ds_flashfiction | not gonna miss this one

one hotel room. two(?) men. five hundred and fifty words.

i mentioned in passing that i ought to write something for each cliche to make up for missing last week's challenge entirely, and

darthrami told me to write something right now. so, here i am!

*****

Cliché Flashfiction (X-File Memorial Cliché): Get A Room

Ben leaned on the hotel counter and tipped his hat at the manager. "Good evening, Robert. In which room is Ray Kowalski?" he asked.

Robert pulled out the guest book and ran his finger down the list. "Kowalski, Kowalski. He ain't here."

Ben rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps under Ray Vecchio?" he asked with a sigh.

"Vecchio." Robert tapped the book. "One-eighteen."

"Thank you," Ben said, and then remembered that the Chicago party has arrived that afternoon. "Er, which Ray Vecchio?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Robert said.

"Which Ray Vecchio is in room one-eighteen?" Ben asked.

Robert glanced down at the book again, then shrugged at Ben. "Ain't got but the one."

"Well, no, actually there are two." Ben thought about explaining, but knew that that would be better left to the Rays Vecchio themselves. "The Ray Vecchio in room one-eighteen, would you describe his nose as...particularly large?"

Robert rubbed his chin. "Now that you mention it," he said, "there did seem to be something funny about that guy's nose. Kept changing."

"Yes?" Ben asked.

"Yup," Robert said.

"So which was it?" Ben asked.

"Which what was which?" Robert asked.

"Which Ray Vecchio is in room one-eighteen?" Ben asked.

"Oh, him. I couldn't say -- you know how all those foreigners look alike." Robert shrugged.

Ben sighed. "Well, thank you, Robert. I'll go knock on his door and ask, I suppose. There may have been a problem with the rooms."

"A'right, Constable," Robert said. "We've still got the kitchen open, you know, if you want to nip in for a bit of something."

"Thank you," Ben said again, and headed off.

As he walked down the hall, though, he heard someone in pain. "Hello?" he called. The hallway was empty. "Hello? Is there some trouble?" The noise had trailed off, put he thought he could hear someone still groaning faintly. There -- and it was room one-eighteen -- there it was again. Surely, Ben thought, surely the Rays would not have come to blows. Had Ray Vecchio reopened his wound? He reached out to test the door and found it unlocked.

His breath short with fear, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room --

-- And then, frantically, he clutched at the swinging door and pulled it closed behind him as he stepped back, stepped away, and got out of that room immediately. The door closed silently, and he let himself breath again with a sigh of relief. His head hit the far wall with a faint thump as he pressed himself back away from the closed door, from behind which issued another groan that was not remotely pained.

Ben took off his hat, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and put his hat firmly back in place. Then he marched down the hallway toward the lobby again.

"Hey, Constable," Robert called from behind the counter as he rounded the corner. "Got it all sorted out there?"

"Yes," Ben said. "I'm sorry I bothered you. The room assignments are quite in order."

Robert beamed amiably. "Good, good then. There is still some tea in the kitchen," he reminded Ben with a wink, "or something a bit stronger, if you'd rather."

"Thank you kindly," Ben said. "You know, I believe I shall." But whether he partook of the tea, or of something a bit stronger, he never said.

END