Parkview Hotel

(Please excuse the poor spacing)

Dead tree branches seem to form a skeleton of one of the many skyscrapers visible on the skyline.  It is noon – a time when businessmen go on lunch break.  The day is overcast, but those businessmen sit on park benches, to get some fresh air.
Children run about, ice skating on the clear ice.  It is a snow day, a day when children play.  Snow powders the ground, making the park appear like a busy cloud.
A brick building looms ominously over the park, casting a stark shadow over the leafless trees.  Windows make up a neat grid on the side of the building.  A sign reads “Parkview Hotel”
Sean Kolak and Mr. Stuart, his boss, pull up to the hotel in their rental car.  A valet greets them, “Good day, sirs.”
Stuart tosses the valet the keys after removing their two bags of luggage, and the valet drives off.  “Nice service.” Sean notes.
Stuart nods.  Sean takes his bag, and starts up the walk to the hotel.  Stuart follows.
Once they enter the lobby, a man rudely shoves past them on his way out.  He was wearing a scowl on his face.  Sean shrugs, and walks up to the receptionist’s desk. “I have a reservation here.” He says.
“Under what name?” The receptionist automatically asks, already typing something into her keyboard.
“Kolak.”
“Hold on a second sir.  Yes, room 427.  Here is your key.” She reaches toward a shelf and takes a key, “Would you like someone to take your bag?”
Sean holds up his bag, “This is the only one.”
“Okay, sir.  Enjoy your stay with us.”
Sean walks away from the desk as Stuart approaches it, and repeats the same hotel sign-in ritual.  Once he gets his key, he joins Sean near the elevator. “I have room 425.” He says.
“We’re right next to each other.” Sean states, “So much for a vacation.”
Sean jams the UP button on the elevator, and both he and Stuart stare at the gold dial above the doors.  5…4…3…2...L.  It dings, and they enter the vacant elevator.
The inside of the elevator is almost solid reflective gold painted metal, with an embroidered red carpet.  Sean pushes the button for the fourth floor, and they watch the two doors close. 
On the fourth floor, the elevator opens, and Sean and Stuart step out.  Roses seems to crawl up the green carpeting, and up the the walls.  Stuart stops in front of door 425 and tries his key.  The door opens, and he enters.  “I’m going to take a nap.  I think I’m still suffering from jet lag.” He says over his shoulder.
“From Nebraska?” Sean replies, incredulously.
“I’m a horrible flier.” Slam.  Stuart’s door shuts. 
Sean shrugs, and stops in front of his own door.  Opening it reveals a typical hotel room.  A bed, a mini-fridge, a TV.  A nightstand with a lamp sitting on top of it. Sean was sure if he opened the nightstand a Gideon bible would stare out at him.  Mints sit on top of the pillows, and there is a small closet with a couple of hotel hangers – the kind you couldn’t steal – hanging on the coat rack.  There was also a door that leads into an adjacent bathroom.
Sean enters and shuts the door behind him.  He tosses his bag on the bed and sits on the bed.  He flips on the television, curious as to how many channels he gets. 
Local New York channels.  This hotel must not be that prestigious.  Sean thinks to himself as he turns off the television. 
Suddenly, there is a knock on his door.  Sean answers it.
A short man is on the other side, “Hi, I’m here to ensure your utmost satisfaction with our hotel.  If you’d like, I can give you a room service menu…” the man played back like a tape.  Sean smiled, and acted polite.  Once the man finished his spiel, Sean took a room service menu and shut the door.

Sean sits in a booth, alone.  He is examining the hotel restaurant menu, and decides to try the much heralded New York style pizza.  He tells the waiter his order, and sits back and reads a Travel Guide: New York.  Useless trivia that no one would ever care about.  Or already knows.  Sean tossed the Travel Guide back into its rack on the booth’s table, and looks at the restaurant’s specials.
Try New York Style Pizza!  and The Best Sandwiches in the World! were presented along the top of the specials menu.  A grinning man was shoving a club sandwich into his mouth.  A good way to sell things. Sean thinks to himself.
