THE BRUNSWICK HOTEL

THE BRUNSWICK HOTEL

JAMES H. THOMPSON

Neophyte Private Investigator Dan Dulles gets more than he bargained for when he takes a photograph of Phil Bitticks, his employer's live-in boy friend, in an intimate situation with another man. He reports his discovery to his client, Betty Graham, the owner of the Brunswick Hotel. Stunned by the realization her fiance is homosexual she calls off the wedding. The Valley crime cartel had set Phil up in a scheme to take over Betty Graham's Brunswick Hotel, and her ranch to expand their illegal immigrant, and drug smuggling operations. Now a contract's out to take-out the fledgling PI. Dan Dulles is on the "Hit list."

About The Author

James H. Thompson maintains a grueling writing schedule. This is his forth e-Book. He was inspired to write this story while visiting 'ghost towns' in New Mexico, and in Arizona. We'll never know what triggers a brilliant imagination, but we're fortunate it does. The author's notions are fantastic.

e-BOOK

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

The

BRUNSWICK

Hotel

JAMES H. THOMPSON

Dan Dulles

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

e-Book 2003

www.mittymax.com

THE BRUNSWICK HOTEL

JAMES H. THOMPSON

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

THE BRUNSWICK HOTEL

JAMES H. THOMPSON

FICTION

Any resemblance of the characters in this novel to

persons living or dead is coincidental.

e-Book

CHAPTER ONE

Dan Dulles looked over the lobby of the Brunswick Hotel from behind the reception desk. He was the assistant night manager and was in charge of the hotel for the next twelve hours. As the assistant night manager, he had a really big responsibility. Not only was he in charge of the managerial duties for the hotel, but also, he had to close the restaurant at ten o’clock and the bar at midnight. Of course, if there were more than one customer in the bar at the stroke of midnight, he kept the bar open. He had orders to make as much money as possible before the new owners take possession of the hotel.

He had no idea who they were, but Sam Pronk, the day manager, told him that the prospective buyers were associated with a large international hotel chain. Little did they know at the time, but the big company was a Chicago Syndicate, also know as the Valley Cartel. The same gangsters that had taken over the Hidden Valley Casino and were now preparing to enter the prostitution racket by buying up the older and run-down hotels in the now sleazy section of town. One thing the Valley Cartel didn’t know was that the present employees of the hotel had already been in the business for many years. The business of providing rooms for the local hookers. Of course, Dan Dulles was involved, but he didn’t look at it as an illegal or objectionable thing to do. He was just picking up a few extra bucks by helping a poor working girl out. In other words, he was providing a place for a working girl to ply her trade. Dan was a benevolent person when it involved comforting women, especially when he had the side benefit of getting them in his bed for his trouble.

As evidenced by the shabby decor and the well-used and scruffy furniture in the lobby, the Brunswick Hotel had seen better days and was in the advance stage of going to seed, as the saying goes. The elevator worked fairly well and the rooms were well worn over the years, but the price was right for the year-round renters and the women of the night that frequented the hotel.

The Brunswick Hotel had three stories: the bottom floor was reserved for the retired people and other people who lived there on a regular basis. They didn’t have to use the elevator to get to their rooms or walk the stair case if the electricity went off. The second floor was reserved for regular clients and hookers. A few of the regular clients were several important persons, such as important police and fire department members along with several members of the city council who visited the Brunswick Hotel regularly. In this fashion, the Brunswick Hotel was never cited for fire department violations or for civil disturbances. It was a harmonious agreement between the city authorities and the hotel.

Dan lived alone in his apartment on the top floor, most of the time anyway. He had the last room in back with a view of the parking lot. His room was about six feet from the fire escape door, which gave him a sort of solace and peace of mind. It was a small room containing only a bed and a chest of drawers with an adjoining clothes closet and bathroom, but it was all he needed. His meals were free, being paid for by the hotel and Dan ate most of them in the hotel restaurant. The night maid, a Mexican woman by the name of Maria Morales, lived on the same floor and was available most of the time for emergency room clean up. Regularly, in fact almost daily or nightly, she was called upon to clean a room after a short time client had used it or a patron needed drinks from the bar. Maria was an illegal alien, but like everything else in the hotel, her salary was right and everybody kept her little secret.

