Without further ado Miles approaches his worst nightmare."Will you be generous enough to donate some spare change?" "I'm broke." "How broke can you be? Your clothes indicate different." "What I wear is none of your concern." "You filthy rich bastard." "I work for my money." "Was I offered work, I'd work for my money also. You think I enjoy standing outside begging my ass off?" "It sure looks it." "How dare you? How dare you judge me?" "I apologize. Now if you'll please remove yourself from my --" "No, I refuse." "You're blocking the entrance to my hotel. Shall I call security, or the police?" "You have connections... offer me a job, and I'll prove myself." "Security!" A huge bulky man in a red suit approaches. "Problem, sir?" "This beggar is harassing me." "My apologies sir. He will be taken care of." Before Miles can acknowledge the guard's response, security is shoving away the screaming beggar. "It's not the first time I've seen him around," Miles informs the security guard, upon his return. "The jails are thick with this scum. We can't afford to lock them up," said the guard. He spit on the ground. "Was it my decision, we'd ship them all off to a concentration camp." "That's going a little far." "You are not the first to be bothered. We common folk can never be left alone." "I must wonder, how difficult can it be to find a job?" Laughing. "I have never been unemployed longer than a week. Any fool who can't find a job and sustain survival through hard work deserves not to be fed and bed for free. Nor our pity." "I tend to agree. Well, I must flee." "Of course sir, and again, my condolences for what was an unfortunate encounter with the scum this city harbors." "Not your fault, my good man. Thanks for helping me out." "Any time." Miles departs, abandoning security to his post. Entering the main hall, he makes way to his room. Once inside, he locks the door. Fetching his suitcase, he opens it, to fetch a laptop computer. Switching on the power, he waits patiently for the main screen to load. It's then shock registers. 'All files have been deleted' the screen reads. "What? But that's impossible," Miles rages. He keys in "enter" with no success. He tries every key, and again to no avail. "This can't be." His laptop contains invaluable data. Files for his new case, amongst information that was stored but in two locations. And he couldn't very well return to Rome, to retrieve data from his computer. Why was his laptop indicating deletion? He was no hacker, yet he was computer literate. This shouldn't have transpired; a hard drive eats your files, yet it certainly doesn't alert you of their deletion. And why couldn't he search his documents or access any portal? Dogmatic situation. The phone rings. Who knew the number here? Of course, the office, he was just paranoid. He picks up the receiver. "Wondering what happened?" a voice asks. "What happened to what?" "Your laptop." Realization. "Who is this?" "My name is of no concern." "What kind of a sick joke is this?" "If you want your laptop to ever function again, meet me in the lobby." "Listen, you --" His nemesis hangs up; he slams the phone down in disbelief. Without any idea as to who this stranger might be, he fishes in his suitcase, to retrieve a handgun with a silencer. Leaving his room, he locks the door, to then head for the elevator. Once inside, he hums until it carried him to the first floor. In the lobby, his eyes scan for any suspicious activity. No one too impressive except for - Wait, what was that beggar doing here? How dare security allow him entry but minutes after harassing a client? He would speak with the manager, have the security personal if not fired, then re-evaluated. The beggar approaches. How dare the bastard annoy him further? He had no time to waste with this insolent -- "You need help with your laptop?" the beggar asks. Miles's jaw falls open. He's awestruck. How could such a degenerate be responsible for crashing his system? "Who are you?" "Why are you suddenly interested in who I am?" "What did you do to my machine?" "You'll regret soon enough, not having offered me some spare change. The least you could have been is honest." "Get yourself a job." "I would if I could and here's my bargain. If you want your laptop to function, find me a job." "I don't have time for this bullshit." Smirking. "How unfortunate, I have all the time in the world." "I don't even live in this city, I have no idea who to contact, to hire." "I'm willing to relocate. Can you not hire me?" "How could it be you? You weren't even near my laptop. I've never seen you but for earlier today." "This is of no consequence. Do you desire your laptop to function ever again, yes or no?" "What do you know of computers?" "I used to be a cracker." "What happened?" "Bank seized my house after I failed to make a mortgage payment. Never was my fault, company I was working for went bankrupt." "How's that my problem?" "You told me I'm not interested in work, only in begging. I want to prove different." "Why me? Isn't this extreme?" "Why not you? You have money, offer me a job." "I work alone. In my