His pizza arrives, although it tastes like all other hotel cuisine: touristy.  Sean eats it anyway and leaves the check on the table, with a typical tip.
He enters the lobby, and sees a family sitting in some chairs on the opposite side.  They are looking at polaroids and laughing.  Enjoying themselves.  What Sean is supposed to be doing.  The elevator door opens, and Stuart steps out. 
“How was your nap?” Sean asks as he approaches Stuart.
“I still feel as worse as before.” Stuart says, as he takes a cigarette out of his pocket.  The receptionist waves to outside, and that’s where Stuart goes.  Sean follows. Stuart didn’t usually smoke unless something was bothering him.
“Is something wrong?” Sean asks him, once they were outside.
“I’m not enjoying myself.” Stuart admits.  He lights his cigarette.
“You only got here all of two hours ago.” Sean points out.
“Well, sure.  Something still seems wrong though.” A pigeon flies by, and lands near Stuart.
“I’m sure tomorrow will seem better.  A vacation doesn’t truly begin until the day after you arrive, you know.”
Stuart tosses his cigarette at the bird without even smoking it.  It hits the bird, and it coos angrily.  A woman yells an obscenity at Stuart in a thick New Yorker drawl.  “You’re probably right.” Stuart says, a slight grin visible on his face, “I’m sure things will be better tomorrow.”
“Right, now let’s go get a drink.  I hear the hotel has a halfway-decent bar.” Sean says.
“Sounds great.”
The woman from before drives by Stuart and flashes him the New York “Peace” Sign.

Sean flips through the local channels on the television in his hotel room.  He finally stops on a weather report.
“Today we had fairly good weather,” Sean loved the way the weather reporters always stated the obvious, “sunny, with a few clouds and a high of 31.  Tonight we’ll have blustery skies and more clouds, which could be cause for some snow in the wee little hours of the day,” a New Yorker saying “wee little hours” made Sean chuckle, “Tomorrow, cloudy skies, with some snow possible.  A projected high of 27…” Blah blah blah. Sean thinks to himself.  He didn’t even know why he watched the weather.  It didn’t make all that difference anyway.  It was like playing the lottery.  Only one in a million chances of it actually happening.  He flips the television off, and examines the room service menu. 
Again, New York Style Pizza was the highlight of the menu.  Sean guesses that the New Yorkers must be proud of their pizza.  He decides to order a pretzel and reaches for his phone. 
He calls the room service number (it seemed to be everywhere, on the menu, by the phone, even on the television, although Sean thought that that might be graffiti) and gets a pre-recorded woman operator.  “We’re sorry.  Your call cannot be completed as dialed, please hang up…” Sean hangs up the phone, and redials the number, paying closer attention to the numbers he dials, “We’re sorry…” slam, redial, “We’re sorry…” Sean gives up and hangs up the phone.  He gets up and goes to the door.
Out in the hallway, there seems to be a crowd circling a door..  Stuart is there, and he sees Sean, “Come here!” he calls.
Sean walks over.  There is a pool of blood at the foot of the door.  A hotel staff member attempts to open it, with no luck.
“Move aside.” Sean says.  The staff member obliges, and Sean kicks the door.  It opens with a startling crack.  The carpet in front of the door is covered in blood.  The room itself is laid out exactly like Sean’s room.  The staff member walks into the room, and looks around.  When he doesn’t find anything, he turns toward the door, gasps, and promptly faints.
Sean dashes inside the room and checks the staff member’s pulse.  When satisfied, he turns around and sees what had made the staff member faint.
A woman, dressed in her expensive-looking velvet nightgown, had been nailed in the door through her head.  A very grotesque scene, one Sean would rather forget. 
“What is it?” Stuart asks as he walks through the door.  “Oh, that’s pretty” he says once he sees it.
“And an obvious murder.” Sean says.  He looks at the guests framing the outside of the door, “Will someone call the police?”  One of the guests nods and runs into a room. 
“Looks like a clean murder.” Stuart says as he looks around the room.
