Chapter 30: Hotel California - Part 2
Kilo Staples stares at the crack in the ceiling, stretching from the corner and arching to the center of the wall. He is unhappy with his current arrangement. He lies on the utmost edge of the king-size bed. To his immediate right, Jerome suddenly rolls onto his back, throwing the thin linen duvet cover off of them both. His black pajamas are revealed, patterned all over with cannabis leaves, “Smoke Weed Err’day” embroidered on the front breast pocket. On his back, mouth open, he begins to snore. Kilo stares at the ceiling.
Past him, on the opposite edge of the bed, Shizuka Joestar sleeps on her side. A tanned shoulder peeks from under the covers, simply dressed as she is in her usual button-shirt, underwear, and her facepaint carefully removed.
Kilo will not be getting any sleep at this rate. There is enough space in the bed to fit another six people, and he feels like he will continue to sink into the mattress, like quicksand, but he can’t shake this anxiety off of him. He gets up, careful not to wake his companions. He pads to the impressive balcony, his chest bare against the breeze and lights a cigarette.
Neither Jerome nor Shizuka seem to have any problem sleeping in the same bed, no matter how big it may be. Nor do either of them seem to pay attention to how obviously strange the hotel is. With a building this big, the meager skeleton crew they had seen seemed ill-equipped to take care of everything. Yet all seems well, at least according to Paul Mann, who stands out as a bizarre, almost otherworldly character.
“Something isn’t right about that guy…” Kilo murmurs, taking a drag, “Damn it, what’re they thinking? Don’t they realize the kinda shit we’re in? No telling when the next attack is coming, and they just wanna hang out. Takin’ a load off is one thing, but this…”
Exhaling in frustration, he releases a cloud of smoke and flicks the cigarette to the floor, crushing it underfoot. “Nothing I can do for now, I guess,” he says. He steps back inside and out of the conjoined bedroom into the common area.
The television looms over the wide couch like some kind of bottomless maw. A flick of a button transforms it into a window of flickering light, a portal to the lurid realm of late-night television. Kilo stares at the senseless images flickering past his vision…
In a quarter-second, Kilo realizes he dozed off, then leaps to his feet, listening intently for the sound that woke him: A thick, wet thud from just outside the room. He approaches the door, careful that his footsteps make no noise. Then, sensing movement behind him, he turns sharply.
“It’s me,” Shizuka whispers, barefoot on the carpet, lit only by the flickering static from the television.
Kilo raises a finger to his lips and grasps the door handle. Slowly, he turns it. He holds his breath. The door clicks and he throws the door wide, striding into the hall with SATURN BARZ ready, Shizuka and ACHTUNG BABY close behind.
They are the only ones in the hallway. Kilo clicks his tongue, a little disappointed at finding no enemy to harm. Shizuka, facing the other direction, gasps. He turns, and sees the cause of Shizuka’s shock.
A body slumps against a wall, dressed in a red blazer, dropped towels scattered over the floor. SATURN BARZ rolls the body over, and Kilo grimaces as his suspicions are confirmed. It’s the older bellhop. Crouching, Kilo hovers his hand over the old man’s mouth and nose.
“He ain’t breathing,” he says. He reaches to check for the man’s pulse, then jerks his hand back, yelping in pain, “YAAAGH!!”
“What happened?!” Shizuka exclaims.
“Augh, nothing…!” Kilo says, clutching his hand, “Just some static electricity, it shocked me. I’m fine. Go wake up Jerome and call an ambulance. Then we outta here. I don’t like this.”
Shizuka nods, and dashes back into the room. Kilo shakes his hand, scowling at it. His hand is not fine. Though outwardly, it is undamaged, pins and needles sear through him, rendering him barely able even to bend his fingers. Through force of will, he manages to form a fist, and within a few moments, feeling returns to his hand.
Restored to functionality, Kilo cautiously taps the body with the back of his knuckles, but there is no shock this time. Here, he notices the card clipped onto the old man’s belt, and finds himself oddly drawn to it. Unclipping it, he stares at the card and frowns deeply at its contents.
The man depicted in the photograph on the ID card is, without doubt, the same man lying on the floor in front of Kilo. Both share the odd, wine-colored birthmark over the right eye, in the uncanny shape of the state of California. But the man in the photograph must be around Kilo’s age, over fifty years younger than the one lying before him, with a full head of frizzy brown hair and smooth skin.
