Ian Wainscott and Martin Blain a journalist/ author arrives in Vienna to meet an old friend, and vacation only to discover that his friend has died under suspicious circumstances. Soon Friday and Melanie arrive to join in the fun. Determined to unco...
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If you ever think of traveling with someone like Martin, I suggest you go with a monkey instead. He inexplicably stupid for an author. I expected him to be one of high intellect, but on contrary he couldn't see further then his nose.
Following him round Vienna possibly the most exhausting thing I ever had to endure. I lost count of the number of times we got lost. It took us two hours to find the apartment complex which was only thirty minutes from the station.
Finally, we made it to Harry's apartment building. It was huge and over exaggerated; right up my alley as you can imagen. It seemed everything was either coloured white, red, or gold. Even the staff looked like they had been groomed up to be put on display. I was in heaven.
A receptionist sat twirling her long tacky press on nails through her long blonde hair extensions, as she admired her circus makeup covered face in the mirror. Her mouth resembling the movement of a cow as she devoured a piece of chewing gum. (Ian's note: My OCD was of the charts she clearly did not suit the roll of receptionist for I high estate luxury hotel. She would be better suited working in queens at bed and breakfast.)
Martin walked up to her, and in his strong American accent hollered for all of Vienna to hear "Excuse me mam! Can you direct me to Harry Smythe's room." The lady didn't even bother to look up but continued to take a file to her nails. Martin asked again louder this time to grab her attention she looked up at him and rolled her eyes. Martin asked the question for the third time.
She frowned and cocked her head onto one side as if she couldn't understand a word he was saying (Ian's note: Neither could I to be honest). I realised that a random Austrian isn't likely to understand English let alone Martin. So, I asked her the question again, but this time in German.
She turned back to filing her nails but responded in a (I know better than you) tone "You're too late."
"Excuse me" I asked, how did she know what time schedule I'm on.
"They're already gone" she said, I had no idea what she was on about.
"Who have."
"His friends" (Ian's note: The nerve of this women)
"I'm sorry can you direct us to the room or not" I said losing my patience. She glared at me but picked up a key and handed it to me.
"Down that hallway and to the left" she sneered.
"Thank you" I said sarcastically and took the key out of her hand.
Me and Martin headed down to the room. I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again, no answer.
"Your too late" I voice said from behind us. (Ian's note: Is there a giant stop watch above my head or is telling someone their late a formal greeting in Vienna)
I turned round to see some random old gentlemen standing on a step ladder, cleaning the chandelier. Could this be Harry. No! he was way too old, as Melanie would say part of the dinosaur species. He was wearing some sort of uniform so I'm guessing he works here. He's cleaning the chandelier so he could be a porter. He had a strong Austrian ascent, it sounded slow and had more musical intonation unlike Martin's ascent which was so sharp you could use it to cut through a block of metal.
"HELLO" Martin hollered raising his head right up to the ceiling to make eye contact with him "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'RE TOO LATE"
"His friends...de already ...gone...and de, de coffin" said the porter.
"COFFIN?" Marty cried his voice sounding like QBZ-95 Assault Rifle being shot. (Ian's note: Before you ask No! I do not have a history with guns I just know a lot about them from when I was little and going through my guns faze)
"Ah yes de vas an, how do you say an accident," said the porter.
