The Man In Suite Fifteen, an ufo fanfic

The Man In Suite Fifteen 2019 A UFO story by Amelia Rodgers

Part One:

No Way Home

"How rude! How dare you take that out of my hand! I've heard about rude New Yorkers like you."

"You didn't know? Pedophiles use these toys to signal to one another. FBI Maam." He flashed a paper that actually was torn from his black leather notebook for a fraction of a second then stuffed it back into his camel coat. He'd jotted the information he'd needed on it in his neat, angular handwriting.

"Goodness! How horrible. Are you one of those agents you see on tv?"

"Just serving the public, Maam. I'll be taking this back to Langley headquarters to study. Keep warm. You can read all about my case in the Daily Mail, uh the National Inquirer."

"National Inquirer? " the attractive clerk at the counter repeated, chuckling, having overheard. "You must have really needed this bunny. Kids?"

"Not a one. I needed something else to throw on the fireplace, I ran out of logs."

"Funny. Don't you wonder sometimes about these people who believe all those stories? Local celebrity keeps young with pig blood. Flying saucers abduct an entire city block. Cash or credit?" He waited as she put the plush rabbit into a lavish shopping bag.

"Cash. What's even more absurd is how a guy would waste his entire life trying to stop an alien invasion. Thanks. No, keep the change."

"Sir this is a hundred dollar bill, " she sputtered. "We aren't allowed-"

He walked away, a streaking comet in black leather boots.

Another hundred dollar bill got him into the Fed Ex lobby only seconds before closing. In a minute he went from just another frozen tourist to the clerk's best friend. He was assured that the rabbit would get to its destination the next business day.

Mission accomplished he reluctantly went out into the world again. It was snowing heavily. Traffic that morning had been sheer hell but he'd made it to the hospice with its shiny linoleum floors and chattering nurses breaking his observations of the dismal, lost faces of those awaiting death. It was colder in that building than it was now that he was outside.

He was almost to a cab when he got the call on his secure smartphone. Ah the wonders of technology. His antiquated pager was somewhere in a drawer back home in Southern England. He recognized the code. Damn.

"Hello Alec. Don't ask."

"Not a chance I wouldn't and you'd know it. How did it go?"

"It went. Alec, I have a flight to catch."

"No you don't. That's why I rang. All flights grounded. Even ours." He grinned at Straker's uncharacteristic cursing. "Miss Ealand has you booked into your usual hotel. Suite fifteen. Enjoy yourself Ed."

"Soon as I get there I'm changing my office bar to a veggie one. You could do with a raw turnip."

"Ford told me how cold it is on the east coast at the moment. Your brain cells will be so cold you'll never remember your threat."

"I don't forget a single thing in any weather condition. What was your name again?"

"Ed, I'm sorry. Had it been me, well, I've seen, we both have seen some rough things but a man's assisted suicide-"

"I can hardly believe I'm saying this but have one for me. Make it a double. Goodbye Alec."

I'll never be the same, Alec. God help me.

The cab driver placed him in front of the hotel and he was grateful for the warmth of the lobby. The fireplace was genuine, not electronic. The cedar logs crackling in the flames smelled wonderful. Reluctantly he went to the counter.

"I have a reservation in the name of Straker."

Despite the traffic of conversations in the lobby, several people looked over at him, intrigued by his captivating voice. A man of distinction, used to being obeyed.

"Yes Sir. Will you be expecting any others?"

"No. This is the only luggage I have. I want to go right up. My suite has already been paid for."

"Fifteen is one of our most luxurious suites. Sir, here's your key card. Enjoy your stay. I'll-"

"No. You won't. I know where it is. Send room service up to me in five minutes."

Privacy at last.

He tore off coat, scarf and wool hat, unpacked and hung his clothing up, and picked up the telephone. Hesitated. Set it down again.

What do I say? So sorry the last moments your husband had on earth was while he was pumped full of morphine and oxygen and didn't know any of us. So sorry you decided to go against his wishes and have a priest there.

Stewart is etched on my memory like a tattoo. He took me like the baby bird I was and threw me the hell out of the nest while I cried for my mother. She never even liked stairs. How the hell was she going to save me at two thousand feet up in the dawn skies?

"Okay Bostonian. It's your turn. Pretend you're out walking your dog."

"Sir, I don't even have a cat."

"Skinny, you aren't scared or anything like that, right? Your mama wouldn't be able to show her face in polite society."

"My mother wouldn't appreciate her son walking out onto air and leaving solid ground."