Sam Pronk, the hotel manager, spent his days managing the hotel from eight to five during the week. He had been hired by the hotel’s patriarch, Winslow Brunswick, and he had promised Winslow on his death bed that he would look after the hotel and his granddaughter, Betty. Sam had tried to do his best for both of them, but it wasn’t enough. A decline in tourists and a strong-minded granddaughter didn’t help. Sam was biding his time at the hotel and when the hotel was sold, he had plans that nobody knew about and he wasn’t confiding them to anyone.

The restaurant was managed by an ex-Navy cook named Jay Truman. Jay worked a double shift at the Brunswick Hotel. He opened the restaurant at six in the morning and left about one o’clock in the afternoon, then he would return to the hotel and work an evening shift from four in the evening till seven o’clock at night. At times, his wife, Julie, would come by the hotel to talk to him. Their conversations would usually end in an argument about money, but that was their problem, so Dan kept his nose discretely out of their family squabbles.

The bartender in the hotel’s bar was Rudy Lopez, another Mexican—only he was legal. He had been born and raised in California. Rudy had been stationed in Arizona during his service in the army and when he was discharged, he married a local school teacher and went to bartenders’ school. Rudy worked both the afternoon and evening shift at the Brunswick Hotel and lived a quiet life as far as Dan could tell. He was a fairly good bartender and didn’t water the drinks too much. As far as Dan knew, he didn’t dabble in drugs when he was behind the bar, but anytime, day or night, you could place a bet with him on the dogs or ponies. Another telephone had been installed behind the bar for Rudy’s use. But since it wasn’t any of Dan’s business, he left it up to Rudy to explain what was going on if anyone asked about the extra telephone.

Dan had several other duties at the hotel besides being the night assistant manager. At any time during his shift, if it was required, he had to be: the handy man, the doorman, a waiter, a cook, and at times, a bartender. In other words, he was the Brunswick Hotel’s handyman. All of these positions didn’t come open at one time, but still, Dan was responsible for them whenever he was working.

Dan looked at the Big Ben clock hanging on the lobby wall and its hands told him it was nine o’clock. It was still early in the evening and business was slow as usual at this hour. It was too early for the hooker traffic and the retired people living at the Brunswick Hotel had eaten their evening meal and had turned in for the night. He would wait another hour then go in the restaurant and get a sandwich. There might be some meat loaf left over from the evening meal. To kill time, he reached under the counter and took out his course manual from the Columbia Correspondence School. Dan had always been interested in reading detective mysteries and he spend most of his spare time in the army reading them. Now he was about to fulfill his longtime dream. He was about to complete a Private Investigator correspondence course. It was a year course, but Dan had been slow in mailing in several of the weekly course sheets, and so, he was behind the rest of the students taking the course. He had never met any of the other students in his correspondence class, in fact and at times, he thought he might be the only person taking the course. This minor fact didn’t bother him, because he was on his way to becoming a “private investigator” and that’s what mattered to him.

Dan was studying for the final exam, which would be given next Saturday on the campus of the Columbia Correspondence School. The school was across town near the campus of the local junior college and Dan was excited about going to a real school campus. Dan had never been on a really bona fide campus, except for high school, and was awed by the prospect of going to an authentic school campus.

He was busily reviewing the text about fingerprint identification when the front door to the hotel opened and in walked Rose with her first client of the night. Rose was a regular at the Brunswick and a hard worker. She had two children to raise, so she played it straight and didn’t make trouble for Dan or the hotel.

She walked up to the counter where Dan was reading. “Got a room for two lost souls?”

“Sure, anytime for you,” Dan replied. “Do you want a short time or long time?”

“He’s a soldier from the base and I think it’s his first time, so book me for a short time.”

“Okay, that’s fifteen bucks, cash and carry.”

