Genghis poured them champagne with a professional deftness, holding the bottle at its base and pouring delicately and accurately.

-Nicely done. Were you a waiter in a past life, or a waiter in your current life with expensive tastes?

-I’ve waited tables, amongst other things. What about you? Did your career have its stereotypical waitressing period?

-No. I was lucky. Everything fell into place from the start.

She moved them off the subject.

-Let’s have a toast. To the queen and king of the Boulevarde, roles so bestowed by the masses due to our sole occupation of the twentieth floor.

-Here, here.

They both took a long drink.

-I think we are more the captains of the Titanic – the last one’s off the ship.

-That’s what I said to the girl I met in the bathroom! Fools never differ. Another toast: to the captain’s of the SS Boulevard hyphen Titanic!

-Here, here.

A wave of disruption moved through the crowd. People were getting upset about, phone calls were being made. Here there was a face showing genuine concern. Genghis spoke.

-What’s with that?

He nudged a man who had just walked up to the bar.

-Hey buddy, what’s with all the shouting? Are they keeping us here overnight?

The man leaned in clumsily, drunkenly. He waved his arm across them.

-Free drinks are over! Finished! Everyone pays their own way.

He stood back up and nodded at them grimly for a moment, then leaned back in, placing a hand on Genghis’ should for support.

-I lie. Drinks are still free. But the police, the police are fingerprinting anyone missing anything. If their rooms are missing.

He stood back up and tried to regain his composure. He spoke like a thespian warming up.

-As I was saying. If there is anything missing from your room, the police will be taking your fingerprints. Now I must get a drink while I can still stand.

The ashtray, the gloss paint on the balcony furniture, the pot: they would all have her prints on them. Surely the drinking glasses would have shattered on impact. If they hit something hard they would have. Same with the ashtray. Bigger shards than the glasses. Same with the pot. The furniture would be a problem.

The elevator opened a man in uniform stepped out, flanked by two men in suits with badges hanging from the breast pockets. One stood in the door of the elevator, keeping it open. There were whispers and the crowd turned as one and fell silent. A moment later the music cut out. The man in uniform stood in their presence, in their silence and slowly scanned the crowd. Susie was sure he lingered on her. She gulped down some champagne.

-Ladies and gentlemen, I am Assistant Commissioner Robert Muldoney. First, I would like to apologise for the inconvenience to so many of you. We are throwing as many resources as we can at this situation and we are progressing things as rapidly as possible, but these things do take time. With luck you will be out of here before dinner. For your information this is now officially a murder investigation. Seven individuals were killed on the street outside of this hotel this morning, struck down by items thrown by guests and we shall…

Someone yelled from within the crowd.

-They were attacking the hotel.

-Be that as it may…

Someone else yelled.

-Where were the police?

This implication of neglect, the neglect of the police requiring them to act instead, got everyone excited.

-If you had been here this wouldn’t have happened!

-Where were the police?

The assistant commission held up his hands and waited for the crowd to quieten.

-The police were on their way, you were never in any danger.

A man at the front spoke.

-Bullshit. They never arrived. I watched the whole thing, from beginning to end. Two police cars, TWO, showed up AFTER everyone had left. Were they the police you’re talking about.

-Once it was communicated that the crowd had dis-banded, all unnecessary units were recalled.

The crowd jeered.

The assistant commissioner decided to wrap things up.

-Once again, thank you for your co-operation. I would like to suggest that you are careful about being impaired at the time of your interview.

-Screw you! – sailed from out of the crowd, followed by laughter. The music came back up as the three men re-entered the lift. They were watching the crowd with sullen faces as the doors shut.

The smiling girl was talking to her. She looked mid-twenties and was dressed kind of funky. Probably one of the groovy marketing types that the Boulevard attracted.

-Excuse me?

What was this girl talking about?

-What floor are you on?

-What floor am I on? What floor are you on? I thought we were on the roof.

The girl laughed like it was great joke.

-I’m going to have to steal that line. I’m tired of everyone asking what floor I’m on as well. It’s the icebreaker du jour today. Everyone you meet is like “what floor are you on?”, then it’s either “you’re so lucky!”, or “I’m sure the wait won’t be too long.” I’ve already had to write off my schedule for the entire day and put my return flight back two days because I fucked up everyone’s schedules. It’s a nightmare.

