Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

Bosley

I arrived in Takoda not too long after the dinner hour. Omar had been asking me to visit for years, but I hadn't been in this area in a long time. Since I had a break in contracts, I decided to go ahead and come back to this town that I'd purposefully avoided since I reached adulthood. Not that I'd ever told Omar I'd lived here before. That would be too hard to explain, so it was better left unsaid.

Since I had to travel so much, I'd taken to booking a room at boutique hotels. They were generally a little more expensive, but they were themed, and I enjoyed the atmosphere. Any little extravagance that separated me from my job, I considered a win. For the next couple of days, I'd be staying at The Gin Mill Hotel. This one was supposed to be fashioned after the speakeasy era.

From the outside, I wasn't so sure about that. It was an old brownstone that looked like it might have been a church at one time. At least four stories, with a steepled top that looked like it could be an attic or a belfry, and I wondered if they'd made that into a room, as well. It was all very brown and blah except for the six long rectangular windows that ran the length of the front of the building. At least I knew it wouldn't be totally dark and depressing. To the right of the main building was a large, one-story, flat square building. Yeah, definitely some type of old church.

I pulled up to the curb out front where a fancy sign reading Valet Parking sat on a gold pole. A kid wearing a red uniform with a matching hat, who wasn't old enough to drink, with sandy brown hair and a small mole under his left eye, ran over to my door with a huge smile. I opened the window, and he said, "Park your car, sir?"

"Where's it going?" I asked suspiciously. I didn't expect any trouble while I was in town, especially since I'd checked in under my alias, Bosley Taylor, but I couldn't ever be too careful in my line of work.

He pointed to the left of the building. "Right over there, sir. It's easy to access, and the keys will be at the reception area from midnight to six AM if you should need to get into your car."

Since I'd already duplicated the key to the car as soon as I picked it up from the rental company, I didn't mind letting the kid take a set and park for me. It had been a long day, and I was tired, hungry, and in need of a good workout. One of the selling points of this place had been the huge gym they showcased on the website. "Sure." I hopped out and grabbed the duffel bag in the back seat.

"Short trip?" he asked, too friendly for the likes of me. But the kid wanted a tip, so it made sense.

"Yeah, just in town for a couple of days." I shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his hands. "Don't scratch her."

He beamed as he jumped into the car. "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your stay."

With some misgivings about choosing this place, I made my way up the stairs to the front door. As I pulled it open, I blinked in surprise. Holy shit . In front of me was an explosion of color. I didn't know where to look first. There were several huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with about a jillion little crystals hanging off them.

To the right was the check-in desk, and to the left was a seating area with green velvet couches. There were so many things to see. Brocade wallpaper was on one wall, but another had red, leather snakeskin-looking wallpaper. There were bold paintings with a plethora of gold trim and accents. In other words, the Art Deco of the twenties had birthed a baby and left it in The Gin Mill Hotel.

Bemused, I made my way over to the reception area and got in line behind a woman in her thirties, with black slacks, a red blouse, and her hair pulled up tight. As she moved away, a balding man in a gray suit, a long-sleeved shirt with the first three buttons undone to reveal a distinct lack of chest hair, walking at an angle, bumped into me and bounced off my body, laughing. His buddy, dressed similarly, with more hair, came and gripped his shoulders and steered him toward the main entrance. "Sorry about that, man," he said to me.

Behind the desk, a guy in his early thirties with collar-length black hair on the verge of being greasy and flinty dark eyes said to his coworker, "That dude was so drunk."

The other one, who was much more kept, with blond hair and big blue eyes, wearing a tag that showed his name to be Harlow, hissed, "You know Cory wouldn't like that. First off, we don't talk about our guests. Secondly, you need to use the right verbiage."

The other guy, who didn't appear to have a name tag at all, gave Harlow a somewhat-friendly shove in the arm. "Fine, teacher's pet. What am I supposed to say?"

Throwing up his hands. Hollow said, "That fella was zozzled. Why can't you get it right? We have a whole glossary of suggested terms in the employee handbook."

Intrigued by someone who made an employee handbook with twenties slang and used words like fella and zozzled in this day and age, I asked, "Who's Cory?"

No name tag said, "He's the big cheese." Turning to his coworker, he smirked. "See, I know that."

Harlow sighed. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, sir," he said, addressing me. "Can I help you?"

"No problem," I assured him. "I learned a new word today." The kid's baby blues brightened. Oh wow. This one really liked his job. There was no faking that excitement. "I have a reservation for Bosley Taylor."

He clicked on the keyboard of the open laptop in front of him. "Yes, Mr. Taylor. You'll be in the Gangster's Paradise Suite."

My blood froze in my veins as my stomach dropped. Only years of mastering my poker face kept me from revealing that I'd just gone on high alert. Did someone who shouldn't know I was in town? "Excuse me."

"Ha!" No name tag guy fist-pumped the air. "It's not just me. The names are a little over the top."

Schooling his features, Harlow said, "Excuse me," to me, then turned to the other guy. "Huey, why don't you take your break? Most of our guests have already checked in for tonight, so I should be fine."

Huey shrugged. "It's your turn to go on break first, but suit yourself." Then he leaned down, grabbed a smashed pack of cigarettes, and hightailed it out of there.

Harlow, who was doing an admirable job of pushing down his irritation and putting his customer service persona back in place, inhaled deeply and then pasted on a smile as he turned back to me. "Yes, the owner named all the rooms himself. It's supposed to be fun and whimsical. Make you think of speakeasy."

"That's cool. That's one of the reasons I come to these little boutique hotels. They have character." It sounded reasonable enough, but Gangster's Paradise was a little too on the nose for me. "I don't suppose I can meet the owner? So I can complement him." And make sure I'd never met him before. I wasn't a man who believed too much in coincidence.

