Contributor: Damian Wesley Du Charme
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Jack looked to his wife and then to the leather satchel now sitting on the hotel room table: clasp undone and zipper unzipped, revealing its contents.
“Just call the concierge to come get it and let them call the police on whomever was previously in the room,” Sandy said.
“You know we can’t afford to do that Sandy. The police will want to talk with us even if we handed it over during our check out. We’ve been here 3 days and discovered the bag last night. That would seem very suspicious to the police I’m sure.”
Sitting back down, Jack and Sandy puzzled together. Then a rap whap tap sounded from their room door.
“That’ll be lunch,” Sandy said, pointing to the door.
He heard shuffling outside the door as he approached and peered through the peephole. A tall, lanky man with giant aviator sunglasses and a strange hat peered back at him.
“This must be the bag’s owner,” Jack said to Sandy. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked through the door.
“My apologies, my name is Dr. Thompson. I actually had stayed in this room a few nights ago, and think I may have left my doctor satchel on accident” said this Dr. Thompson.
“Who did he say he was?” Sandy asked, now standing behind her husband.
“Dr. Thompson.”
Sandy glanced through the peephole. Her jaw dropped. She ripped Jack away from the door and sat him in the chair closest to the door.
“Do you realize who that is?” she asked, wide eyed.
“Some doctor…” Jack tried saying.
“Not just any regular doctor, Jack. That’s Hunter S. Thompson.”
Sandy zipped the chain over and twisted the deadbolt. She pulled the door open in a flash, to an empty hallway. Sticking her head out, Sandy looked in both directions of the halls. She came back in shutting the door softly, then looking to Jack in disbelief.
“Did that really just happen or are we both sliding into senility?” Sandy asked. Jack scratched his head, stood up, and opened the door to do the same cross glance looking down the hallway.
Nobody.
“Well it definitely happened. The question is: Where did he go so quickly?” Jack said.
The couple walked to the table with the bag atop it. Sandy put a hand in the bag, and pulled out a smaller travel bag. She unzipped it, revealing its contents.
Another knock. “Room service,” said the knocker.
“THAT will be lunch,” Jack said.
Tipping the waiter and shutting the door Jack set the tray of meals on the table next to the doctor’s bag.
“This explains the contents. What did he call it… a satchel?” Sandy said.
After they finished their lunch reminiscing about the things they’d read, and heard about Hunter Thompson, they made a unified decision to check with the concierge if Thompson might be in another room and return his bag. There was, to no surprise, no Hunter Thompson in any room.
“The two men that previously stayed in your room wrecked it to such a point nine housekeepers took three days cleaning it,” the concierge said.
Sandy considered asking if there was a Duke Raoul, but was afraid the concierge might make the connection of it being the same man she had just asked about.
Returning after dinner that night, Jack and Sandy lay together watching television. Sitting up in the bed Jack looked to the bedside clock; 1:11 AM. Jack heard a strange electrical noise. It started with a low hum, which progressed to a whirring and then a clicking sound. Realizing the sound was coming from the door, Jack moved towards the door, listening intently. Bright flashes of light from under the door stopped Jack in his tracks. The clicking changed to a clacking sound, like a hammer hitting thick metal.
“Jack what in the name of the lord is that?” Sandy asked.
“I have no clue, but I have a funny feeling something big is about to happen,” Jack said.
The door shifted and fell to the ground with a loud THUD. Jack noticed, however, the door opened from the hinge side and was pushed out of the deadbolt, hanging for a split second on the chain before landing. Thompson burst through the door, instantly looking from the couple to the opened bag on the table.
“We didn’t touch anything I swear to you,” Sandy said.
Thompson strolled over to the bag reached a hand in, and pulled out a small baggie of capsules. Handing the baggy to Jack, Thompson smiled.
“For your troubles and my thanks for not turning it over to the authorities,” Thompson said.
“What do you think the pills are?” Jack asked.
“Knowing that man’s habits I would say either mescaline or psilocybin caps.”
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I'm a multi-talented man with a strong and vivid imagination. I love to write, and have had a poem published in Timeless Voices. Currently going to Full Sail University for my Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing.