-I’m on the twentieth floor.

The girl gave her a look of exaggerated pity and waved her hand in the air.

-Ding ding. We have a winner! Twentieth floor!

All the women turned to look. Attention is not what Susie wanted. She gave them a sardonic wave.

-Your sympathy mean a lot. My only regret is that when they finally call my number I won’t hear it because I will be still waiting in line to have a pee.

Her new buddy grabbed her wrist.

-We’ve suffered enough. Let’s just go to the guys. It’ll be faster.

Susie nodded agreement. They slipped out past the growing tail of the line. There were a couple of guys at the urinals in the mens room, but the stalls were free, albeit a bit messy. What is with the spraying? Are they all dogs.

The mens room was empty when they came out of their stalls. They wrinkled their noses at each other. The girl wiggled her fingers in the air.

-That was bad. But I’ve seen worse.

Susie made agreeable noises while she washed her hands. The girl was quite pleasant.

-So, what floor are you on?

The girl laughed.

-5th floor, lucky me, poor you. It’s inescapable isn’t it? Just like a bug burrowing in there. And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t asked you, you might have escaped it. For a while anyway.

-You will be out of here before lunch at the rate they are going.

-I hope so. Not that will help much. You are lucky you and your friend found seats. You are going to need them by the end of the day.

-He’s not my friend. We’re just hotel neighbours. We’re the only two on the twentieth floor.

-I here the rooms there are really nice. He’s cute. Is he nice?

-He seems alright. How nice can a guy named Genghis really be?

-You’re kidding? Genghis? That’s insane.

-He hasn’t proved it yet. Said he left his wallet in his room.

-Well, darling, if he gets weird, or you get bored, feel free to come over and join us. We’ve got people from all floors.

-From all nations, from all walks of life.

-Not really. I don’t think there is anyone above the twelfth floor.

They exited the mens room.

-Thanks for dragging me in there. You saved me from public disgrace. And I never got your name.

-Jackie. How could I not help the queen of the Boulevard.

Susie laughed.

-I feel like the captain of the Titanic. Everyone is getting off but me. I’m Susie. I hope you get out soon.

The girl tilted her head on one side and smiled.

-I thought that was your name. It was really nice meeting you.

She gave a little salute.

-Au revoir

Then she walked off, through the crowd, back to her compatriots. Susie rolled her eyes to the ceiling and wished again that those two words would not haunt her forever. Could have been worse. Clinging. Stalking. Over at the bar she could see an ice bucket behind Genghis. An excellent plan. He seemed deep in thought, and quite concerned. He looked up as she was approaching and his smile came back on.

-One day I would love to know what women do in there that takes so long.

-It’s called conversation. It’s the only place where women can get a decent one. And since the queues are always so long we have plenty of time to indulge ourselves. Me and another girl ended up having to go to the mens. It’s like a nightclub at 2am. I see you have decided to save money and buy champagne in bulk.

-I thought I would join you in the champagne drinking. As original and creative as the Boulevard Sling is, I have had enough.

-Stop talking then and start pouring.

He smiled – That’s Mr. Somgai to you. S, O, M, G, A, I. My father is Cantonese.

-Oh? I thought you were being flippant with me when you said that on the balcony.

He nodded – I was. I am. My real name is Genghis, Genghis Turkev.

-Now you’re lying.

-Now I’m telling the truth.

He was enjoying this. She was sure he has run through this exchange countless times. There was no way she would ask about his accent.
-Would you like to see my driver’s license?

-Yes.

There commenced a charade of patting pockets. He smiled wider.

-My wallet’s in my room. All I brought was my key card.

He picked it up off the bar to show her. Susie pulled hers out of the back pocket of her track suit and waved it in the air.

-Me too. I wouldn’t have brought it if I knew the drinks were free. Wait, yes I would.

A low chuckle escaped Susie. She remembered she was yet to have any breakfast. She snapped her room card onto the bar, next to Genghis’. Two room cards, side by side, just like their rooms, just like them on their stools. There was a small pause in Susie’s thoughts. I hope he does not think there is any significance in that little card placement. Best to keep moving.

