View Full Version : The Search for Consistency (Short Story)

November 21st, 2014, 10:28 PM
Hello, this is a first draft of a short story I did. I know there are spelling mistake and things that need describing in greater detail. Thanks.

Running a hotel isn’t about morals for me. Whether someone can’t afford a room or they can’t afford that Stellar in the mini freezer. It’s all about consistency. Stick to the motto you have forged. Mine? Well, I believe in consistency. I’ve already said that, but that’s just consistency rubbing off on me.
Too many businesses cave in and bend the rules; they wonder why suddenly they’ve got customers down at reception saying “well, you let the man in number 8 use the staffs toilet.” And then they bend the rules again, and again until their hotel is seen as flimsy. Then, all they are left to fish for are beer mats of society.

I have a reputation. I bend for no one.

It’s an achievement in itself to attract the wealthy and good tastes to a hotel which is situated right on the side of the motorway. Yes, the endless grass for miles and the never ending line of concrete is not any form of eye sugar. But, that is where my hotel comes to life. Its green LED lights slanted like a 70s style motel, with the letters spelling “The Arm Rest Hotel: a bed for the night, a friend for life.”

I better stop; a customer’s just pulled in. He’s driving a Jaguar, third one this month, but this one has got red rims on its wheels, and a black tinted windows. Impressive.

He walks in; I’d say early thirties, cream polo top, factoring in the car, it’s probably a Fred Perry or a Polo Ralph Lauren, and he’s also got denim jeans on. I smile with my teeth and offer my hand. “Room for the night?”

“Not actually. Erm, sorry I’m looking for someone…”

Whatever happens keep the smile Claude, first impressions, consistency.

You see, I need the good reviews, and there is still a chance of a sale with this one.

“Who might that be sir?”

“It’s a girl I think… Apparently she checked in here a couple of nights ago.”


“Is it ok if you check?”

“Have you checked my message on the door?”


“I do not give out information, because it is customer privacy rights.”

“So, she is staying here?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. Sir… you may find the answer if you would like a room?”

He’s thinking. He’s noticed the finely glossed wooden top.

“In all seriousness here. I don’t want you calling anyone. But she might be in danger, ok. She’s been missing for five days. I’m from here circus where she
works… I know that she got involved with the wrong people, and there are about, I don’t know, ten, fifteen, people looking for her… I don’t want to be abrupt here, but if any of those guys come in here, they’re not gunna stand around for answers like me.”

“Ok, I see… you could buy a room and I’ll see if I can find this girl.”

“I don’t have any money on me.”

“Inside the Jaguar?”


“Your car. The one outside, it’s a Jag, no?”

Oh, he looks around to check, and replies, “I’m short of change cos I rushed here.”

“How much do you have?”

He takes a couple of coins out of his jeans pocket, “3 pound twenty.”

“Well, that is enough to buy a bag of pears dear boy.”

I point over to my carefully arranged bowl of pears that are wrapped in black plastic wire, sitting on the far side of the table. “You can buy them, and you qualify as a customer.”

The man places the coins on the counter I grab them with my clammy palms, and wipe my forehead.

I then place a piece of paper on the table, with the watermark of hotel name, and tap on the tick boxes on the page. “Now, if you would fill out a review and tick the boxes I would appreciate it.”

He picks the paper up, and pen I handed to him, “I can only tick excellent. There’s only one box.”

“That’s right...if you will dear boy.”

I bare my teeth. “Just sign your name at the bottom, the describe how you could afford a car like that Jaguar, then I will just…” I lift up a camera. “Smile and hold up the paper if you will dear boy.”

I snap it, “Excellent.”

The man sighs and slides the paper to me. “Ok, please now, I’m in a hurry.”

“Describe what she looks like?”

“Brunet, about 5 foot 2, er mole above her right eyebrow… she where red nail varnish a lot of the time, er-“

“Nope. Never seen her.”

“You haven’t even looked.”

“Memory of the mind dear boy. I have not seen the mole girl.”

“She’s in danger, you’ll be on the news for stopping an investigation.”

“Sorry no badge, no investiagation. I said, I have not seen her anywhere. Give my you number, perhaps if she walks in I’ll phone you.”

“No morals. Classless.”

I disagree, of course I didn’t say that, he was already outside, and it would have lacked class to talk behind his back.

The man storms out, and I pick up the paper with the man picture that I clipped to the page and stamped it with a pin on the corkboard behind my desk, which is filled with another nine men who have all come in looking for said girl. According to me, they think she’s in South London, Southampton, Devon, hmm, even Hull.

I think nine is enough reviews, don’t you?

I control the shaking in my right hand and pick up the phone, and dial 999, “Hello? Yes, you need to be quick and precise. I don’t have long, three doors down a girl is being held hostage. Yes, I’ve seen through the window. Sorry this isn’t the type of people I actually – yes, about three days ago. No, because I haven’t been able to call, ok, I’ll sit tight.”
I put the phone down and take a pear from another bag. I look at the corkboard. These reviews will speak for themselves won’t they?