What's your secret?

The “Aw -full Hotel” lives up to its name. Once called the “Awe-full”, the “e” dropped years ago along with the hotel’s high-ranking reputation and hygiene standards. Windowsills sprinkled with thick dust like a dead man’s ashes are tinted orange by the cracked, mud-brown glass. Walls once a dazzling white now drip mouldy green sludge on to damp carpets so stained that the original colour is impossible to identify. Employees, including me, only working in this dirty dump of a hotel because we have nowhere else to go. Shackled here by bad luck and circumstance, awaiting the day we can afford to leave. Until then I’m stuck here with my slave’s wages and my stupid, irritating, cruel Manager with his dodgy hair piece, yellow teeth and breath rancid from years of chain-smoking cheap cigars.

“Oi, wot-eva-yer-name-is! Come ‘ere!” he barks. Shoulders sagging, I slowly put one foot in front of the other like a man to the gallows, no doubt to unblock another toilet or drain or bath or whatever had become blocked this time. Mr. Dodgy-hair-piece’s rat-like face twists into what I assume is supposed to be a smile – but unfortunately bears an uncanny resemblance to a smirk – when he recognises me.

“Just the one I need. Guess what job I’ve got for you.”

* * *

The lightning scarred sky cries in pain, its angry tears chased by the raging bull that is the wind. I tear my eyes away from a hole in the wall decorated with grotty, overlapping patterns from several eras. The shabby, desolate hallway is unfurnished, but for one lonely, unloved chair in the corner; the ripped bile-yellow fabric spewing sponge stuffing down its wonky, wooden legs. I stop by a scratched, splintering door where a loose screw precariously balances the number six in danger of becoming a nine as it clings on for dear life.

Destined to unblock another toilet with not nearly enough pay as a reward, I twist the unpolished handle, feeling as angry as the rain outside. But my bubbling fury drains out of me the second I see the state of the room; a wounded mattress oozing feathers and torn to shreds, separated from the metal bed frame piercing the now broken, decade old television. The phone swings by its cord, hung by the neck, possibly the second newly murdered victim. I rush into the bathroom and shriek and shriek a blood-chilling scream.

Scarlet blood streams down the walls, the red blobs appear to merge together to form a huge, crimson blur. Rooted to the spot, I try to understand what had happened. Something catches my eye; a bottle of cherry blossom shampoo. I laugh at my stupidity; relieve flows through me as my heart starts beating again. One of the maids must have taken their revenge against Mr. Rat-face for years of slave labour, or perhaps a disgruntled guest was to blame. After all, we have many disappointed customers, and I can’t say I blame them – who would want to stay here? And in all the time I have been in service, I have never once seen anyone ever receive a refund. Yes, I reason, that must be it. A guest did not receive a refund, so took his frustrations out on the room to get back at Mr. Rancid-Breath.

The room stops spinning as normality resumes. Everything seems calmer now; the storm passes both in my mind and outside the open window. Every tiny detail magnifies as the world slows down; the curtains are ballgowns dancing in time with the steady splashes from a leaky tap. Red shampoo that moments ago had chilled my soul now amuses me and I begin my unpleasant duty. Donning gloves, I shove my arm down the blocked drain, all the way up to my elbow. I recoil. Something is down there, slimy and slippery, about the size of my fist. Grimacing, I grudgingly slide my hand back into the unknown, preparing myself for the worst. Words cannot describe how lightening fast my hand emerges from the depths of darkness, as if electrocuted.

But wait, it can’t be … it’s can’t possibly be… A sealed plastic bag with a roll what looks like several $100 dollar bills. I open the bag, remove my gloves, and begin to count. $20,000 I think to myself, and the notes look real! Everything and more I’ve been saving towards, and I find it down the drain? I can leave this awful place, start my own business and work for myself like I had always fantasised!

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe the overwhelming happiness of all my wishes coming true so unexpectedly, but at that moment I bolt of the room, through the lobby, over the lawn, and onto the high street before I am aware what I’m doing. As the feeling ebbs away and my rational mind revives itself, I realise I have no destination, and don’t know what to do next. As questions fill my head, I spot my favourite café – Café Latte – and make a beeline for it. After ordering my usual and sitting in my preferred leather armchair by the window, I open the floodgates in my mind as questions pour on top of each other as I try to make sense of the situation.

Who would flush away $20,000? And why? It all seemed so unlikely, though I dared hope this was the case. If they didn’t want the money, then could I keep it? Or … perhaps they were hiding it? Thinking back to the utter chaos and destruction that is room 6, it occurs to me that perhaps the place was ransacked, and where better a hiding place than where no one would look? This seemed more likely, but again - why?

