“I beg your pardon,” the doorman said, looking quite confused.
“Jesus fucking Christ, dude,” Matt said. “Haven’t you ever seen the movie Airplane?”
“I am sure I have not,” he said.
Matt shook his head again. “And you call this an enlightened country. All right. Thanks for the message. I guess I’ll go see what this shit is about.”
“Very good, sir,” the doorman said, still looking quite confused. He turned and returned to his station.
“Head on up without me,” Matt told the band and the groupies. “Something I gotta check out real quick. I’ll be up in a few.”
The expressed their understanding and continued their trip to the elevators. Matt turned ninety degrees and headed for the lobby desk. Since it was well past eleven o’clock now, there was only one desk clerk on duty. She was a woman in her early twenties, not too bad looking. Nice titties, a pretty face, a little chunky perhaps. Matt categorized her as “would do in a pinch” on his scale of fuckability.
“Hey, baby,” he greeted when he reached the desk. “I hear I got a message waiting for me.”
“And you are?” she asked, her English with a particularly heavy Dutch accent, which caused Matt to instantly upgrade her to “would let her blow me if there was no chick with a tongue ring in the vicinity” status.
“Matt Tisdale,” he said. “You know? The musician?”
“Of course,” she said with a small nod. “Mr. Tisdale. And what name are you checked in under, sir?”
“Norm Worthington,” he told her.
“Short for Norman?” she asked.
“Yeah ... I suppose,” he said with a sigh. He really was not fond of his middle name, even in the diminutive form.
“Norman is a very noble name,” she said.
“No shit?”
“No shit,” she replied. “You should use it in its entirety. Anyway, let me go get your message.” She walked to a series of cubbyholes in the little room behind her and pulled out an envelope from the one with his room number on it. She carried it back to the desk. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the paper from her, still digging on her accent. “Hey, listen. What time do you get off?”
“I’ll be off shift at midnight,” she told him.
“Why don’t you pop on up to Room 1208 when you get done,” he suggested. “Me and the boys are having a little after show party up there. And I didn’t see any tongue rings on any of the other girls.”
“Tongue rings?” she asked, confused.
“Just a little categorization algorithm that I use,” he said. “What do you say?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” she said, not a hint of regret in her tone. “Fraternization between hotel guests and staff is strictly forbidden by policy.”
“Really?” he asked, shaking his head at the injustice. “That’s a rip.”
“Some may call it that,” she said. “Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“I guess not,” Matt said with a sigh. His voice did have a little regret to it.
He walked away from her desk and back into the main lobby. As he walked, he opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper within. It was written in English, in spiky, feminine script.
Please call Kim Kowalski at your home number as soon as possible.
“What the fuck is this about?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head, an uncomfortable feeling starting to wash over him. It had to be something to do with the audit of his taxes by the California Franchise Tax Board. The audit had taken place five days ago in Los Angeles. Andrew Hopple II, his primary accountant, had represented him there. Matt had heard no news about what had transpired as of yet and he had not enquired about any, figuring that no news was good news when it came to an audit of one’s taxes. But now, apparently, there was news.
He tossed the envelope and the message in the little trash can next to the elevators and then pushed the button. One of the doors opened immediately and he stepped inside, riding the conveyance to the top floor where the suites were located. As he stepped out of the elevator, he could hear the sound of loud music coming from down the hall. That would be 1208. Austin’s room. Matt did not go there. Instead, he used his key card to open the door to room 1202, his suite.
Before picking up the phone, he made himself a potent Jack and coke at the bar and then lit a cigarette and took a few drags. Only then did he go through the ritual of contacting the international operator for an overseas call to his home number. The phone rang two times before being picked up by Kim.
“Hey, Mattie,” she greeted after accepting the charges for the call. “How’s things?”
“It was a good show tonight,” he said. “That asshole Ghan was in the fuckin’ hospital so things actually went a lot smoother.”
“The hospital?” she asked. “Is he all right?”
“Probably,” Jake said. “I fed him a bunch of pot brownies I got at a hash bar and he kind of flipped out a little. They should be pretty well worn off by now though.”
“I see,” Kim said slowly.
“What time is it there?” he asked.
“Three fifteen in the afternoon,” she said. “I take it you got my message?”
“Sure did,” he said. “Is it about the audit?”
“Most likely. Hopple called me up about three hours ago and asked me to have you call him as soon as you could. He says he’ll be in the office until six tonight, which will be about two o’clock in the morning where you are.”
“How did he sound?”
“Like he normally does,” she said. “You know, like a guy who owns a van with no windows and cruises around near junior high schools as they’re letting out.”
“He didn’t sound worried or anything?”
“No, but he didn’t sound un-worried either.”
Matt sighed and took another drag off his smoke. “Okay,” he said. “I guess I’d better see what this shit is about.”
“I guess you’d better,” she agreed. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Catch you later.”
“Bye, Mattie.”
He hung up the phone and then walked over to his travel bag, where he had the little piece of hotel paper with Hopple’s phone number written on it stored. He had to dig around a little, but he finally found it. He walked back over to the phone, took a few more drags of his smoke, a few more drinks of his drink and then picked up the handset and pushed zero for the hotel operator.
Less than a minute later, Hopple’s secretary was accepting the charges—this time without question. She transferred him immediately to his extension. It rang twice on that end and then was picked up.
“Matt, my man!” Hopple greeted. “How they hangin’?”
“High and tight right now,” Matt told him. “Let’s skip the preliminary bullshit. What’s the word on the audit?”
“Well ... I do have some good news,” he said. “They accepted the medical deduction for your ablation surgery once I showed them the documentation and the invoice showing you paid in full out of your own pocket. That is no longer an issue.”
“Oh ... good,” Matt said, feeling some relief. “I guess you were right about that shit after all.”
“I was,” Hopple agreed. “I told you there would be no problem with that and there isn’t. That issue has been officially put to rest.”
“This really is good news,” Matt said happily.
But that happiness did not last long. “Yeah ... it is, but ... well ... I’m afraid that a few other issues came up during the course of the audit.”
“What other issues?” Matt asked slowly.
“Well ... I’m sure the situation will ultimately be resolved in your favor, but ... uh ... the fact of the matter is ... uh...” He trailed off.
“Spit it out, motherfucker!” Matt barked at him. “What is the fact of the matter?”