HOTEL,
LA JOLLA
12:59 P.M. PDT

CREDENTIALS AT THE FRONT DESK got them the room number— registered under the name Arthur D. Kline, of Omaha, checked in a week ago and paid cash— and Finch’s pass-key opened Mr. Kline’s room despite the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob.

The king-sized bed looked rumpled but unslept-in and on the night stand was a water glass that smelled of alcohol. On the room’s desk were an empty bottle of Stolichnaya, along with a magazine that featured female escorts. One was circled, a brunette entitled From Russia With Love. In one of the desk drawers, beneath a Gideon Bible, Pope found a little mirror sporting the tale-tail signs of cocaine use.

At the bottom of the wastebasket, Al found a crushed-out cigarette Pope didn’t recognize. Al did.
“Belomor,” he said. “Heavy-duty smokes for the proletariat. I tried them once, working LEGAT at the embassy in Moscow, before I quit.”

“How was it?”

“Like smoking mustard gas. Compared to a Belomor, Lucky Strikes go down like pure oxygen.”

Between the mattress and the box springs, Pope found a locked briefcase, and in the closet, a single dark suit hanging in the closet. Pope checked the pockets for the briefcase key without luck, though he did find a grease-spotted receipt from a McDonalds in El Cajon dated two nights past at 7:36 P.M.. On the back was written Salted Pickles, Caviar, Vodka, Cigarettes (Belomors), then below, Flowers?

Pope slipped the note into an evidence baggy and the baggy into his pocket as Al said, “Hey, you thirsty? I’m gonna grab a soda from the drink machine.”

“Nestea if they’ve got it.”

Soon as Al was gone, Pope went in the bathroom and locked the door, fishing the hemorrhoid ointment from his pocket and thinking how right Mick Jagger lamenting about getting old. He was still ignominiously treating his hindquarters, when he heard the room door open and close, heralding Al’s return with the drinks. Rushing to finish his onerous task and wash up, Pope exited the bathroom to find the room empty.

Pope was just noticing the briefcase was gone from the bed when the door opened and Al walked in, drinks in hand, saying, “Machine on this floor was outta order and the one up on the 5th was outta Nestea, so I got you a Dr. Pepper.” Then said, “The hell’s wrong with you?”

Rushing past Al, Pope peered into an empty hallway. “You see anybody with a black briefcase on your way up?”

Following with the drinks, Al said, “There was an older guy in a black jacket and turtleneck getting on the elevator when I got off. Come to think of it, I think he did have a black briefcase.”

Why is it when you needed an elevator in a hurry, they always take forever?

“C’mon,” Pope said, “let’s take the stairs.”