The midnight melody of the Knights Inn swung into its crescendo: the doorman’s muffled hum between cigarette puffs, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, and the periodical telephone ring. Jo sat behind the wooden barricade that separated her from the guests. A phone cord snaked her arm. She was halfway through the usual rigmarole of a guest complaining and then realizing for the amount they paid the conditions could have been much worse.
The squeak of Aziz’s shoes gradually became louder. He stopped in front of the desk and rested his palms on it. “I need to show you something.”
Jo raised an index finger in the air and with her eye, she motioned to the receiver placed upon her cheek. Aziz rolled his eyes and began to pace back and forth. She pointed with her nose to the scuffed pattern his shoes were leaving on the white tiles.
He stopped to inspect. “I’ll clean it later. Really. It’s fine. I need to show you something urgent.”
Aziz’s attention was now stolen by David who sat beside Jo. With eyes closed he leaned so far back in his chair that Aziz was sure it would snap at any moment. Jo finally hung up the phone and raised her brows.
“Take a look,” Aziz held up his phone.
She squinted. Trying her best to make sense of what was on the small screen. She shrugged and leaned back. Aziz shook the phone insisting she take a closer look.
“We get it dude. Your cell-phone has a camera. We’re living in the future bro,” David remarked sarcastically.
“Envy is not a good look,” Aziz hissed.
“I give up,” Jo replied. “What is it?”
“It’s a woman,” the buttons on the phone made a beeping sound as he zoomed in. “She’s chained up.”
“What?” David jerked up from his chair.
“I mean,” Jo took another look, “I guess. If you say so.”
“She had, like, a dog collar. Chained up against the bedpost.”
David’s eyes widened, “chained up?”
He nodded, “the quality is totally my fault on account of I had to take it discreetly while doing room service.”
“My god. What did she say?” the janitor seemed to materialize out of thin air. He looked at the dirty floor and then at Aziz’s shoes. “I have told you...” he shook his head, “never mind.” He pushed a mop into Aziz’s hands. “Your mess.”
Aziz’s hands wrung around the wooden pole. “She didn’t say a thing. Only yelped. Had this thing in her mouth. Like a ball.  I’m not sure. Whole thing had a serial killer vibe.”
Jo picked up the receiver. “Should I call the police?”
Mr Morgan, in his cluttered-up office, was bent over the electric kettle watching it boil. He awaited his fifth cup of coffee for the night. The mention of the word police had his ears prick up.
Suddenly the small group at the reception witnessed the rotund man powerwalking towards them.
“And then?” his baritone voice echoed through the room. His hands fell to his waist. His left foot tapped aggressively on the floor.
Aziz showed him the picture. “It’s a woman chained up in room 303.”
“What?” Mr Morgan slid on his glasses. He leaned so close to the phone that his nose was a whisker away from pressing one of the buttons. He recoiled back his head.
Jo had reached the police and before she could utter a word Mr Morgan’s fat finger dropped onto the hook switch.
“Look,” he sighed. “It’s,” he sought for the most proper and etiquette way to say it and then decided upon: “a sex thing.”
“A what?” the janitor asked.
“No… It can’t be. She was chained up,” David replied.
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “It is. Trust me. Haven’t you heard of,” he paused and the group witnessed his face bloom into pink. He whispered, “It’s BDSM.”
“BDS...”
“M,” Mr Morgan’s voice had a hint of frustration. “It’s consensual play. Certainly nothing to be causing a ruckus about. Certainly nothing of concern to stop you from doing your jobs. As you were,” he began to walk away and stopped, “or rather as you are meant to be.”
He slammed the door behind him. Dipped a finger into the kettle. The water was still hot. He poured his instant coffee and leaned back in his chair.