-So Genghis, if I may call you that since I have already forgotten your novel surname, what brings a mother to name her child so, and what effect has it had on your development?

Genghis shrugged.

-It is not an uncommon name where my parents are from. As for effect, I’ve found that men named Genghis grow up with a hankering for riding ponies very fast across steppes and razing villages.

-You’re very smooth, Genghis. I think you might be very practiced at this “My name is Genghis” game.

-Very practiced. Most women allow it to progress to talk of pillaging maidens, but you seem to have nipped it in the bud.

She was finishing her champagne, the stem pointing to the ceiling, waiting for the last drop to slide onto her tongue. Having drained the glass she placed it delicately on the bar, demonstrating that while her tongue may have slipped her poise remained unaffected.

-I’m sorry, Genghis. I’m very impatient. Once I know where things are heading I don’t see the point of dawdling. It can be a curse, especially around men who fancy themselves orators.

He gave a mock gasp of disbelief.

-I can’t believe I didn’t notice! You are clever! And you backhand so well! I promise to keep speeches to a minimum, to ensure that you have plenty of time to expound on whatever, blah blah, etc.

Susie straightened herself up on her stool and looked down her nose at Genghis. He was resting on an elbow propped up against the bar and was so half a head lower than her, making her imperiousness possible.

-Sir, I am deeply offended by your sarcasm… but suitably impressed by your backhand return. You will, however, be penalized for the poor finish.

Her posture and tone had caught him by surprise. His face had dropped initially, just a little bit. A narrowing of the eyes and a small fall in the corners of his mouth. It was such a small shift she could not tell if it was exasperation or concern. Maybe it was just curiosity. His expression improved once she moved on, and he found the demand for a penalty worth a chuckle.

-Very good. You play the princess very well. What is the penalty?

-Get us more drinks. Expensive champagne this time, since it’s free and mind my seat while I visit the ladies.

Susie slid off the stool and crossed the room, through the crowd, to the back corner where the dj was set up and the doors to the bathrooms were. Inside she found the inevitable queue. Not even lunch time and the bar has queues for the toilets. The girl at the end of the line gave her a smile as she joined in. She gave her a quick smile back. This was going to take forever.

-What floor are you on?

-Boulevard Sling wasn’t my first choice. It definitely had to have sling in the title, but I started out with the Susie Sling, the Bordelle Sling, the Susie Bordelle Sling.

-Stop saying my name. I don’t need that now.

- But when I got up here I realized it was much bigger than one person, and thus the Boulevard Sling.

Their drinks arrived. She liked the size of the champagne flute. The bartender gave her a wink and a little bow and quiet “au revoir”. She scoffed.

-Did you tell anyone else you’re funny little drink names, huh? Like that bartender? I really hope not because if you

-I didn’t tell anyone anything. If I recognized you, anyone else can. How long have you been in this hotel?

-Two days.

-Have you been up to this bar before?

-Yes.

-In disguise?

-I get your point. I’m just a little sensitive.

The background music cut out. The dj read out an announcement.

-Will the occupants of room two zero eight please make their way to the Arthur Wromm dining room on the ground floor.

A cheer went up from the crowd and a young couple went to the elevator, waving back to the bar as the doors closed. The music started up again. Susie was surprised at the lighthearted reception.

-They seem to be enjoying this.

-Maybe they think they are innocent, maybe it’s the free drinks.

-Free?

-Compliments of the Boulevard for the inconvenience.

-They are going to be roaring by the time of our interviews.

-When our interviews happen, there will be no-one left. You may cheer me out, if you so wish, but who will cheer you out?

-Everyone will come back to keep drinking.

-It doesn’t look they are allowed back. I guess they either leave, if that is their plan, or they remain downstairs in the other bar, so as not to pollute the other interviews.

The music stopped again.

-Will the occupants of room two zero nine please make their way to the Arthur Wromm dining room. The police desire the pleasure of your company.

Another cheer. An older man in a business suit shook a few hands in the circle he was standing with and walked to the lift, paying his dues to the crowd with a small wave over his shoulder, not turning around until he was in the elevator, where he gave a solemn wave before the doors closed.

The man took a sip of his drink.