Suddenly, the smile on Harlow's face became a whole lot more genuine and dimples appeared. "Sorry. He's usually hovering around, but he went to spend some time in Vigor." At the questioning quirk of my eyebrow, he huffed a small laugh. "That's our gym." He pointed toward a doorway that I assumed led into the huge rectangular building attached to this one.

"Ah, Vigor. I planned to hit up the gym myself later."

"You totally should." He nodded cheerfully, obviously back in his happy place. "We offer so many great amenities and services. You'll find a listing of everything on the vanity in your room."

The vanity? Ha. I really loved boutique hotels. He passed a small white envelope with a card in it across the counter. "Here's your room key. Your room is on the second floor, near the back. I've written it on there for you, along with the actual room number."

Picking up the small open-sided envelope, I studied it for a second. "Huh. I expected a huge brass key or maybe a skeleton key."

He snickered. "Apparently Cory thought about it, but his husband, God rest his soul"—he crossed himself like a good Catholic boy—"talked him out of it. Said it wouldn't be convenient in this day and age to expect anyone to carry a monstrosity like that around when there are more convenient methods."

"Makes sense to me. Thank you for all your help, Harlow. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

With a big smile, he waved me off. Good grief, the kid was cute as a button.

As I made it to the elevator, an older Black gentleman with the etchings of a long and happy life and a wedding ring dull from age was coming off.

"Oh, hello, sir. I'm going off shift now, but I'll take you up first."

"No, that's unnecessary," I assured him. "I'm sure I can push the button for the second floor all on my own." I looked around. "Or even take the stairs if you point me in the right direction."

He pointed to the left. "The stairs are over there in case you want to use them in the future, but"—he stepped back inside with a raspy chuckle—"it's my pleasure to take you up now."

I followed him inside. "No one replaces you when you're done for the night?" I asked, making conversation.

He shook his head. "No. I'm pretty sure Mr. Letterman tossed me a bone with this job. He doesn't really need me, but I needed a job, and I enjoy chatting with the guests."

We quickly reached my floor since it was only up one story, and I flipped through my money roll, pulling out the appropriate amount for his time and kindness. It chapped my ass that our seniors weren't taken care of. This man should've been at home, relaxing or playing with grandbabies or whatever it was that people with normal lives did.

"Thank you. Have a nice evening," I said as I stepped out, thrusting the bill into his hand. Through the glass of the elevator doors, I saw the shock on his face when he realized it was a hundred-dollar bill. He immediately started waving to stop me, but I smiled and headed for my room.

I'd been a little worried about being assigned the Ganster's Paradise Suite, but an owner who hired an old guy for an unnecessary position out of compassion for his situation didn't sound like a character I needed to be too concerned about.

Down the hall, right where Harlow said it would be, was the name of my room on a shiny gold plaque. The keycard beeped, and I opened the door, expecting to be overwhelmed by another over-the-top room, but it was tasteful and classy. One wall had baby blue wallpaper with gold flowers, but the rest of the room was painted cream. There were black and white prints spaced around the room. One was of two old-time gangsters posing side-by-side with guns over their chests. Another was of a woman, looking off into the distance, holding a cigarette holder with wisps of smoke coming from her mouth. As I expected, they all carried that same theme.

The bathroom made me laugh out loud, though. Black and gold pinstripe wallpaper with a sink jutting out of the wall made completely of black tiles with gold fixtures. They must have spent a pretty penny decorating this place.

Meandering to the vanity, I found a black leather book with The Gin Mill etched in gold across the front. The first page listed the different shops and their meanings.

Behind Closed Doors ~ Spa Services

Vigor ~ Gym

Sips & Giggles ~ IV Infusions

The Velvet Room ~ Restaurant

Discreet Delights ~ Speakeasy Bar

Teetotaler Café ~ Coffee Shop

The Nostalgia Nook ~ Clothing Boutique

The Big Cheese ~ Meet the Owner

Flipping through, I read that Behind Closed Doors offered things like deep tissue massage, facials, manis and pedis, and eyelash extensions. Sips & Giggles had a whole list of packages with different vitamins and hydration drips. They didn't mess around here. Of course, if one took enough advantage of Discreet Delights, they might need a boost.

Turning back a page, I found Vigor, which, as previously stated, was the gym. There were pictures of the equipment, and a battle raged between my stomach to be fed and working out to burn off the nerves of meeting up with Omar tomorrow.

Wondering what The Velvet Room had on the menu, my hunger pains won out, seeing that they offered room service. Yawning, I kicked off my shoes and took the menu with me, dropped down on the blue bedspread with gold flowers that matched the wallpaper, and leaned back. After placing an order for some kind of chicken dish, I yawned. Damn, I was worn out.

Not being able to keep my curiosity at bay any longer, I flipped to the last page. A picture of Cory Letterman, owner, stared back at me. He wore a green newsboy cap, which amused me. It seemed he'd stuck with the twenties them. He was a good-looking man, younger than me by five years or so, and he'd aged nicely. I always liked a face with a little character, but it was his eyes that caught my attention. In my business, it paid to be able to read what was going on in the windows to the soul. In Cory Letterman, I saw sadness—grief.

"What's your story, Mr. Letterman?"

I'd been suspicious when I'd been put in the Gangster's Paradise Suite, but this man didn't mean me harm. Hell, he didn't look like he'd harm a fly. Not using terms like fella, zozzeled, and the big cheese. No, this fella—I snickered—wouldn't cause me any trouble. I'd stay in tonight, eat, and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to hit the gym and seek out this quirky hotel owner. It took a lot to get my attention—hell, a smart person wouldn't want it—but between his hotel and those haunted eyes, he had it.