Position: Hospitality officer
“What in the hell is this?” Kilo mutters.
He unclips the card and stands, staring at it, just as Jerome pokes his head out of the door, rubbing his eye and yawning. “Yo, man, what’s the deal? I needs my beauty sleep-”
“The ambulance, Jerome! Did you call the ambulance yet!?”
“Oh, right, right. Yeah, I did. It’s comin’. Man, why’d you make me do that?… You’re just gonna cause a big scene, Kilo… Gonna ruin the good vibes comin’ from dis place…”
“Never mind that. Look at this,” Kilo says, handing him the ID card, “What you make of it?”
Jerome takes the card with some umbrage, inspecting the card with a tired scowl. This fades as he recognises the face on the card. “But that’s…”
“There’s no way it’s the same guy! It’s gotta be his grandson or something! The picture’s only from three years ago!”
“Leave it. Get your shit, Jerome, we’re leaving now.”
“This don’t make no sense, how could… Hey, you guys! You can explain, can’t ya? Things like this can’t happen here, can they?”
Kilo turns sharply, his eyes falling upon the two figures that have suddenly appeared behind him. He recognises them instantly as the elderly man’s colleague: Marsellus and Martha. The woman grips Luther’s ankles while the big-eared man slips his arms under his armpits. Together they begin to lift his body and carry it down the hall.
“Stop!” Kilo roars, pointing at them. They stop immediately, looking at him with innocent faces. “Don’t move! Put him down right now! Where did you come from!? Where were you planning on taking him?! Answer me!!”
Martha speaks after a moment. “We’re terribly sorry if our colleague inconvenienced you in any way, sir. Here at the Hotel California, we strive to provide the utmost care in guest hospitality. We urge you to return to bed-”
“I told you to put him down! Your colleague might be dead, and you’re just gonna carry him away? I asked you where you’re taking him!”
“If you require it, sir, we’ll be happy to provide you with some sleeping aid, or if not, may we invite you downstairs to enjoy-”
“I’m not going ANYWHERE, and neither are you, until you answer my questions!!”
“Sir,” Martha says, more insistent now, “I’ll have to ask you to lower your voice. You may be disturbing the other guests.”
“Are you trying to be funny?! Huh-?!”
“Kilo, let it go, mayn,” Jerome says, languidly before yawning deeply.
“The staff’s takin’ care of it, let’s let ‘em take care of it. You know I needs my sleep. Let’s go back inside, yeah? That bed was so comfy…”
“What the hell are you talking about? We’re not going back to bed, we gotta go!”
“Go where, mayn? I don’t got anywhere else booked. Beside, not like anywhere else’ll compare. It’s such a lovely place…”
He yawns again, and Kilo narrows his eyes. “You… keep saying that. Y’all keep saying that. ‘Lovely place’, or ‘such a lovely place’. You and Shizuka, and the staff. Even the big corporate guy. Why? Why always that specific phrase?”
“I’m tellin’ you to just let the staff take care of it, Kilo. This is their jobs-”
“Ever since we got here, things’ve been nothing but suspicious, but neither you or Shizuka have noticed. Only I’ve noticed? Am I the only one with any sense left?!?”
The door directly across from the trio’s room and a white man in a vest and sweatpants steps out, rubbing his surly face. It is the man from earlier, who came to reception straight after them, with his young son in tow. “Would you please keep it down out here? Do you have any idea what time it is?!”
“Get back inside, man, where it’s safe!” Kilo shouts.
“Excuse me?!” the white man replies, scandalized, “Are you threatening me? I’ll have you know I’m a lawyer, buddy. You so much as look at me wrong, I can bury you under so much litigation that you’ll-!”
“I don’t care what your fuckin’ job is!” he yells, turning, exasperated, “Shit’s complicated enough without you gettin’ involved!” He means to say more, but falls quiet. Beyond the lawyer’s shoulder, he sees into the room.
“H-hey, w-wait a minute, what do you think you’re doing? D-don’t come near me, stay ba-” the lawyer stammers as Kilo approaches, pushing past him and into the room, “Stop! You can’t just waltz in here like that! I’ll call the cops!” Kilo doesn’t listen to him, but inspects the room in wonder.