-I admire their methodicalness, if that is a word. According to Jake – he pointed to the guy behind the bar- while they interview you they catalog the contents of your room, to see what might be missing, or rather, what might be found on the street.

Shit. She found herself laughing. They were not going to find much to catalog in her suite. She had a sobering thought. Maybe the paintings were originals. She was sure they were prints. She remembered they looked very smooth when she held them on the balcony, not like an oil painting. The heavy frames made them fall like blades instead of fluttering down like leaves. Still, it was only money. Fancy as the Boulevard was its fitting and décor weren’t top of the line. The balcony furniture was pretty generic. White coated cast iron. Fancified old fashioned lawn furniture, all curlicues and ivy. If she had to replace everything it wouldn’t be much. Emptying the mini-bar: that was an expensive mistake.

Another room number was read out to more cheers. No-one moved towards the lift. Everyone looked around, whispering and shrugging, and the music continued. Susie had a drink, rather than a sip, of her champagne.

-They are getting through the numbers very quickly.

-They probably have a several detectives doing the interviews simultaneously. They are almost up to the third floor. We are on the twentieth. We have hours and hours of waiting in front of us. I hope I will be sober enough to face them when the time comes.
The two of them were sitting with their backs to the bar, watching the crowd, turning to pick up their drinks. They were silent for a moment. Susie studied his profile.

-Do you have a real name, Guy?

Maybe packing would be a better a idea. She started opening drawers. She had a lot of clothes and things. Giving Shoshona the day off today had been act of bad timing. Just the champagne and some music. That would make the packing more pleasant. Where had Shoshona put her bags? She went to the mini-bar and wrestled a champagne out of its grasp. For a moment she thought of firing the cork into the sky from the balcony and her mind’s eye followed it down, down to bounce off the street in front of a dour detective who would watch it roll to halt against a shattered miniature palm. Then he would look up and see her head over the balcony and then he would say something into a walkie talkie and shortly thereafter she would here a knock at her door.

Better to open the bottle indoors. And the xanax might help. She held onto the cork as she eased it out of the bottle. The soft, aspirated pop was quite like the sound the first pot plant made when it landed in the crowd. She took a drink from the bottle. God I love champagne. She was already feeling better. Going through her purse she found her pill box, a thimble-sized enameled silver trinket from the Victorian era. It held three whole xanax and collection of fragments. A whole one would be nice, but the champagne, the packing, the police… She tweezed out a tiny wedge with her nails and chewed it up and washed it down with another swig from the bottle. You would think that if they were going to provide champagne that there would be flutes in the room. She wasn’t going to drink champagne from a tumbler. The tumblers were gone, over the balcony.

She moved her suitcases from the closet to the beds and opened them and opened drawers and picked up her phone and called Shoshona. So her day off needed to be re-scheduled. If she wanted to work with Susie she would have to do the right thing. The call went to voicemail. The little bitch was screening her calls. She got Shoshona’s number up on the screen and punched it into the hotel phone. Voicemail. Maybe her phone was off. Why would anyone turn their phone off? Maybe it’s not off. Maybe she was in an accident and her phone was destroyed. Susie was going to have to finish the packing on her own. She would finish the champagne, then she would pack.

Perhaps there was something on the news about the riot. She turned on the TV and went to one of the news channels. They were talking about the stockmarket. Blah. She tried the other news channels. Nothing about the riot. It did start and end pretty quickly. There hadn’t been any cameras or TV trucks. There had to be some mention of it. Maybe the local midday news will have a story on it. She checked her watch. That’s more than an hour away. The champagne was finished. Time to pack, time to pack.

She dug her hands in under the clothes of each drawer and dumped them in a bundle in a suitcase. She filled one suitcase and lost interest. She wasn’t going to avoid the police interview, so why was she packing. They wouldn’t be able to prove anything. So someone downstairs says they saw a pot plant falling. It could have been an accident. And where were the police? That’s why everyone was throwing stuff. They would have rushed the hotel and once they were inside who knows what would have happened. They might have killed people, stolen things, even burned the place down.

