‘Where are you heading?’ Juraj protested, a look of both amazement and intrigue at the sight of the old detective making his way in such an uncouth and foreign manner. Edgar was normally so calm and collected, it was almost entertaining for Juraj to merit such a spectacle.
‘I don’t have time to explain,’ responded Edgar breathlessly. ‘I must make a phone call immediately.’
The puzzlement and fascination further captured Juraj’s imagination as the emotion flurried across his face. Milos stood silent and quite simply bemused.
Juraj mustered himself to shout out and ask Edgar what on earth was going on—but it was too late, as Edgar had already disappeared around the corner.
All the while, the clerk stood before the desk, shuffling and shifting around, a shadowy figure dressed all in black. He pretended to have not overheard the conversation as Edgar rushed on by.
Milos and Juraj made their way up to the latter’s room and, upon passing Edgar’s, they noticed he had left the door ajar in his haste.
What exactly is so important that Edgar left in such a hurry? Juraj pondered to himself.
‘Should we...?’ Milos started, gesturing towards Edgar’s room.
‘No, better not,’ responded Juraj, his face concerned, fraught with hesitation and respect. He knew that Edgar was not a man who would take kindly to his belongings being rummaged through by a pair of young busybodies such as themselves!
The pair make their way into Juraj’s room and passed the time in conversation, catching up on how events had come to be.
‘Milos, the note, the one you had found—when and where did you find it, exactly?’ began Juraj, as they sat down in the empty drab room, light only just seeping in through a pair of partially drawn curtains.
‘I’d found the note within my pocket. It is hard to say how or when it had gotten there. I had been with Peter some days before his… death,’ Milos gulped, a look of pity escaping him as he searched Juraj’s eyes for permission to continue. A gently reassuring nod from Juraj suggested it was okay to do so.
‘We discussed many things… money, business, women—you know how it is Juraj, all of the usual chit-chat and conversation between us friends that we are accustomed to. But I must confess, something seemed different about Peter. He looked… troubled. In fact, he acted in a strange manner quite unlike him—he was agitated and quick to anger.’
Juraj nodded in agreement, confirmation for Milos to press on. ‘There is something else, something I have yet to tell you or that Soviet detective, Juraj.’ Milos spoke the last words with his eyes facing down, clearly wrought with embarrassment and shame.
‘What in God’s name is it, Milos? What is it that you have not told us?’ Juraj spoke through gritted teeth, raising his body taut and upright with rigid concern and heightened attention.
‘My secret Juraj…I have a problem. How can I put this? I have a drinking problem you see, Juraj—I can’t get enough of the stuff.’
‘Everyone knows that,’ replied Juraj, who relaxed slightly, a sign of relief washing over his face.
‘There is more, though,’ Milos spoke meekly before Juraj had a chance to embrace him in celebration.
‘What,’ Juraj snapped abruptly.
‘Business hasn’t been as good as it ought to,’ started Milos, sheepishly and unable to meet Juraj’s now intense gaze. ‘So, what with my problem and all, I’ve been short on money, and… well. Juraj, I am very ashamed of myself—I want you to know that.’ Milos trailed off as he clasped his face, his eyes welling up, tears dripping slowly onto the aged, dank carpet below.
‘Idiot,’ hissed Juraj. ‘You’ve been stealing money from Peter, that’s your damn secret?’
‘Yes,’ wept Milos, shame and guilt-stricken through his being as he reminisced on past actions and choices, wishing he could take back the damage and destruction he had brought upon the people who had cared for him most.
‘Let me get this straight for a moment,’ Juraj spoke aloud, tying the events together. ‘Someone out there knows what you’ve been getting up to behind Peter’s back, and they have blackmailed you into coming all the way down here… why?’
Milos looked up, wiping a tear away from his eye, less a conceited man than that of ten minutes before. He appeared humbler to Juraj now, more human.
‘That’s what I’m still trying to figure out myself,’ said Milos. ‘I’ve followed the instruction for fear of my own self-preservation, but until I met you and Edgar, not a whole lot has happened of anything, nothing seems connected to me.’
‘Agreed,’ remarked Juraj. ‘Unless someone wanted us to meet down here.’
There was a pause and silence in the room as the pair searched their own thoughts for meaning or resolution of the fates that linked them. Two friends from Prague found themselves in the same hotel room together in Bratislava, both instigated from the original source—the death of Peter, both friend and brother. What was it they were missing?
‘Christ,’ Juraj finally spoke, breaking the long-adjourned stillness between them. ‘If only Edgar were here to shed some light on this. No doubt he would have an idea or two on where we go next from here.’
‘Edgar!’ proclaimed Milos with a raised voice, as they both collectively noticed Edgar has been gone for quite a considerable time.
‘Best try find the old devil,’ Milos suggested.
‘You’re right, I’ll go,’ said Juraj as he began to stand.
‘No—please,