Rose handed Dan the money and Dan handed Rose a chain with a wooden board with the room number printed on it and a key on the other end. “It’s your special room. Room 202, turn to the right when you exit the elevator.”

“You’re a real comedian tonight, Dan. I know where the room is, I’ve used it enough.”

“Good luck, Rose,” Dan said, as Rose walked toward the nervous soldier, who was standing across the lobby from them.

He watched as Rose and her soldier friend walked to the elevator. Rose pushed the button to the elevator and the door opened immediately. They entered the elevator and were on their way to a night of bliss or maybe ten minutes of bliss anyway.

Taking out his appointment book, he wrote in it that Rose had rented room 202 and wrote down the time, then he added the number fifteen beside it. It was clean transaction: ten bucks for the Brunswick Hotel and five bucks for him.

Rose was just one of the many hookers that frequented the Brunswick Hotel. She was a tall woman, well over six feet and a dishwater blonde, which Dan knew to be true. Catering to young servicemen was her specialty and Dan never had a problem of any kind with her. She was a real rose in his book.

On any given night, the Brunswick Hotel would be visited by six to seven hookers looking for a place to ply their trade. Dan knew them all and would greet them one by one and by name. He was their friend and a benefactor in many ways for them.

Another fallen woman was Sandy. Sandy was a five-foot blue-eyed blonde who would usher in her mostly older and more mature clients and spend hours with them. Evidently, she enjoyed her work or the company of her older clients. Then about ten o’clock, Sue, a redhead, would show up with her first client for the night. Dan had known her to visit the Brunswick Hotel over ten times in one night, but that was when she was younger and faster. Age was catching up with her, so now, she had fewer and fewer dates. One time, Sue had bragged to him that she was one of the original B-girls. He didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not, but she could have been telling the truth. Later on, usually about midnight or even later, Sharon, a chubby black hooker would make her entrance in the hotel with the purchaser of her talents. She always wore a miniskirt that showed off her fat bottom to most people’s delight, including Dan’s. She always made a fast entrance and a fast exit from the hotel. At times, Dan thought she might be doing drugs with her newly-found friends, but there were never any complaints and he never found any evidence of drugs in her room after she left. So what did it matter to him what she did, as long as she paid for her room and her clients didn’t complain.

This was the normal ritual for Dan at the Brunswick Hotel, night after night, week after week, and month after month. But with each passing night, week, and month, Dan was getting closer to obtaining his diploma. His diploma stating that he was a Private Investigator. Once he had his diploma in hand—he was on his way. He still had to be licensed with the state authorities, but that was a mere formality. From their frequent visits to the Brunswick Hotel, Dan knew several police officers on speaking terms, so he shouldn’t have any problem with the Police Department when he applied for his private investigator’s license.

Since he had been studying to become a private investigator, Dan had thought ahead. He had bought a gun, a stub-nosed .38 caliber, and two holsters for it. One holster fit nicely under his left armpit and the other holster conformed nicely to the small of his back. Neither was noticeable under his sport coat as far as he could tell by looking in a mirror. He still needed a badge that stated he was a private investigator. He would have to remember to ask at the Columbia Correspondence School where he could buy a badge.

The following Saturday, he parked his car across the street from the Columbia Correspondence School. Getting out of his car, he gazed at the five-story brick building. It looked about as old as the Brunswick Hotel and just about as shabby. There wasn’t any campus to it as far as he could tell, unless you can call a lobby a campus. Walking through the revolving door to the building, he looked at the impressive directory listing the firms and other companies doing business in the building. He saw that the offices of the Columbia Correspondence School were on the third floor, room 300. Taking the elevator to the third floor, he got off and looked for room 300. It was easy to find, it was exactly opposite the elevator door. The large letters on the door read: Room 300. The Columbia Correspondence School. Knock—then enter.

Dan was really impressed and a little intimidated so far that he almost forgot to knock before he opened the door. Knocking on the door, he entered and saw a young woman talking on the telephone. She motioned for him to take a seat alongside another man. Sitting on the bench-like couch, Dan waited his turn.