Fuck this boring shit. The rooftop bar would be a better distraction. She tied her hair in a ponytail and put on a baseball cap and a pair of large wrap-around sunglasses, so large they looked like they had been taking from the flight helmet of a fighter pilot. Having covered herself up she took a look in the full length mirror that hung on the wall by the door. The track suit was a little casual, but the brand was impeccable. She must find a way to defeat the post-twenties paunch. She took nothing with her but the room card.

The rooftop bar was right above the top floor suites, but there were no stairs and the elevator was required. The doors opened to reveal a large number of people with drinks and cigarettes, talking excitedly. Everyone had made the same decision as Susie and they were all going to drink their way through the interview process. Not much chance of a quiet drink. She looked around the crowd, seeking somewhere empty of people. At the bar, waving to her, was the man from the balcony. There was an empty chair beside him. The body of the crowd was divided by the shadow of the roof of the bar. The outside tables, the ones she could see, were taken. She shrugged to herself. At least she would have a seat, so she walked over to the bar.

-Hi Guy. Thanks for the seat.

-No problem. Can I get you a drink? Boulevard Slings are very popular at the moment.

-Never heard of it. What’s in it?

-Vodka and tomato juice poured over cracked ice, garnished with a blade from a palm frond.

-Are you serious?

She would have liked to look over her glasses at him, but they went up to the brim of her hat.

-Yes. I made it up a few minutes ago. See.

He held up his glass. It held a blade of palm and there was the soft red of tomato juice in the dregs at the bottom.

-That’s very clever. Though I think the name is better than the drink. I will stick to champagne, if I may.

-Certainly.

He waved the bartender over and Susie selected from their wine list something mildly expensive. He didn’t flinch, he just ordered another one of his drinks.

Susie slumbered well into the morning, woken at last by outside noise – people, shouting, gunfire and breaking glass, the thud of rocks, distinctive sound of cars being turned over by a mob and set alight. It took some listening to decode. She went out on the balcony and pushed a table aside so she could peer over the edge. In the street, twenty or so stories down, there was a riot going on. Two black minivans were on fire. Signs were being waved but she was too high up to read them. Where were the police? The riot squad?

There were heads poking out of balconies below. Everyone watching the riot. They were probably all wondering where the police were. If the rioters stormed the hotel they would all be sorry. She picked up the ashtray that sat on the table. It was square and heavy. She turned it over a few times in her hands. They couldn’t be allowed to get away this. She flung it out into the air and fall from sight. She didn’t want to see it reach its target. The noise continued. Looking over the edge again, it appeared that the ashtray had no effect. There was a potted palm of some sort, sitting in a white glazed pot. Dropping a pot plant on them. That gave her a wry smile. It was an effort, but she wrestled it onto the balcony rail and like a bombardier considered her target below, waiting for the right moment to release it.

-You can’t do that.

There was a man was watching her from the balcony of the adjacent room.

-You’re going to kill someone.

She gave the pot a push and brushed her hands at the man. Looking over the edge she could see the green shape of the palm lying in the crowd. The people around it were looking up at the hotel. Another potted plant fell into the crowd, followed by more plants, chairs, tables, ashtrays, bars of soap. Guests were emptying their rooms onto the heads of the rioters, who were now looking up, dodging, scattering. One or two fired guns at the hotel, others threw back what they could pick up. Any pockets of resistance were met with a concerted bombing with hotel furnishings – more ashtrays, drinking glasses, irons. There were bodies lying on the ground, other casualties were being dragged or carried away from the hotel. Two police cars and an ambulance arrived silently. The officers and paramedics got out of their cars and wandered amongst the litter. They looked up at the hotel, at the guests hanging over the balconies. The police exchanged words with the paramedics and started up the stairs into the hotel. The paramedics bent over a fallen figure.

-You started everyone throwing stuff.

The man next door was talking to her again.

-If the police start arresting people over this I think they are going to start with you.

-It was self-defence. Anyway, they won’t work out it was me.

-Really?. I’m imagining they start on the first floor, asking people questions, and someone says they saw a pot plant fall and hit the street and that’s when they started throwing stuff. Incited they were. So the police go up to the next floor and the people there say the same thing. Are you with me? Even if everyone is lying we are on the top floor and you don’t have a pot plant, or a table or any chairs.

-It could have been someone else. It could have been you.

