A man dressed in black with slicked-back hair left his hotel room.
He placed a "do not disturb" sign on the door's handle, and began making his way towards the elevator that led to the lobby. He had spent the last two nights drinking and gambling at the casino, and, to his luck, hadn't won anything. The man felt lethargic and sluggish as he proceeded down the hallway. To say he was hungover would be an understatement. His head pounded like a set of drums, while his muscles ached and twisted. In his hand, the man held a suitcase.
When he eventually reached the elevator, a pretty woman blocked the entrance, holding the door for him.
"Thank you," the man said, managing to force a smile.
The woman gave a smile back.
After recollecting himself, the man pressed "L" on the elevator controls, signalling for the lobby.
A few moments of silence passed as the two stood side by side, the elevator gradually descending from floor to floor.
"So, what's in the bag?" the woman asked, referring to the suitcase.
It took the man a moment to acknowledge her. "In my bag, madam? Why nothing more than my clothes and belongings."
The woman smiled again. She had also noticed that the man was wearing a rather excessive amount of cologne. Not thinking much of it, she exited the elevator as the door opened.
"Have a nice day," she said.
"You, too," he replied.
The man then made his way over to the complimentary breakfast provided by the hotel. He grabbed a paper plate, knife, and fork, and started piling a meal together—scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and sausages.
After pouring himself a glass of fresh orange juice, the man took a seat over in the corner of the room. He struggled to get any of his food down. The alcohol from the previous night was taking a toll on him, and the amount of money he had blown on the gambling machines didn't make him feel any better.
In fact, the man recalled a disagreement that had taken place between himself and another hotel member several days ago. It happened on the eleventh floor, just after midnight. Ever since then, the man had been strictly requesting that room service did not attend his room. He had made it clear that he did not want anyone in there without his attendance. When asked for his reasons, the man had refused to give a straight answer. The hotel respected his appeal, however, and the man was left alone. It was also noted that the man had visited a hardware store numerous times in between those days. As to what he purchased there was also unknown.
A boy, dressed in white, stopped by the man's table. "Can I get you anything else, sir?"
The man realized the boy was the supervisor.
"No thank you," he replied. "I'm quite fine with what I have."
The boy nodded. He was just about to leave, when he turned to the man and said, "Gee...that sure is a nice bag you have there."
The man followed the boy's gaze to where his suitcase lay on the table. "You like it, yeah?"
"Why most certainly. Do you know where I can find one so fine? I plan on making a name for myself in the business industry, and wish to travel with only the finest luggage."
Even with his gruelling headache, the man couldn't help but smile. "A name in the business, yeah? What are you, the son of Abraham?"
The two shared a chuckle.
"Well," the man continued, "go home and write a letter to Santa—I'm sure he can get you one."
The boy laughed again. Then, just like the woman in the elevator, he asked, "What do you keep inside it?"
The man gave the same answer. "Nothing but clothes and personal items."
The boy paused, before eventually replying, "Interesting." He stood there for a moment. "Anyway, I have to keep up with my duties. It was nice talking to you, sir."
The man nodded as the boy took off. He then returned his attention back to his meal, which he had somehow managed to down the first portion of. Yet just the idea of eating more made him feel nauseous. He removed himself from the table, disposed of his food, and carried on with his suitcase in hand. The smell of his intense cologne wafted through the air, as if the man did not want other people around him to smell something.
While making his way to the checkout booth, the man continued to recall the disagreement he had back up on the eleventh floor the other night. It was between him and another man he had met at the casino. The original man, the one with the suitcase, had felt the other man had won an unfair bet, and demanded that he pay back the money. When refused, the conversation intensified. In fact, the original man had gotten so angry, that he lost control. The combination between the high-stakes at play and the alcohol flooding throughout his bloodstream were too much for him to handle.
Nonetheless, returning to the present moment, just as the man with the suitcase was ready to line up at the checkout booth, he paused. After recalling the scene a final time, he decided not to check out. Instead, he turned towards the hotel doors and made way for the exits.
Once outside, the man buttoned up his coat as the chilly air bristled over him. The sounds of loud machinery and construction banged throughout the busy city. With his spare hand, the man waved down a taxi. He threw his suitcase in the trunk and climbed into the back seat.
"Where to?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"18th and Westmer," the man replied.
The ride there was silent for the most part. The driver asked the man a few small-talk questions. The man with the suitcase was friendly and polite, just like he'd been with everyone that morning. However, when it came to personal things in his life, like where he was from, and what he did for a living, the man was careful about giving too much detail. It was like he didn't want the driver to know something about him.
"So, have you heard?" the driver asked.
"Heard what?"
"About the missing person from the hotel you were staying at."
The man hesitated. "No, I have not." He felt a tugging sensation in his stomach.
"Oh, well there's a man who's been missing for over forty-eight hours now."
"How did you know that?" the man asked. He seemed rather stern now.
"I pick up people from that hotel every day—it's one of my main routes. But yeah, lots of talk about it."
The man chose not to reply. Instead, he placed his hands inside his pockets. It was there he felt the paper receipt to the item he had purchased at the hardware store within the last two days. The object happened to be very...sharp.
When they reached the destination, the man handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. "You can keep the change."
"Why thank you, kind sir." To show his appreciation, the driver got out this time with the man and assisted him with his suitcase in the back trunk.
"Holy cow this thing is heavy. What you got inside here—a dead body?" the driver joked, handing over the suitcase.
The two laughed and joked, before shaking hands and going their separate ways.
If only the driver had taken that last question literally.