“Depends on your definition of ‘clean’.” Sean says.  “I’m sure he slipped up somewhere.”
They both look around the room, and then Sean sees it.  A small napkin, with a message written on it. “Look.” Sean says, holding up the napkin through his shirt.
“Forget me, no?” Stuart says, bewilderment written on his face.
“There’s a deliberate splash of blood in the corner here.” Sean points out, “This is obviously a calling card.”
“Right, the killer wants us to forget him.” Stuart says sardonically.
“Your perception seems short-sighted, Stuart.  You obviously don’t see it.”
“Don’t mock my perception; I’m still trying to figure it out.” Stuart defends himself.
The guest returns and tells Sean that he called the police.  Sean nods, and returns to Stuart.  “How many letters are there in “Forget me, no?”
Stuart counts mentally, “Ten.” He answers.
“Right, so you’d think it’d be a ten-digit number, right?”
“Like a telephone number?”  Stuart asks.
“Exactly.  He’s literally left us a ‘calling’ card.”
“Why?”
Sean shrugs, “He seems very meticulous about his crimes.  Perhaps he has an objective, or wants to hurt the police.  Or mock them, hoping they wouldn’t figure it out.”
“You seemed to figure it out quickly.” Stuart observes.
Sean shrugs, “I was always good with logic problems.”
“Perhaps you should figure out who did it.”
“Maybe.” Sean says, dismissively, “Or maybe the NYPD can figure it out.”
Stuart stares at Sean, “You know they won’t.  This murderer should be brought to justice, the NYPD have other things to worry about.  I want you to figure this one out.”
Sean shrugs again, “You’re the boss.”
Sirens can now be heard outside, and Sean finds a pad of paper and writes down ‘Forget me, no?’ on it.  He then replaces the napkin, and waits for the police.  Two police officers enter the room; one of them sickens up at the scene, while the other does crowd control.  Then the crowd control officer walks over to Sean.
“Excuse me sir, I need you to leave this area.  This is an official crime scene.”
“Right.” Sean says, “The killer left…”
“Excuse me sir, I don’t have time for you to be playing ‘detective’.  This is now official police business, and I will need you to move away or my partner,” the officer points at his sickened partner, “will escort you outside.”
“Right, but…” Sean protests.
“Excuse me sir, don’t make me order my partner to take you outside.  That would waste both of our time.” 
Sean nods, and leaves the room.  Stuart follows.  Once in the hall, Sean looks at the message on the pad of paper. “I’m going to call this number.” He tells Stuart.
“Now?” Stuart sounds surprised.
“Better sooner than later.” Sean points out.
Stuart shrugs, “Alright, then, but I’m going back to bed.  I’m tired.”
Sean watches as Stuart goes back into his room and shuts the door.  He shrugs and walks back to his own room.
Once inside, he dials the number and he can hear a man on the other end pick up.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end has a very thick French accent.
“May I ask who this is?” Sean asks.
“That is none of your business, my friend.” The voice says, “but apparently you did not want to forget me, no?” So this was the right person.
“Of course not.” Sean says.
“Are you a part of the New York Police Department?” The man asks.
“No, I’m a detective from Nebraska.”
“I didn’t expect you to really answer truthfully.”
“You can believe what you want to, I suppose.” Sean knew he had to tread lightly with these killers.  The last thing he wanted to do was chastise them.
“You are right.”
“So, why’d you kill her?” Better cut to the chase.
“Ah, so the question emerges.  Why did I want to kill her?”
“Right.  Why did you do it?”
“I find it interesting that you are not tracking this call, Mr. Detective from Nebraska.”
“Why should I?  That would ruin our lovely conversation.”
“I suppose that is true.  Now, back to your question. There are many reasons for why I wanted to kill the woman; however, I will only give you one.”
“One’s better than none.” Sean says.
“Nice rhyme.  Now, to tell you the truth. I killed her, because she is a bitch.”
“Oh, now that’s a hefty accusation.”
“So is accusing someone of murder.” The man points out
“Touché.  However, my accusation was true.”