The man turned and swept his arm game show style.

– Pot plant, table, two chairs, ashtray. I didn’t throw anything. And looking along the other balconies on this floor, they’ve all got their pot plants. And I would even bet that the rooms are unoccupied. I didn’t see anyone on them during the disturbance.

The man looked a little older than her, probably in his late 30s. He was dressed casually. Smarter than jeans, less formal than a collar. Pampered. No, groomed. Susie wondered if he was a pedicure man. He wasn’t wearing sandals. He was watching her, waiting for her response. He would have recognized her.

-Do you know who I am? She asked him. It was a query rather than a question.

-Yes. Do you know who I am?

-No. Who are you?

The man shrugged.

– Some guy. Good luck with the police. I kind of hope they don’t arrest you for murder. Au revoir.

He turned and went back into his room, closing the balcony door and dropping the curtain over it.

Down on the street two more ambulances had arrived, along with several police cars and vans. They were starting to block off the street in front of the hotel. Barricades were being put in place. Balding men in suits were walking amongst the debris and pointing at the ground, at the bodies, up at the hotel. Two stopped and squatted next to one of the bodies. The paramedics had draped a small blanket over the face and chest. The men peered under it. They stood and scanned the face of the hotel, hand over eyes. Susie moved back from the balcony. What the man had said was now worrying her. It would probably be a good idea to check out.

Reception took forever to answer the phone. Everyone probably had the same plan. Finally a woman’s voice on the other end of the call.

-Boulevard reception, how may I help you?

-Oh hi. This is room twenty oh two. I just got off the phone to my father, and my mother has gone into hospital. She’s been battling cancer of the jaw for some time now and it seems like she has taken a turn for the worse. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I just wanted to explain that I will be checking out sooner than I originally planned and I was wondering if you could have my bill ready for me in about half an hour?

-Ma’am, I am sorry about your mother, but the police have asked us to request that all our patrons stay in the hotel until they have been interviewed.

-What? My mother is dying! The police can’t keep us here!

-Ma’am, the Boulevard Hotel’s policy is to co-operate fully with law enforcement officials. I suggest you talk to the police directly. I am sure they will be happy to assist you in getting out of here as quickly as possible. Given your situation I am sure they could see fit to interviewing you before your floor is called. Is there anything else I can assist you with?

-Yes, get me the manager.

More waiting. The concierge came on the line. He was slicker, but just as unrelenting and he wore her down.

-As I have said, ma’am, my hands are tied. We would both be, I don’t know, interfering with an investigation? Conspiring to flee a crime scene? We would not want that, not when we have done nothing wrong. I completely understand how you feel right now. My own mother, god rest her soul, died of lung cancer. It was the hardest time of my life. What I can do for you, what I will do for you, is I will open the phone line in your room. All your calls from now on will be compliments of the house. When you can’t be there in person, a call is the next best thing. Is there anything else I can assist you with?

Susie felt like she really was abandoning her mother. Crushed like velour.

-A drink.

-Your mini-bar is stocked with a wide selection of quality branded spirits, wine, beer and soft drink. And until we are directed otherwise, our rooftop pool and bar will remain open.

-Thank you.

-You are welcome. Thank you for choosing the Boulevar – I am so sorry, it gets a bit mechanical habit. I am sure the police won’t take too long. And do consider my offer of moving your interview forward. I will let you go now, you have important calls to make.

Oh god. Susie pulled her fingers through her hair. She looked at her watch and dialed the phone number of her mother’s house. She will be out. The machine picked up.

-Hi, it’s me. Just checking to see how you and dad are going. I thought you would be back from the hospital by now. Ummm, I’m going to be running around all day, in and out of meetings and fittings, so it’s probably easiest if I call back tonight. If things run late I will call you tomorrow morning. Love you, bye.

She laid the receiver on the bed while she brushed and arranged her hair. She made the call the hotel would expect to see. May as well make it look good. Not that anyone, anyone important, was going to see her hair today. She put the receiver back on the hook and sat on the bed. She could think of nothing to do but fidget. There were two cute little bottles of French champagne in the mini-bar. That would help. Or a xanax. Or a bit of both. A little mouse nibble on a xanax and one of the little champagne bottles.