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Jack looked to his wife and then to the leather satchel now sitting on the hotel room table: clasp undone and zipper unzipped, revealing its contents.
“Just call the concierge to come get it and let them call the police on whomever was previously in the room,” Sandy said.
“You know we can’t afford to do that Sandy. The police will want to talk with us even if we handed it over during our check out. We’ve been here 3 days and discovered the bag last night. That would seem very suspicious to the police I’m sure.”
Sitting back down, Jack and Sandy puzzled together. Then a rap whap tap sounded from their room door.
“That’ll be lunch,” Sandy said, pointing to the door.
He heard shuffling outside the door as he approached and peered through the peephole. A tall, lanky man with giant aviator sunglasses and a strange hat peered back at him.
“This must be the bag’s owner,” Jack said to Sandy. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked through the door.
“My apologies, my name is Dr. Thompson. I actually had stayed in this room a few nights ago, and think I may have left my doctor satchel on accident” said this Dr. Thompson.
“Who did he say he was?” Sandy asked, now standing behind her husband.
“Dr. Thompson.”
Sandy glanced through the peephole. Her jaw dropped. She ripped Jack away from the door and sat him in the chair closest to the door.
“Do you realize who that is?” she asked, wide eyed.
“Some doctor…” Jack tried saying.
“Not just any regular doctor, Jack. That’s Hunter S. Thompson.”
Sandy zipped the chain over and twisted the deadbolt. She pulled the door open in a flash, to an empty hallway. Sticking her head out, Sandy looked in both directions of the halls. She came back in shutting the door softly, then looking to Jack in disbelief.
“Did that really just happen or are we both sliding into senility?” Sandy asked. Jack scratched his head, stood up, and opened the door to do the same cross glance looking down the hallway.
Nobody.
“Well it definitely happened. The question is: Where did he go so quickly?” Jack said.
The couple walked to the table with the bag atop it. Sandy put a hand in the bag, and pulled out a smaller travel bag. She unzipped it, revealing its contents.
Another knock. “Room service,” said the knocker.
“THAT will be lunch,” Jack said.
Tipping the waiter and shutting the door Jack set the tray of meals on the table next to the doctor’s bag.
“This explains the contents. What did he call it… a satchel?” Sandy said.
After they finished their lunch reminiscing about the things they’d read, and heard about Hunter Thompson, they made a unified decision to check with the concierge if Thompson might be in another room and return his bag. There was, to no surprise, no Hunter Thompson in any room.
“The two men that previously stayed in your room wrecked it to such a point nine housekeepers took three days cleaning it,” the concierge said.
Sandy considered asking if there was a Duke Raoul, but was afraid the concierge might make the connection of it being the same man she had just asked about.
Returning after dinner that night, Jack and Sandy lay together watching television. Sitting up in the bed Jack looked to the bedside clock; 1:11 AM. Jack heard a strange electrical noise. It started with a low hum, which progressed to a whirring and then a clicking sound. Realizing the sound was coming from the door, Jack moved towards the door, listening intently. Bright flashes of light from under the door stopped Jack in his tracks. The clicking changed to a clacking sound, like a hammer hitting thick metal.
“Jack what in the name of the lord is that?” Sandy asked.
“I have no clue, but I have a funny feeling something big is about to happen,” Jack said.
The door shifted and fell to the ground with a loud THUD. Jack noticed, however, the door opened from the hinge side and was pushed out of the deadbolt, hanging for a split second on the chain before landing. Thompson burst through the door, instantly looking from the couple to the opened bag on the table.
“We didn’t touch anything I swear to you,” Sandy said.
Thompson strolled over to the bag reached a hand in, and pulled out a small baggie of capsules. Handing the baggy to Jack, Thompson smiled.
“For your troubles and my thanks for not turning it over to the authorities,” Thompson said.
“What do you think the pills are?” Jack asked.
“Knowing that man’s habits I would say either mescaline or psilocybin caps.”
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I'm a multi-talented man with a strong and vivid imagination. I love to write, and have had a poem published in Timeless Voices. Currently going to Full Sail University for my Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing.
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Author:
Damian Wesley Du Charme