"Son, it's perfectly okay. I was scared parachuting on my first time too. Do you know what my Dad did?"

"I can't begin to guess-Yiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

At this point Straker couldn't hear his instructor, dropping down and clamping his teeth together in horror but he would bet money on what he said.

He pushed me.

It was fucking exhilarating. Why had he been scared. This was terrific. Shit ground coming up fast. Chute!

For a moment he was fast asleep in his four post bed, and then he jerked awake. Passed out for a moment, he realized . His landing was perfect.

Straker finally smiled. Stewart had been there when he jumped, when he'd sat at the controls of his first test aircraft, when he'd first broken the sound barrier.

Like a father, when my own was long dead by then. Yes, it was hard watching death claim you. I never lost my admiration for you. Not even the first time I saw you emaciated by cancer. When death tries again for me, and God grant it does before it takes Alec, if I still have a third of your courage, I'll be content. The moment I see you Stew, I'll push you off the first cloud I see. Are you laughing, Stewart, you old bastard?

There was a knocking on his door.

"Room service, Sir. I took the liberty of bringing you up the roast beef with gravy, garlic mashed, baby carrots and a spring salad but I can order anything else if you want. I just saw by your record that you order this when you come. Coffee's nice and hot. Custard pie and chocolate ice cream."

"I ordered a cheesesteak sub." Straker teased.

"Sir, just-"

"No. Just attempting to be funny to keep warm. Tell housekeeping not to bother me in the morning. Here you are. Well done." He handed him a tip that would have put both any children and grandchildren he might consider having through an Ivy League college.

"Ordering an entire suite for yourself, you must like wide open spaces. Right?" His professional smile died seeing Straker go colder than the nor easterner.

"What I don't like are personal questions. You'll find the door over there."

He took the hint.

Straker attacked his dinner. He was smearing more gravy on the last bite of the potatoes despite the tangy garlic when there was another knock. It had to be housekeeping. The bell hop wouldn't have dared intrude again. A starving crocodile would have been safer to bother than Commander Edward Straker.

But it wasn't housekeeping.

It was a redhead in a black sequined cocoon she didn't actually require. She was already a butterfly wearing bright red soled high heeled shoes that probably cost more than his suite did.

"Aren't you a sight to melt the snow. Well, you requested me. Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Unless hotels have changed drastically in the two or three years since I've been to the big apple, you aren't housekeeping. Who the hell are you?"

She actually undulated past him, closing the door and dropping her purse on a velvet blue club chair.. The nerve of the woman!

"Get the hell out of here or I'll throw you out myself." Straker snapped.

"Oh. I get it. Role play. Why how could you possibly say that kind of thing to an innocent girl like me?"

"No. I get it. You're a sex worker. Pardon me but I never cared for political correctness when my job didn't depend on it. You're a whore. A prostitute. Get out or I'll have the entire N.Y.P.D. down your expensively perfumed neck in ten minutes."

"You don't understand. I've been bought and paid for. You get me for two hours. I can do anything, be anything you want."

"Good. I want you to be a bad memory. Go away."

"You're serious? No. You don't understand. I have to do this. I promise hands off if that's what you want. Just ignore me. Go on finishing your dinner."

"Do you have a disability that I don't know about that prohibits you from understanding a directive? Get out of here."

"I don't have a disability, God damn you!" she shouted at him.

"Well at least you finally dropped the fake charm. Lady, you probably have more diseases from your occupation than there are recorded in the Mayo Clinic. Go. Now."

"Please. I can't. I honestly can't. My employer gets nasty. Real nasty."

"I'm heartbroken for you. You chose this way to make a living. Comes with the territory. You should have learned to type."

"Are you really?"

"Am I really what?"

"The kind of man that thinks that all a woman is good for is typing his personal mail and spreading her legs for him."

"You're not what I'd call a woman. Not that it's any business of yours but I hand write my personal mail. On paper. Do you even know how to spell paper?"

"Your food is getting cold. Damn why did you have to be so fucking good looking? The last man I let fondle my body was a real dog."

"Sex with animals. How absolutely charming. Did you catch fleas?"

"Were you born that rude or were you sent away to learn how to be so disgusting? What a waste of a desirable man."

"What's your name."

"Aurora."

"What's your real name? Did you use a shoe horn to get into that dress?"

"You're not as angelic as you look. You noticed my body. Like what you see?"

"Lady, where I work beautiful women are as common as doorknobs on doors. My keycard isn't as plastic as you are. Don't flatter yourself."

"What's on your plate there? Little children? You smiled. You actually smiled. You are human."