occupation I don't need outside help." "What do you do for a living?" "Private investigator." "I can blend in a crowd, offer some inside help." "Not dressed like that, you can't." "Buy me decent clothes, allow me to work for you, a week, whether or not you decide to keep me as a permanent employee after that doesn't matter, I'll still fix your machine." "Why can't I just go to a computer store?" Laughing. "Good luck, when they're as puzzled as you are, you'll know where to find me." "All right, I'll hire you. Minimum wage." Smirking. "Agreed." He can't believe he's willing to give away a week's wage to this worthless, meddlesome idiot. Yet the data contained in his laptop is worth it. So tiny money was of no importance anyhow. "So boss, what's the job?" "A certain bitch in Rome wants me to keep tabs on her husband, to see if he's faithful or not. He's staying in this hotel, an easy job. Now you know why I don't need outside help?" "Hmm, then it won't seem suspicious if I wait outside, to see at what time this gentleman enters and departs and with what company." A winning argument; but could he be trusted? "No one is going to even consider me anything but the beggar I am." "You seem to know what room I'm located in. Phone me in an hour, I have to eat a little something, then I'll come down with a picture. I only pay you for confirmable information." "Sounds reasonable." Miles abandons the beggar, to head for his room. Once inside, introspection commences. How could the beggar be responsible for crashing his system? He had never been near the system. Was he truly a cracker? A newbie would have called himself a hacker, and indeed what this beggar had done was crack into the system. Insight fails to arrive. Confused, Miles calls room service, ordering broccoli soup with salad. He eats, and upon prescribed timing, the beggar calls. "I'll be down in a minute." Miles marches to the elevator, finding himself in the lobby in no time. "Here's a picture," he says, retrieving one from his pocket to offer it. Miles is cautious not to accidentally brush the scaly and dirt-infested hand. Studying the picture a moment, he then offers it back. "No, you keep it," Miles says, reluctant to touch anything the beggar's filthy hands had crossed. "All right." "If anything comes up," Miles says. "I'm in my room." Miles does not bother mentioning that he has the phone in Mr.Greenberg's room wired and the light bulb in Greenberg's lamp by his bedside also. Was any unorthodox activity transpiring in that bedroom within this week; Miles would be the first to know. "I won't let you down," the beggar says. Offering his hand, "my name is --" "I don't want to be your friend. You have a job to do, so just do it. Otherwise leave me alone. Peace out." "What the heck is your problem? Why are you such a bastard?" "I'm not having a good day, thanks to you." Snarling. "Blame yourself for that." "Whatever," Miles snaps, departing. Had Miles observed the ocean blue pity in the beggar's eyes, he might have felt different. He was too fueled with disgust to cogitate clear-headedly.
He leans sideways, playing the tape recording of the night's festivities in the room of Mr. Greenberg, his target. As expected, after a while of mostly static, moans set in. This is the proof he necessitates. He already earns his pay. Now only time is anxiety, until he can return home, demanding the second half of his pay. The beggar would prove worthless. Phone ringing. Cursing, Miles reaches over to grab the receiver. "It's me," the beggar informs. "He was in with a beautiful red-head around 2 a.m., she was around 5'9", she left this morning, just a couple of minutes ago. I would have called earlier, but I didn't want to wake you up." "Thanks for the info." "No problem boss, glad I could be of service." "Did she leave walking? Cab? Or does she own a vehicle?" "Limousine." This was unexpected news. "She must be his work partner." "Holding hands?" Miles was checking if indeed the beggar was honest. So far his story sounded true. "All right, phone me later, if she returns." "No problemo. Just one thing." "What?" "She seemed odd, in a rush." "Probably late for work, think nothing of it." "All right, you would know better than me." Before any more words can be shared Miles hangs up. He flicks on the television. A phone call. "Yeah," Miles says, picking up the receiver. "It's me. Are you aware your friend has not exited his room since that lady in the limousine was with him?" "What's your point?" "Odd isn't it, for a business trip, he's not doing much business." "I agree. What's it to me?" "Maybe you should call security, have them knocking on his door." "Why, you think he's dead?" "No, but something is definitely out of the ordinary." "Go back to begging." "I'm simply doing my job." "As your employer I'm asking for you to do it without thinking. You're my eyes and ears, I don't care for your brain." Hesitating. "Goodbye, sir." "Bye," Miles says hanging up. It certainly smells fishy that the man would remain in his suite an entire vacation or business ordeal, which ever it might be. Should he pay the