“How did you know you weren’t calling some random number?”  The man asks.
“Intuition.”
“That’s the easy answer.”
“I guess it is.”
“Now, I suppose you want to know if I will kill another woman, won’t you?”
“The thought crossed my mind, yes.”  It was going perfectly, Sean had him in the palm of his hand.
“Well, in a few seconds there will be another murder.” Pause, then a scream, followed by a splattering noise Sean would never forget.  What a night. He thinks.
“Hello?” Sean yells.
“Don’t yell.  It hurts my ears.” The voice is back, “Did you think I was really just going to be rude and hang up on you?”
“For a second there, yes, I did.” Sean says.
“That’s nice.  Well, I have to be going.  Someone’s going to stumble on this soon.  How about I leave another calling card for you?”
“That’d be great.” Sean’s head was spinning.  He’d never met anyone as precise as this man.  It drove him crazy.
“Well, the police are going to be called here soon.  You’d better figure out where I am before they get here.  Au revoir.”  The phone hangs up with a click.  Sean hangs it up, and quickly tosses his shoes on, grabs his ‘detective satchel’, and heads out the door.
He can see one officer – the sick one – outside of the scene of the first crime.  Sean nods as he passes him, then turns the corner.  He sits there and waits for a radio call.
It comes to life, “Murder in 3321, 34th and Main.  Unit 32…” Sean ignores the rest and goes to the elevator.  He then changes his mind and goes to the stairs.
He races down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the front door.  The night air is crisp, and it pierces through Sean’s unprotected skin.  He has determined by now that the killings of this man must be serial – linked for some reason. 
Sean looks through the parking lot, and sees a Mercedes.  Fast, I hope. He thinks.  He runs toward it, and tries the handle.
No alarm, but it’s locked.  He pulls a car lockpick from his satchel and quickly opens the door.  Inside he picks the ignition, better than hotwiring, and the car roars to life.
He spins out of circle driveway of the hotel, and starts down 8th Ave.  He reaches Main St. and pulls onto it.  There are only a few cars, and Sean speeds through traffic.  Finally, a traffic cop pulls on his sirens.  I have no time for this! Sean thinks to himself as he pulls over.
There are two policemen in the car.  They both get out and walk over to Sean’s stolen Mercedes.  Sean waits, and when they both reach his car, he speeds away.
Unfortunately for him, they’re New York cops.  They shoot one of his tires out, phink! The speedometer quickly descends from his illegal 84 down to 59, far quickly then he wanted it to.  He looks at the closest street sign: 27th Ave.
The cop car is now behind him again.    His speedometer was still decreasing.  He finally stops at 32nd Ave, and gets out of his car.
He runs through backyards, and empty lots over to 34th. He can hear gunshots try to reach his legs.  He finally reaches 34th, and spots 3341.  Sean quickly opens the front door – which was unlocked – and shuts it behind him. 
He bolts the door, and looks around.  There is no light on the first floor, but there is one on the second floor.  He takes the steps two at a time and reaches the second floor.
Another gory scene.  A woman in an expensive silk robe is lying on the floor.  Sean couldn’t even describe the rest.  Just nasty.
He sees another napkin with a splotch of blood in the corner.  He dashes to pick it up, and sees a quickly scribbled – yet remarkably neat – note on it.  “Don’t wait up for me – Pierre” So that’s his name! He thinks to himself.  Sean looks at the note again, and tries to figure it out.
He can hear a car pull up outside.  The police finally break through the door, and Sean looks around.  He walks to an open window and looks out.  A two story drop to a manicured lawn.  Not bad.  Sean notes to himself as he jumps out the window.
He lands noiselessly, and spots the woman’s Jag sitting in the back driveway.  Again, no alarm, and it’s unlocked.  However, the gate to the driveway is locked, but Sean gets in the Jag anyway.
He gets it going, and drives straight through the gate.  It leaves a horrible scratch in the Jag’s finish, but nothing else but that.  Sean quickly away.