When the secretary finished her conversation and set the telephone back in its cradle, she looked at Dan and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to take a final exam. My name’s Dan Dulles.”

“Let me see,” the secretary replied and she began to shuffle through some papers on her desk. “Yes, indeed. Here it is. Dan Dulles, a student in our private investigator program. Your counselor is Ben Helms. Let’s see, Mister Helms is in room three. You can pass through the swinging gate and go there now. I’ll call and tell him you are on your way.”

Dan pushed the swinging gate open and entered a long hallway with numbers on all the doors. Coming to door number three, Dan knocked on the door and a voice from inside said, “Come on in, the doors open.”

Dan entered the room and sitting behind the desk was an old friend, Patrolman Ben Helms, known to his friends as Benny. “Hello, Dan. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“That’s for sure,” Dan replied. “It’s been well over two years since our trails last crossed.”

“I remember you well and what happened that day we met. I was a street patrolman at the time and there was a problem at a hotel. It was the Brunswick Hotel, if I remember right. Something about a john being rolled by a hooker,” Helms recalled. “Well, that’s all behind us now. I hope you aren’t still working in that fire trap.”

Dan hated to say anything more to Mr. Helms, but he had to say something. Patrolmen Helms had tried to arrest a vagrant on the street in front of the Brunswick Hotel. But the vagrant had different ideas and was beating the hell out of Helms when Dan came to his rescue. Patrolman Helms owed Dan and he was hoping to capitalize on that fact if he had too.

“Yes, I’m the night manager there and things haven’t changed at the hotel. It’s still the same.”

“I haven’t been down that way in a long time. The Chief of Police decided to get me off the street after my fiasco with that guy that day. In fact, I hope I never see that place again. In case you didn’t know, I’m in the homicide division now and made sergeant several months ago.”

“Congratulations on your promotion and I don’t blame you for wanting to forget that day outside the Brunswick Hotel. It’s a tough place, especially now.” Dan was trying to humor Detective Sergeant Helms and stay on his good side. The whole police force knew that Helms was promoted only because he married the Chief of Police’s daughter. The Chief of Police had two daughters and Helms had married the ugly one.

“Well. Let’s get down to business,” Helms said, as he opened a file and began to read from it. “You have done quite well on your home exams, even if they were taken at your leisure. Your pistol scores from the firing range and gun etiquette scores are almost perfect. They were given by the police department at the local gun range, weren’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” Dan replied.

“Well then, let’s move onto your final written examination. It’s a two-hour exam and if you’re ready, you can take it now.”

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Dan replied.

“Fine. I’ll get the exam forms from the secretary and we can get on with it.” With these words, Detective Sergeant Helms got up and started to walk toward the door, then he stopped. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here at the school? You know, a police officer teaching in a correspondence school.”

Dan was surprised at Helms’ question. “No, I haven’t given it much thought.”

“My father-in-law owns the school.”

“That sure helps,” Dan replied.

In a few minutes, Helms returned with the test papers and handed Dan a sheaf of papers, “Take a seat anywhere in the next room and begin the exam. It’s a timed two-part exam, so I’ll bring in the next part in exactly one hour or if you finish before that time I’ll be in the coffee room. It’s at the end of the hall.”

“Aren’t there any other students taking the exam?” Dan asked.

“No, you’re the only one. I guess nobody wants to be a private investigator these days.”

Dan went to the next room and began the exam.

It was the same sample exam that he had studied for the last several weeks and he finished every part before the required time was up. When Dan had finished the exam, Helms said to him, “I looked over the first part and I think you passed with flying colors. If you passed the second part, you can expect your Private Investigator certificate in several days by mail. After that, all you have to do is apply to the state for your license and then you are on your way. Good luck in your future career as a private investigator.”

“Thanks,” a happy Dan Dulles replied, as he shook Helms’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, one other thing. If you need any help or assistance from the police department, give me a call and I’ll see what I can do to help you out,” Helms said, then he added, “Here this is for you from the Colombia Correspondence School, “and he handed Dan a black box. “It’s a silver Private Investigators badge. I know you will use it with discretion.”

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