The Deductive Doorman

The evening gloom hung as heavily as my eyelids as I stood to attention outside the Bellington Manor Hotel. The luminescent glow of the lobby behind me cast my gangly shadow across to the other side of the road, where the little cafés and boutique shops sat dark and empty. At least the day shift has something to watch, I sulked to myself, nothing interesting ever happens on nights. The last sign of life I had seen had been the miserable of Mr. Deacon (who hadn’t tipped), back early from some stuffy business meeting and keen to have a quick tipple or three in the hotel bar. Taking a long, slow drag of my cigarette, I let my mind wander, imagining myself as some undercover detective, skulking in the shadows to scope out a case, picturing my life full of excitement and adventure.

‘Psst.’ 

My sleep-deprived mind is hearing things, I thought. Perhaps I can claim it as an illness and clock off early?

‘Psst, Doorman.’ 

Looking back over my shoulder, I could see no signs of life through the smudged glass doors of the lobby. I began to think something was afoot.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Doorman, up here!’ 

Stepping out into the street, I turned to look for the source of the voice. To my surprise, my detective daydreams had been realised, although in hindsight, I had rather wished they hadn’t. 

Standing on a narrow ledge, about three floors up, was Mr. Burton (who also hadn’t tipped), as naked as the day he was born. Thankfully his stomach was pressed against the building, although the sight of a second moon in the sky was not a particularly welcome sight. He stood between two closed windows, gripping the outer frames of each of them for dear life. My inquisitive mind jumped immediately into action.

‘Mr. Burton, what on Earth are you doing up there?’ I shouted up to him.

‘Shh, keep your voice down, you idiot, or they’ll hear you!’ came his angry whispered response. 

‘Apologies Sir, but you must forgive me my surprise,’ I said, trying to match his hushed tone, ‘I must say however, if Sir had wanted a room with a balcony, we have several offerings on the sea view side of the hotel.’

‘Yes, yes, very funny, now hurry and help me down!’

‘Pardon me, sir?’

‘Help me down, quickly!’ his hefty bulk jiggled with every word, and even from down here I could see his knuckles straining as they clung tightly against the wooden trimmings.

‘Sir, I’m not quite sure how I can do that, why you’re more than 30 feet up!’ I looked around for a ladder or some other way for him to climb down, but to no avail. ‘Why don’t you just climb back through the window?’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘I’m afraid you don’t have another option, sir. Isn’t there anyone in your room who can open it back up again?’

‘Yes, my wife is in there,’ his tone seemed slightly embarrassed.

‘Well then, problem solved Sir, I’ll just pop up and knock the door for you, and we’ll have you back inside in a jiffy,’ I smiled and started towards the lobby.

‘You can’t!’ he yelled, then seemed to regret raising his tone.

‘Why not, Sir?’

‘Because… she doesn’t know I am out here.’

‘Well, I’m sure she’ll understand Sir, don’t be embarrassed.’

‘No, you fool, she can’t find out I’m out here!’

I scratched my head in confusion. ‘But Sir, she must have noticed you clambering out of the window in your birthday suit, and she definitely would have spotted you when she came to close it, wouldn’t she have?’

Even in the darkness of the evening, I could see his face turn bright red like the back end of a car. ‘I… I didn’t climb out of our window.’

‘Ok, so how did you get up there?’

‘I climbed out of that window,’ he gestured with his head to the window next door.

‘From room 303? But that’s where Mr. and Mrs. Deacon are staying,’ I said, before my naivety was replaced by the sudden realisation of why, perhaps, a man like Mr. Burton might have climbed out a third floor window without the forethought to dress himself first. ‘Oh, Mr. Burton, you fiendish devil.’

‘Don’t judge me boy, I’m well aware of my sins and I’ll make my peace with my maker when that day comes,’ his outburst caused his knee to buckle slightly, but he regained his footing, ‘but if I don’t get down from this ledge soon, I fear that meeting may be forthcoming. Although, I feel I would rather Him than deal with Mr. Deacon, or my wife!’

‘I’m guessing the bar staff served Mr. Deacon his last drink then?’ I smirked to myself, piecing the clues together like a smug Holmes.

‘He wasn’t even due back from his meeting for another hour, that useless bum!’ retorted my nude Watson. 

‘Well, this certainly is quite the predicament Sir,’ I scratched at my chin in contemplation. Surely the just thing to do would be to alert Mrs. Burton, and the Deacons for that matter, and let them decide this duplicitous fellow’s fate amongst themselves. But then, a sudden (and until that moment, never before felt) pride in my duty to serve and assist the patrons of the Bellington Manor Hotel swelled within my chest. A thought sprang to mind. ‘Sir, I have an idea!’

‘Well, hurry up, spit it out!’

‘I will head up to your room, knock on the door and tell your wife there is an emergency, and that she will need to head down to the lobby immediately. Afterward she has vacated the room, I can open up the window and let you in, where you can dress and head down to meet your wife as if nothing ever happened!’ a self-satisfied grin stretched across my face. What a masterful plan indeed, I thought to myself.

‘Fine, that will do, just make it quick!’

I took off towards the doors and burst into the lobby. Ignoring the startled concierge, I bolted to the stairs and straight up to the third floor. I felt just like an action hero. Although I’m not sure that aiding and abetting an adulterer strictly counts as heroic. Mr. Burton was certainly no damsel in distress anyhow. Now standing before his room door, I paused, straightened my uniform, and knocked firmly.

‘Mrs. Burton, come quickly, it's an emergency.’

There was no response. I knocked again.

‘Just a second,’ came a voice from within, followed by what sounded like a hushed squabble. Then, the unmistakable sound of a window opening. I had to act fast. 

‘I’m coming in, it’s an emergency,’ I repeated awkwardly, fumbling through the keys on my master ring looking for room 304. Once found, I quickly unlocked the door. Barging it open, I saw Mrs. Burton, flushed a deep red, covering herself with her bedsheets. Then suddenly, from the open window, I heard the bellows and screams from outside, followed by two distinct thuds. Mrs. Burton and I rushed to the window, cramming ourselves through the opening. She screamed, falling backwards in hysterics. But I couldn’t help but study the strange sight below me. 

Directly below us lay Mr. Burton, in a very similar position to that which I had last seen him, pressed against the stones with his arms spread to the sides, his buttocks still very much an unwanted focal point. His face seemed much less red now, in fact the longer I stared the more the colour seemed to drain from him entirely. So much for rescuing my damned damsel, I thought.

However, on the ground next to this wretched chap, lay an equally pale, bloated figure, sprawled in very much the same fashion as Mr. Burton, right down to the complete lack of clothing. Peering in closer at this other fellows face, I was shocked to espy none other than Mr. Deacon. 

Any sorrow I may have once felt for the blubbering mess behind me faded fast, and as Mrs. Deacon poked her narrow head through the adjacent window, only then to quickly dart back into her room just as her unfaithful friend had. I made my way out of room 304 and back down the hallway, leaving the two women hopelessly pining for each other’s lost husband. And at that, I decided that I best leave the sordid affair to a real detective.