Free Kill for Thrill by Michael W. Sheetz Page A

Sunday morning and 10:30 this morning…Did you see or hearing anything?”
    “Really? No, I didn’t notice anything.” He paused. “What’d they take? Anything much?”
    Chuck Lutz slipped off his calfskin gloves and laid them on the counter. As he lifted the spiral notebook from his inside breast pocket, he said, “Nothing of much value, probably just some kids.” As the top flap of the notebook flopped open, he continued, “Some food. Kielbasa…cheese…lots of liquor…and ’bout 150 bucks in change from the cigarette machine.”
    With a flick of his wrist, he closed the notebook and slid it behind the flap of his jacket. As he scooped up his gloves and turned toward the door in an attempt to get back to some real police work, the manager spoke up. “You know, I didn’t hear nothing.” He paused. “But there were these two guys in room twelve.”
    Lutz shifted his weight back toward the counter.
    “I evicted ’em yesterday. I think they had a bunch of coins on a towel in the room when I went in, as I recall. I kicked ’em out for not paying for the room. It was a mess, too.”
    Perhaps this case would be a clearance after all, Lutz thought. “Do you know their names?”
    The manager hoisted a dog-eared register from the counter and flipped it open to a paper-clipped page. As he ran his finger down the sparse list of names, he paused. “Michael Travaglia. I don’t know the other guy but I think his name might be Daniel something.” He paused again. “Keith. Daniel Keith, I think maybe that’s his name. That was part of the reason I kicked ’em out. Only supposed to be one person in the room you know… That and the money he owed me.”
    Retrieving his notebook, Lutz began copying the register information.
    “This guy’s been in here before, too, with another guy. He uses the name Michael Simmons sometimes,” the manager added.
    When Chuck Lutz was done writing, he looked up from his notebook and asked, “May I see the room?”
    “Sure.” The innkeeper grabbed a green, diamond-shaped key off the pegboard and then waddled around the counter toward the door. “I kicked them out yesterday about four in the afternoon. I haven’t had the chance to clean the place yet.” He paused, scanning the empty motel parking lot. “Not that I guess it matters,” he quipped.
    Cautiously peering through the tiny window flanked by perfect tiny white shutters, Lutz reassured himself that the room was, in fact, vacant. Moments later, the manager was bounding into the room and shaking his head. “See. A mess. What a bunch of pigs.”
    Lutz scanned the room. A half dozen empty Stroh’s beer cans were scattered around the room with empty Land O’Lakes cheese wrappers and other assorted trash. Lying in the bottom of the trash can, Lutz noticed a large, gelatinous brick of half eaten Land O’Lakes cheese. Satisfied that the perpetrators of the Sonny’s caper were the former occupants of room twelve, Chuck Lutz nodded his thanks to the manager and turned to head out the door.
    Doggedly following him, the manager spoke, “You know, they left some belongings with me. Told me they’d be back last night by eleven with the rent money to pick ’em up. They never came.” He shook his head in disappointment.
    Once again inside the warmth of the tiny motel lobby, Chuck Lutz hovered over two large garbage bags perched atop the registration counter. Pawing through them, he withdrew a few items of interest. Mixed among some assorted clothing and personal belongings were a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey, a bottle of VO gin, some Luger kielbasa and a stack of papers. Rummaging through the papers, he stopped at the stack of mail. Lutz began recording the details—Michael Travaglia, RD 4, Apollo.
    One particular item caught his attention. It was a letter addressed to Michael Travaglia from the Leechburg Bank notifying him that they were repossessing his 1979 GMC pickup truck. He gathered up several of the pieces of mail