He reaches Main by going a roundabout way, and slowly drives up it.  He looks at the note, “Don’t wait up for me – Pierre.”  That sounded like a risqué store that Sean had seen on his way to the hotel earlier.  “Don’t wait up for me” was the name of the store.
He easily finds the store again, and notes the blocked windows.  So no one can see what’s inside… He thinks to himself.  He pulls up and gets out of the Jag.
He opens the door, and walks inside.  They were open, and Sean tried not to pay much note to his surroundings.  A bored clerk was reading (or rather looking) at a porn magazine.  Sean walked to the back of the store, figuring that’s where Pierre would be.
When he reached the back, he noted a door that led to the back supply room.  He shrugged, and pushed through the door.
Suddenly, he hears a phink sound, and searing pain shoots up his leg.  He falls on his one good knee, and looks up.
A Frenchman is standing there.  Sean assumes it is Pierre.
“Hello, there.  I never did catch your name.” Pierre says.
“Sean…Kolak…” He says through gritted teeth.
“Well, Sean, I’m afraid your hunt is over.  As I’m sure you’ve guessed, by now, I have a specific plan.  You see; New York can be a corrupt place.  Rich people seem to own everything, while the poor people don’t own a thing.”
“So now you’re Robin Hood?” Sean asks, sardonically.
“Not quite.  I don’t help the poor – they need to help themselves.  I just eliminate the rich factor.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it.” The pain was starting to subside.
“I thought so.”  Pierre examines his gun.  The silencer made it seem so much more ferocious. 
“So what now?” Sean asks.
“Well, that’s a good question.  I think I’m going to walk out of here; I’m done with New York.  There are so many more places that need…fixing…for lack of a better word.”
“There seems to be so few of those these days.”
“True.  Well, Sean, I now bid you adieu.” He walks out the back door and into the night.
The clerk finally comes into the backroom, and notices Sean, and his leg.  The ambulance is called, and Sean is brought to the hospital.

  Stuart stands next to Sean’s bed.  Sean has a bandage wrapped around his knee.
“So, he just walked out?” Stuart asks.
Sean nods, “Just like that.”
“And he said his plan was some grandiose ‘Robin Hood’ themed type thing.” Stuart stumbles a bit on the last part of that sentence.
“Pretty much.”
“Hmm, strange.” Stuart notes. 
“We should leave.”
“And cut our vacation short?”
“Well, I’m in a bit of trouble with the law.  They probably won’t recognize me, but give it a few days and they’ll find me.” Sean points out.
“Fine.” Slight aggravation can be heard in Stuart’s voice, “Just remember, I never told you to break the law.”
“You told me to find the killer and bring him to justice.”
“And did you?”  Stuart asks.
“…No…”
“You’re lucky I don’t turn you in myself. “  Stuart tosses a book he was holding onto the night stand and sits down in a chair.  Sean looks at the book.
“Hey, my second cousin wrote this.”
Stuart looks at the book, “Reginald Jordan?”
“Yeah, he authored this and three other books.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So, when do I get to leave?” Sean asks.
“Shortly, I’d imagine.” Stuart replies.
“Good.  I’m eager to leave.”

Stuart drives Sean home from the hospital.  They take a longer way around, and Sean asks why.
“Because there’s a fire on the main route.”
“You’re afraid of fire?” Sean asks. 
Stuart nods.
“I’ve never met a pyrophobic person before.” Sean says.
“Is that even a word, pyrophobic?” Stuart asks.
“I think so…”  Sean isn’t really sure.
“Oh, okay.”

Back in the room, Sean finishes packing, and then notices a note sitting on the floor.  On a napkin.  He picks it up carefully, so as not to aggravate his knee, and reads it.
“It was nice being able to meet you, Sean Kolak.  Perhaps we shall meet in the future, if so, I would be nice to see you again.  –Pierre D’Anjou.
Sean places Pierre’s note on the nightstand.  He walks to the hotel window and looks out at Central Park.  “Pierre is out there.” Sean says, “but I won’t be able to find him.”