Yesterday's case

Two men entered the motel. It was already 7 p.m. and it was dark outside. Two large lamps were burning in the lobby.

"This is it," the first one said.

"Okay, Paul."

An older man approached the reception desk from the back.

"All the seats are taken," he announced and sat down in a swivel chair.

"I don't give a damn about the seats," Paul growled.

"You won't find anything, no way," the man replied calmly.

"Didn't you hear what he said?" the second man shouted. "He said he didn't give a damn about the seats.

" "Don't yell like that, or the old man will just cower and tell us nothing."

The receptionist reached for the phone with a trembling hand.

"Don't you dare," Paul warned. "Micke, show him the gun."

Micke placed the revolver on the counter.

"What do you want?

" "Nothing major. A few pieces of information." There was a distinct smell of alcohol everywhere.

"Gentlemen, you're drunk," the hotelier pushed back the chair.

"What did he say?" Paul asked, examining the aquarium in the corner.

"That we're drunk," Micke laughed harshly.

"What does he even care?" Paul turned to them. "Let him say what he wants to say.

" "But he doesn't know what to say yet.

" "Right. Ask him.

" "Why me?

" "Fucking ask him, you know the situation better.

" "Okay, okay," Micke looked intently at the hotelier. "What's your name, old man? Wait, don't answer! Let me guess... John Smith? You're all John Smiths here.

" "That's not what you were asking, you idiot.

" "Easy, Paul, relax. I'm setting the mood," he leaned his elbows on the counter. "Tell me which rooms the tourists who arrived here yesterday are staying in.

" "But... a lot of tourists arrived yesterday.

" "Don't play dumb, we're talking about the ones who arrived in a group around midnight."

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I can't tell you that." It seemed the terrified man was about to burst into tears. "I beg your pardon..."

Paul raised his revolver and aimed it at the hotelier.

"If not, then no, at least if I shoot you, it won't be a loss to us." He pulled back the firing pin, turning the loaded cylinder. "So, what are you talking about?

" "Yes, yes." The hotelier moved closer to the computer standing by the wall. "Let me check. It's all written down here.

" "Just no numbers, old man," Micke said, walking past the counter. "Be polite, and you'll keep your head.

" "Hey, Mickie, if he's got it all, describe this guy and we won't have to wander through who knows how many rooms, and we'll get the guy. I guess that's how it works, right?"

Footsteps echoed in the small hallway.

"Hide your gun," Paul whispered. "And you, old man, if you say anything..." He ran his hand pointedly across his neck.

A stately old woman came down the stairs and crossed the hall, heading for the exit.

"Good evening, Mr. Willson," she greeted as she left. "I'll be back a little later today."

The wooden door slammed, and silence fell inside.

"You're not Mr. Smith?" Micke laughed.

"Shut up," Paul snapped. "Describe this guy to him.

" "What am I going to tell him? Five feet seven, maybe seventy-something. Thirty-something. He arrived yesterday. Do you know him?"

The hotelier was typing passwords into his computer with a trembling hand. He quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead and adjusted his crooked glasses.

"A group from Germany checked in yesterday," he announced. "All elderly couples. Only one man that age.

" "What a lucky man," Micke whistled in a drawling tone. "Then tell me his name."

"Uh... He's...

" "Don't talk bullshit, grandpa, just shoot straight. So-and-so! I don't want to take out my gun again.

" "Hans Kohler," Willson gasped. "His name is Hans Kohler.

" "See, is it that hard?" Paul belched loudly. "Call him. Tell him to come down.

" "But gentlemen, what should I tell him?

" "I don't know, anything, he just has to come down here and that's it."

After a few minutes, footsteps echoed on the stairs again. An elegant man approached the reception desk.

"What's so important?" he asked, smiling.

Micke and Pauls stood to the side, watching the guest.

"Those gentlemen wanted to talk," the hotelier said. "I thought you knew them."

"No, I don't think so," the man gave them a quick glance.

Paul staggered over to him. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, you bastard," he yelled. "Do you remember what he did yesterday?"

The German looked at him questioningly.

"Look, Micke, he doesn't remember.

" "He's a jerk," Micke said.

"I don't like being lied to. I know you remember perfectly well.

" "I have no idea what this is about. I got here yesterday.

" "That's the point, you prick."

Paul pushed the German away, pushing him towards the reception desk. The hotelier staggered back into the back room.

"Keep an eye on the old man, Micke, he'll call the cops.

" "Okay, okay." Micke ran to the back room.

"And you, hipster," Paul turned to Kohler. "Remember something you did yesterday. "

The German brushed off invisible dust.

"Micke, he still doesn't get it.

" "A special idiot." Micke burst into nervous laughter. "Same as the old man.

" "Well, they've got us.

" "Like twins, right?"

"Come here with him. I'd rather keep an eye on you.

" "I'm coming, I'm coming.

" "What do you want?" Kohler asked.

"Just think, think, you son of a bitch, what did he do yesterday? Think, think how nice that sounds.

" "I have no idea what you're talking about.

" "I have no idea, I have no idea," Paul said. "And what do you know? About whores?

" "Enough of this." The German timidly walked up to the reception desk, reaching for the phone.

"Don't you dare," Micke shouted from the back. "And you, old man, sit still in the armchair and don't move."

The hotelier sat down obediently.

"What are you going to do with us?" he asked.

"You're fine if you keep quiet, and that hipster is bad. "

Kohler backed away, approaching the wall. The uneven hiss of deep breathing was audible.

"I still don't understand what's going on," he groaned.

"I'll tell you then, you idiot," Paul yelled. "You're a damn asshole," he staggered, approaching the

German. "You're flailing your arms too much. You know what I mean? Don't you? Yesterday, my little lady told me you gave her the boot. Right after getting off the bus. Right away. So everyone saw. And I'm not letting that go. Oh no," he leaned against the wall, panting loudly. "Micke, give me the Colt."

Kohler squeezed into the corner of the room.

"It was the driver," he said, panting. "Everyone saw that girl yelling at him, and he walked away, showing her that... booty. I swear. "

Micke handed the gun to Paul.

"Well, this is getting complicated," he growled. "What are we going to do now?

" "I don't know." Paul sat down on the floor. "Fuck, I don't know.

" "You should have taken Mała and there wouldn't have been a problem.

" "You idiot, you don't understand either. She's messing with that driver."

"Possibly.

" "Gabbing, not possible, but definitely. Because what could it be about?

" Micke approached the German.

"What if that asshole is lying?

" "I'm telling the truth," Kohler groaned.

"Shut your mouth, I'm not talking to you."

Paul looked at him. He was wearing a dress jacket, the collar of his white shirt peeking out from under it.

"That's not him," he nodded sadly. "Look at how he looks.

" "I guess you're right. He's an idiot.

" "And idiots don't show their faces," he smiled sadly.

"So the job's done. At least here. Let's go quickly.

" "You think so? Should we just leave?" He looked emotionlessly at the aquarium.

"Yes. Before anyone else comes."

Paul stood up and turned his back to Kohler.

"Let me just get that son of a bitch."