The lawyer’s room is an exact replica of his own, the so-called “Presidential suite.” The television, the sofa, the pictures on the wall, all are identical. Storming into the bedroom, he sees that even the crack in the ceiling is replicated.
The young boy on the bed rouses awake, blinking at him. “Hey… you’re that man… who flew that one time. On the freeway, at the airport,” he mutters absently.
“Stop!” his father yells, “Get out of there! Get away from my son, you– Ahh!!” his shout turns into a yelp as Kilo grips him by the strap of his vest and pushes him against the wall.
“How do you have the Presidential Suite too? Answer me, now!”
“What are you…? D-downstairs, at reception! The lady, she said that this was the last room available! Sh-she even gave me a discount on the price!”
“She said the same thing, to us.”
“But… why? She lied? Why would she lie about that?”
“I don’t know,” Kilo says, releasing him, “But I’ll find out. Listen: get out of here. Something isn’t right in this place. Take your son and leave this hotel. Don’t bother checking out, just grab what you can and leave!”
“Are you gonna fly again?” The boy asks, climbing out of the oversized bed.
“I’ll send someone flying,” Kilo answers, striding out of the room. When he leaves, Marsellus and Martha have disappeared, along with Luther’s body.
Shizuka has come out of the room, tiptoeing past Jerome reclining against the door to his Presidential Suite, barely awake. She, too, appears to be sleepwalking. “Don’t go… just come rest, Kilo…” she says, pawing at his wrist, gripping him weakly.
“You and Jerome go inside,” he says, taking her shoulder. “I’ll be back later.”
He marches and marches down the dark corridor, but he never seems to get any closer. Though he travels in a straight line, the hallway goes on and on, impossibly long. “I knew it. I knew all along!! This hotel isn’t natural,” he growls, half to himself, half at the retreating staff. “This has to be an enemy Stand!!
“If I take out the User, then this whole place will die with him… That bastard… That bastard, I know just who it is! There’s nobody else!!” Kilo walks past the elevators and throws open the door to the emergency stairs. He’s quick to reach the top floor, the penthouse of the Hotel California. Without a second to lose, SATURN BARZ slams its palm on the door and it instantly explodes into vapor, which Kilo strides through.
Behind the now non-existent door is Paul Mann, sitting at a desk in a velvet robe, leaning over paperwork. He looks up from the desk, with a smile. “Ah, look who it is!! Kilo, my boy!! That’s a fine trick you did with the door, tell me, what brings you to me at this fine hou-WHOAA!!” He shouts as SATURN BARZ grabs him by his gown and lifts him up into the air.
“Cancel the Stand ability!! I KNOW you’re the User, so do it!!” Kilo demands, before throwing the portly millionaire into a bookcase.
Mann groans as he struggles to get himself back up. “…Alright, alright, that how you wanna play it…?” he says, rubbing his back. “Fine. I-I never thought they’d go this far, but fine, I can take it… So! Who sent you? Was it Brown, huh? You tell that asshole I’m not budging! Tell him to keep that office warm for me, I’m not damn well budging! I will become Governor of this fucking State!!”
SATURN BARZ delivers a kick to his gut. “Don’t bullshit me!! Who are you working for, huh!? The Congregation!?!” Kilo lifts Mann up in the air again with his Stand ready to toss him around however many times. “You’ve got one chance before I turn you into a smear of red paste on the wall!! Cancel the ability, and let everyone out of the hotel!”
By now, Paul Mann has lost all his mojo, as he kicks his legs in the air, his voice trembling. “Ahh! Stop it! I don’t know what you’re talking about!!”
“H-h… How are you doing this? You’re not touching me, but…! Please, just put me down!!!”
Despite wanting to punch a hole through this guy’s stomach, Kilo doesn’t sense any malintent or deceit from Paul Mann. His Stand waves its hand in front of his face, but the Mann’s eyes take no notice of it. “He can’t see it… He can’t see SATURN BARZ. He’s not the User.”
“Well, of course, he isn’t,” says the man at the door. Standing in the doorframe is the bellboy Marsellus, wearing a small, sinister smile. “Mr. Mann is nothing more than an honored guest.”
