Free Pieces of the Puzzle by Robert Stanek Page B
Authors: Robert Stanek
right?”
“Yes!”
“There was a request for room service around eleven forty-five on Friday night, but I don’t think that—”“Do you presume to
tell me about my own wife now?” Scott glared. “Who made the delivery?”
“Probably a bellboy. You’re not going to do anything violent, are you?”
Scott shook his head, apparently he was playing the part a little too well. “I just need to know if he saw her eat it.”
“Check the kitchen, right through there.” The clerk pointed.
Scott nodded and trotted off. The kitchen was nearly deserted. The solitary cook looked at him quizzically.
Scott said, “Who makes night deliveries for room service?”
“If you wanted room service, you could have called down.”
“No, I need to know the name of a bellboy that made a delivery to Room 908 on Friday night around twelve.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“There’s a Benjamin Franklin in it, if I get a name.”
“The money first.”
Scott took a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet.
“If she signed a tip to the bill, the bellhop would’ve signed to claim it.”
Scott snatched the money away from the cook’s reaching hand. “No name, no game.”
“What shit is this? That’s the best I can do.”
Scott waved the hundred-dollar bill like a tiny flag. “You could get a name for me, if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
The cook picked up a nearby phone, dialed. “Yeah, I got a customer complaint. Claims someone signed a big tip to the room
service bill. I need the bellhop’s name… Friday night, Room 908…” The cook hung up the phone, turned back to Scott, screamed,
“Ernie, delivery!”
Scott handed the cook the money.
A pimple-faced teenager came running into the kitchen. Scott met the kid halfway, flashed a Ben Franklin at him and walked
into the hall. The kid followed.
“You a cop,” Ernie said, “I hate cops. I won’t talk if you’re a cop.”
Scott waved the bill in front of Ernie’s dazzled eyes. “No cop.
Do you remember a delivery you made to Room 908 on Friday?”
“I make a lot of deliveries.”
Scott showed him the picture of Helen and Jessica. Ernie’s face flushed red. “You remember something?”
“I saw her all right.” He reached for the money.
“There’s more, I know there’s more.”
Ernie whispered, “There’s two of them in there, right? They’re getting it on. I can hear it through the door. I knock anyway.
They ordered food, right?”
“And?”
“She tells me to set it outside the door and I do, then I left.
You going to give me the hundred or not?”
“And?”
“I was walking down the hall, right? I hear the door open, so I look back. She opens the door and reaches out to get the food.”
“And?”
“What are you, a priest? You want a confession?”
“If you’ve got something to confess.”
“She looks at me and smiles this big smile… She isn’t wearing anything at the time. That’s why I remember. All right?”
Scott pointed to the picture. “And this is the woman you saw?”
“I wasn’t exactly looking at her face, but yeah, that’s her.”
Scott gave Ernie the money and turned away.
Ernie said, “Who is she anyway?”
“My wife,” Scott shot back, “my wife.”
Ernie gulped and dashed into the kitchen.
Scott slowly made his way back to Room 908. He didn’t take the elevator this time. He took the stairs. The exercise was therapeutic
and he needed to think.
Helen was sound asleep when he entered the room. He knew there was nothing he could do until morning, so he lay down on the
bed. With his arms crossed behind his head, he stared into the darkness and at the ceiling he could see only vaguely. Sometime
after 2 a.m., he fell asleep, must have. But when he awoke, it didn’t seem like he had slept at all. And yet there was sunshine
poking through the curtains, so he must have.
The bed seemed cold. He reached out and found Helen was gone. He jumped out of bed, ran for the door,
“Yes!”
“There was a request for room service around eleven forty-five on Friday night, but I don’t think that—”“Do you presume to
tell me about my own wife now?” Scott glared. “Who made the delivery?”
“Probably a bellboy. You’re not going to do anything violent, are you?”
Scott shook his head, apparently he was playing the part a little too well. “I just need to know if he saw her eat it.”
“Check the kitchen, right through there.” The clerk pointed.
Scott nodded and trotted off. The kitchen was nearly deserted. The solitary cook looked at him quizzically.
Scott said, “Who makes night deliveries for room service?”
“If you wanted room service, you could have called down.”
“No, I need to know the name of a bellboy that made a delivery to Room 908 on Friday night around twelve.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“There’s a Benjamin Franklin in it, if I get a name.”
“The money first.”
Scott took a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet.
“If she signed a tip to the bill, the bellhop would’ve signed to claim it.”
Scott snatched the money away from the cook’s reaching hand. “No name, no game.”
“What shit is this? That’s the best I can do.”
Scott waved the hundred-dollar bill like a tiny flag. “You could get a name for me, if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
The cook picked up a nearby phone, dialed. “Yeah, I got a customer complaint. Claims someone signed a big tip to the room
service bill. I need the bellhop’s name… Friday night, Room 908…” The cook hung up the phone, turned back to Scott, screamed,
“Ernie, delivery!”
Scott handed the cook the money.
A pimple-faced teenager came running into the kitchen. Scott met the kid halfway, flashed a Ben Franklin at him and walked
into the hall. The kid followed.
“You a cop,” Ernie said, “I hate cops. I won’t talk if you’re a cop.”
Scott waved the bill in front of Ernie’s dazzled eyes. “No cop.
Do you remember a delivery you made to Room 908 on Friday?”
“I make a lot of deliveries.”
Scott showed him the picture of Helen and Jessica. Ernie’s face flushed red. “You remember something?”
“I saw her all right.” He reached for the money.
“There’s more, I know there’s more.”
Ernie whispered, “There’s two of them in there, right? They’re getting it on. I can hear it through the door. I knock anyway.
They ordered food, right?”
“And?”
“She tells me to set it outside the door and I do, then I left.
You going to give me the hundred or not?”
“And?”
“I was walking down the hall, right? I hear the door open, so I look back. She opens the door and reaches out to get the food.”
“And?”
“What are you, a priest? You want a confession?”
“If you’ve got something to confess.”
“She looks at me and smiles this big smile… She isn’t wearing anything at the time. That’s why I remember. All right?”
Scott pointed to the picture. “And this is the woman you saw?”
“I wasn’t exactly looking at her face, but yeah, that’s her.”
Scott gave Ernie the money and turned away.
Ernie said, “Who is she anyway?”
“My wife,” Scott shot back, “my wife.”
Ernie gulped and dashed into the kitchen.
Scott slowly made his way back to Room 908. He didn’t take the elevator this time. He took the stairs. The exercise was therapeutic
and he needed to think.
Helen was sound asleep when he entered the room. He knew there was nothing he could do until morning, so he lay down on the
bed. With his arms crossed behind his head, he stared into the darkness and at the ceiling he could see only vaguely. Sometime
after 2 a.m., he fell asleep, must have. But when he awoke, it didn’t seem like he had slept at all. And yet there was sunshine
poking through the curtains, so he must have.
The bed seemed cold. He reached out and found Helen was gone. He jumped out of bed, ran for the door,