scoundrel a visit? No he had a better idea. Miles reaches for his suitcase. Inside he locates a mustache with glasses and a toupee. Unceremoniously he disguises himself. Unrecognizable to the staff and whomever he might encounter his new persona would be. Within minutes he's knocking on the door of Mr.Greenberg. "Sir," he calls. "We must talk." No response; He tries the knob, the door's unlocked, he slides the door open, to walk in. Lights are off. Only the sun radiating though the window laminates. He trudges past a kitchen, entering the bedroom. This is the most deluxe of luxury suites in this hotel, splendid - His client is lying face down on the bed. "What the hell?" He rolls over the body, to stare at dry blood, with two tiny holes embedded in the neck, as if teeth of a vampire had sunk in. Was it the woman or beggar responsible? And why did it seem as if death was from a vampire? Miles escapes the suite to return to his room. He plays the tape from that night over and over. He can detect no time of death. Within minutes the beggar calls. "I think you should come downstairs,"he says. Miles forgets about the elevator, to bolt down the stairs. "What is it?" he asks. "Either this woman is an expensive prostitute or she scores easily." "You mean the redhead?" "Aye. Both nights she comes in with a different man, both men never exit the hotel thereafter." "It cannot be," Miles says. "Do you know something I don't?" "Tonight, you must call me down, as soon as her limousine pulls in." "That I will do." Night arrives; as expected a phone call alerts him to dash downstairs. Dash he does. In the lobby, he meets a beautiful redhead, holding hands with an older man. He has no doubt this is the beast. He follows them in the elevator, his disguise still worn. On the third floor the man leads his mistress exiting the elevator. Miles follows them to their door and continues down the hall as they enter. He returns to note the door number. After he heads to his room, he alters his disguise, to once more spy on the couple. He listens at the door, pervasive silence. This is ludicrous; he waits in the lobby instead, making sure not to miss the redhead upon her departure. In the morning she's found in the lobby. She could be a model - beautiful with a bone structure and skin texture indescribable. She flees the scene with speed. Miles waits until she's out of sight to whistle down a cab. He orders the driver to follow the limousine, passing two $50 bills to the hesitant driver. Grinning, the driver nods to pursue the limousine. The hour-long chase takes them out of the city. "This tab is going to be big," the driver informs. "You got money?" Miles reached within his pocket to retrieve a wallet. He flashes it open. "That's a lot of moola." "Sure is, now do your job." "Who's this person anyway?" "None of your business." "Probably better that way anyway." "That's the right attitude." Silence reigns supreme. Then, the limousine pulls in a driveway. "Stop here," Miles commands. "That will be an extra $53.60." Three twenties are handed over. "I'll give you twice that much if you wait for me, I shouldn't be too long." "You got yourself a deal, take your time." Miles nods. "Just hide yourself up ahead, all right my good man?" "All right." The cab guns down a half-kilometer stretch. Miles with caution sneaks in the back way, to find himself on the porch. He thanks angels, if such exist, for not giving his location away with the creak of a board and for complete absenteeism of guard dogs. Peeking in the window his sight falls upon the redhead - naked as can be. This is unreal. "Enter," she commands. She stares at him, before he can hide. How had he betrayed his presence or had she a seventh sense? "The door is unlocked." She's beautiful, with goddess breasts, creamy skin and surreal beauty. She's also dangerous. Her seeming harmlessness and attraction are not representative of her evil. Nonetheless, her physical attraction consumes his rationalization. He enters. He retrieves his silenced handgun to point it at her. "Who are you?" he asks. "That's no way to treat a lady." "Perhaps I should ask what are you?" "Perhaps you should forget the questions and talk to my chauffeur." Miles turns to where her vision is aiming. The beggar grins. "What is this? A conspiracy?" "No, you see my brother alerts me of any scum who happen to visit the city." "And you seduce them?" "Usually. We had fun with you - Detective." "If he's your brother why do you allow him to live in poverty?" "Because, it's preferable being poor than to be rich and ignorant." "You seem well off." Laughing. "Well, my money is made from people like you." "Meaning?" "Meaning your organs should sell well in the black market." Before Miles can instruct his finger to pull the trigger, the beggar wrestles him to the ground, pinning him into submission. Then the most beautiful woman he's ever seen snarls at him. Her kiss is venom, as are her enlarged teeth sinking into his neck. His last vision is of a beggar shedding clothes to transform into a bat.
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