"It was the cold gravy. Coffee?"

"You're offering me a truce?"

"I'm offering you a chance to be a woman. Not a sex toy. Cream and sugar?"

"Black. Like your soul. What's your name?"

"Straker. Here."

"Thanks. Straker. It suits you somehow. Anyone ever tell you you're gorge?"

"I'm what? "

"Gorgeous. Got a wife? Girlfriend?"

"What's your real name? Don't tell me. Let me guess. Borealis?"

"You're funny. Going to finish that ice cream? I'm starving."

"I have to pay for your meal too? So where did you meet Alec Freeman?"

Nothing showed in her expression. He figured Alec had arranged for her but unless she was expert at telling lies, she didn't know him. She was lovely. But he wasn't that foolish.

Or admit it for once, that lonely, Straker. Keep her talking. She could be a security risk.

"Alec who?"

"I thought an acquaintance sent you to annoy me. He has a twisted sense of humor, and he's no stranger to your profession."

"Why couldn't I have run into your friend? You're colder than this ice cream."

"I didn't say friend. I said acquaintance. Besides he spends too much money drinking. He couldn't afford you."

"You paid for this suite. You could."

"Excellence is worth paying for. You, on the other hand, aren't worth the price of this napkin."

"Why are you so damn cruel? What did this world ever do to you? You have style, good looks, money. You have it all."

What did it ever do to me? Took my wife and my son and the lives of my operatives.

"I have it all." He agreed.

"No. I can see it now. You're lonely." She said, studying him.

Go to hell, lady.

"You have no chance of finishing me off after the ice cream, so just forget it."

"I thought you were human. I fucked up. I'm surprised you even need to eat. I figure you run on batteries."

"I still have a pure soul. I'd never sell myself to the highest bidder, like you. You have no conscience. You'll do anything so you can buy those overpriced high heels and yet you're worth nothing." Straker said thoughtfully.

"You're right. You happy now? You destroy people so you can feel better about yourself? Is that what you do?"

"What's your real name?"

"What's it matter to you? I'll be out of your life soon."

"I don't allow people with no respect for themselves into my life." Straker told her seriously. Something had occurred to him.

"If I didn't have to stay with you, you pig, you bastard, I'd be long gone. Damn you! I don't cry. Do you understand? I never cry. I hate you. Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll freeze in this cold. They won't find your body for weeks. How about that. Stop looking at me that way! I don't need your pity!"

"I'm sorry. I lost a friend this morning. I can't find any grief left in me and it bothers me. Maybe I- no."

"What? Tell me."

"Maybe one kiss. Maybe that'll restore me."

"It would be my privilege. No. I mean it. Nobody's ever said no to me. You're a dying breed. A gentleman. I didn't know they still existed."

"Close your eyes." Straker said softly, approaching her.

She did.

Nothing.

After a good full two minutes she opened her eyes. He wasn't in the room. Then she barely heard him humming a tune she didn't recognize. She searched through the rooms until she found him in the bedroom. He was seated on the bed, briefly examining the lining of her purse, which he'd cut with a steak knife. The knife and deceased remains of her murdered Hermes Birkin lie on the thick gold pile of the rug. Her purse contents were all over the bed. Her wallet was in his lap. Straker looked like the cat that had swallowed an aviary's worth of canaries and hadn't bothered to spit the feathers out.

Straker began to recite facts crisply without looking at her.

"Your real name is Myrtle Fuller. Your age is 26. Your real hair color is brown. Your height is five eight. This isn't a driver's license, interestingly enough and your smartphone told me you take Uber everywhere and don't have friends, just a list of department store apps. You-"

"You dirty son of a bitch! You tricked me! All right. You cut my purse up, you're going to pay for it! All of it! I'll show you!"

She grabbed his knife and flung open the closet. She stopped.

"Anything you shred can be replaced but by all means, enjoy yourself." Straker said, wondering how he was going to leave the next morning in shredded clothing.

She was staring at his uniform.

"Air Force officer?"

"That old thing? Bought it from E Bay."

"You're a real comedian. What are all these medals? I know this one. You had to be injured to get the purple heart. Colonel, right? Are you active service?"

"No. I wore it this morning to honor a commanding officer I knew. I held his hand this morning when I attended his assisted suicide. The cancer took his life a long time ago. He wanted me there. He didn't know who I was. His dear wife had him pumped full of morphine against his wishes. She fought the assisted suicide but I earned a lot of friends in this city when I was active duty. So she lost her battle. He'll have the last laugh though. She won't get any more of his pension. It'll go to the AIDS foundation. He was gay. She'll drop a few notches among the ladies that lunch for not guessing it but she didn't marry him for sex she married him for his money. As for your bag, I'll pay for it now, with cash." Straker stood and took out his wallet. He counted out bills.