Overwhelmed with questions and scenario’s filling my head, one thought surpasses the rest and takes centre stage. Assuming someone hid the money, then realistically they plan on coming back for it. And whoever they were hiding it from would also be looking for it. In an instant I become dizzy as uneasiness creeps over me, as if I were being watched. I scan the room for possible spies: two silver-haired women chatter about their grandchildren, a young child begs his father for another muffin, three grey suited men walk through the door heading to the counter, followed by a gentleman in a mac scribbling into his small black notebook, and lastly the smiling waitress who took my order. She meets my gaze – taking this as a sign to bring my bill. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, despite feeling as if everyone in the room knows my secret. It’s paranoia, I tell myself, but nonetheless I decide to go home.

I’m suddenly aware that I left my bag at work, so the only money I have to pay with is the roll of $100 bills. As discretely as I can, knowing that I won’t be the only happy beneficiary of the money, I place $100 on the table for my coffee and a generous tip, and head out the door.

Before I reach the bus stop, I’m lifted off the ground and thrown into an approaching van, my screams muffled by one huge hairy hand.

“Where’s our money?” bellows a gorilla of a man, and I realise my captors are the three men in suits, who must have followed me out of the café.

“A scrawny kid like you doesn’t pay $100 for coffee, not one dressed in that uniform”.

Frozen in fear, I stammer but can’t get the words out.

“Not talking eh? We’ve got things back at ours for making you talk”. The van screeches to a halt at an abandoned warehouse. Quaking in fear, my feet drag on the ground as they rush me into the dilapidated building, slamming the door. A roof tile loses its balance, plummets and crashes on the concrete, making me jump.

“There’s scarier things here than roof tiles.” they jeer, waving a gun in my face as all the blood drains from it.

“Yes there are”. A confident man dressed in a white suit and black shirt, with what can only be described as three cronies in dirty shirts barely covering their beer-bellies, sporting double denim, and waving crowbars menacingly.

I nearly fainted, all this just for me? But the expression on the three grey-suited men surrounding me suggested they were not part of the crowbar gang.

“Damien, your crowbars are nothing against our guns. We even have that scrawny kid you sent to do your dirty work. Clever of you to use the staff, but it’ll cost him his life, and yours” threatens Gorilla-man, throwing me to the floor and aiming his gun at the approaching men.

“As usual Nate you’ve got yourself all confused” Damien replies. “The way I see it, we did your dirty work and got $40,000. Gave you half as agreed, and it could have been left there, all friendly like. But you had to get greedy, didn’t you? You stole my $20,000 and hid in that grotty hotel. You must have known I’d go looking for it. It wasn’t difficult to find you.”

“And yet we found you out too” Nate retorted, gesturing to me. “Always coming up short Damien. That job should’ve paid $80,000, but as usual you went in sloppy and tripped the alarm. The police were alerted, and you left with half the money. My half. We agreed $40,000 each. You were the ones who messed up and it cost you yours”.

“Nate, I’m beginning to lose my temper. And when I lose my temper, my friends get violent. I don’t know what games you are playing, or who that is, but I know you have my money. I saw you leaving the hotel and followed you here. Hand it over”.

“You followed us? What are you talking about? You’d already wrecked the hotel room when we got there, the money was gone, and we saw him” Nate points at me “running away with the money”.

All seven thugs turn to face me; my racing heart thumping a crescendo in my ears. My mind is overwhelmed, my senses dysfunctional. Reaching into my pocket as they closed in on me, I hope that returning it might just save my life.

“Freeze, hands in the air where I can see them. You’re surrounded, it’s over”. I withdraw my empty hand and raise both arms in the air. In an instant a SWAT team fills the room. The men are arrested, and a familiar looking man walks over to me – the man from the café in the mac with the black notebook!

“Sorry you got dragged into all this kid” He says, gesturing for me to lower my arms. “I’m Detective Conquer. I’ve been following Nate and Damien since the robbery, couldn’t prove collaboration until now. I think they knew the police were watching them, but unfortunately it appears they mistook you for one of my surveillance team.”

Still speechless, I’m unable to correct him. Tears of shock and fear turn to relief - I can’t believe I had such a narrow escape!

***

A year later and a lot has happened. Both sides pleaded their innocence, claiming to have no knowledge of any money. Damien and his cronies were all found guilty of robbery, with Nate and his suits sentenced for conspiring for a robbery, and kidnapping. Once the trial was over, I moved away; I didn’t feel safe knowing they would all get out one day.

As for the $20,000, the police still have no idea where it is. My life has really turned around though, I started my own plumbing business which has really taken off; I was even interviewed on the local news!

“You really are a credit to this community, someone so young starting with nothing and building their own business from scratch. Tell me, what’s your secret?”