Why the hell are you telling her all that? You're getting soft, Straker.

"That bag cost me twenty thousand dollars, Straker."

"I mailed a toy rabbit to the man my commanding officer confessed to me he loved. He was terrified I'd reject him. I told him that was nonsense and he smiled at me. Earlier this evening I sent it off. It was their agreed upon sign that he had finally died. He was too ill to tell his lover himself. The shopping bag it came in was more attractive than yours. Now take your things and go."

She collected everything she owned and he handed her back the violated Birkin.

Damn it, shut up. Why are you saying all that to a stranger? Just shut up. Get back to work.

"Straker, you're strange. You know that? You always keep this amount of money on you? You can get mugged in New York, you know."

"I never go anywhere unprepared or unarmed. Have a good life, Myrtle. It's midnight. Cinderella is due home."

"Straker."

Straker tapped his Certina wristwatch in response. He flinched when unexpectedly she lunged forward and kissed him delicately on the forehead. She patted a strand of his platinum hair in place.

"I envy the woman who will claim your heart. And you were wrong. You aren't prepared for anything. Take care of yourself, Straker. Wait What's your name?"

"I told you. Straker." He responded, irritated at being caught off guard.

"Your first name, silly boy."

"Edward."

She sighed.

"Edward. It's all too perfect. Like you. Goodbye, Edward."

Then she was gone.

He dropped onto the bed. He stared at the carpet. Something twinkled on it. It was a vial of her perfume. He bent and picked it up, screwed off the crystal cap. He inhaled it then replaced the cap. Sweet.

Too damn sweet for someone as cold as me.

Goodbye Myrtle.

He didn't recall hardening his heart, taking a cold shower and changing into pajamas. He didn't remember falling asleep, a sleep disturbed by unpleasant memories and tinged with loneliness. The king bed wasn't meant for one man alone.

Nor are these tears on my cheeks meant for me to cry, he thought before he fell asleep.

In the morning, before housekeeping even knocked, he was showered, shaven, and dressed. A quick phone call informed him that yes, later that day he could be on a flight to England. The weather had cleared.

He breakfasted on coffee and eggs and toast, wondering how he could kill time before taking the taxi to the airport. He flipped through the newspaper without interest, and ignored the housekeeper whom he hadn't asked for as she held up the vial of perfume she'd found in the trash can and inquired whether his wife had dropped it. Housekeepers gossiped to bell boys. They no doubt had seen the prostitute slip into his suite. But with that standard of tip, you didn't ask the guests questions. Unless you were a smart alec bellboy.

When Straker finally began the process of checking out early, resolving to wander around Times Square until his cab was due, he hotel clerk stopped him.

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Straker. The police need to speak with you."

Terrific.

"Of course."

Part Two: Too Sweet

"Apologies, Mr. Straker. We know it all was a misunderstanding. Generally, we ignore it. We have better things to do with our time than arrest these types for prostitution. We also know why she went into your suite. The bellboy gave us a statement. He said he heard

you yelling at her to get out. We also know you have government immunity. Our chief spoke highly of-"

"If you know all that, why the interrogation?"

"Sorry. She's dead."

"Wha-" Straker went as pale as his pristinely groomed hair.

"Murdered. By one Adam Vargas aka Antonio Vargas aka Big Tony. Pimp. We caught the bastard. He was nursing a bottle of whisky and talking about that fucking whore and how they'd put a bullet in him when they found him. He said the fucking whore was a perfect piece of hot ass but she was dyslexic. We think she read your suite number inverted. Somebody had paid him good money to send her to suite fifty-one and she wound up at yours. He stabbed her to death. The paramedics weren't there long enough to help but they said she was muttering' Straker, help me.' I'm sorry. She didn't have a chance."

I'm not disabled! No wonder you were so angry, Myrtle. Dear God.

"Does she have family? No. No. I'm fine. I'll give you a statement. Is there anything I can do for her family?"

"She didn't have anyone. We've run into her before. Look, no statement is needed. We know your reputation. We understand you have a flight to catch. Would you like a police escort to the airport?"

"I'd appreciate it. She-she was a good person."

You're a whore. I said that. Before you died you called to me to save you. I couldn't save Stewart. I couldn't save you.

Too sweet.

Goodbye Myrtle.

THE END