these apartments?’ he asked.
‘Ocean Avenue, on the cliff front. Beach is a minute’s walk.’
‘Can we take a look?’
‘Sure thing.’
The taxi took a left at the lights on Second Street a block before the end of the boulevard, then second right towards Ocean Avenue, the main boulevard running along the top of the tree-lined cliffs. It pulled over in the middle of the block and stopped at the kerb outside a large pink building with a neon sign advertising Pacific Towers Apartments. Stratton paid the man, climbed out with his backpack, and looked up at the sixteen-storey structure.
Stratton walked in through the glass doors of the entrance. AChinese restaurant took up the ground floor on the left side and he went on through a short lobby and out into an open-air courtyard. The building took up three sides of a square and was open on the beach side. An old, dribbling fountain stood in the centre of the courtyard and a modern health club behind full-length glass windows was located on the right-hand side. Stratton crossed to a corner and went to push through another set of glass doors into what was obviously the reception area but they were locked. He could see a reception desk tucked away in the corner of a small lobby but there was no sign of life.
There was an electronic registry fixed on a wall to one side of the doors with a call button beside a small LED screen. He pushed the button. The screen requested him to enter an apartment number. One of the options he scrolled through was ‘manager’ so he selected it and hit the call button again. A moment later a dial tone purred from the small speaker followed by the electronic beeps of a number being dialled and then a ringing tone.
Seconds later a click was followed by a man’s voice. ‘Manager,’ it announced.
‘Hi. I’m looking for an apartment.’
‘We got no full-time apartments available.’
‘Short-term would be fine.’
‘It’s six-fifty a week plus utilities. How long you want it for?’
‘I don’t know. Couple of weeks, maybe.’
‘You pay weekly plus a two-week deposit up front.’
‘What floor’s it on?’
‘Fourth. In the back.’
Fourth was fine, Stratton thought.
‘You want it or not?’ the voice croaked.
Stratton had an image of a crusty middle-aged man who chain-smoked. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
The phone went dead and a buzzer in the door sounded. Stratton pushed it open and walked into the lobby that was clean and devoid of furniture apart from the reception desk. A pair of elevators occupied the centre of the lobby with a fire escape opposite and two corridors leading off in opposite directions, disappearing around corners and into the wings. A door slammed along one of the corridors and an overweight man in his forties with a cigarette hanging out of a large stubble-surrounded mouth walked around the corner where a sign indicated the entrance to the health club. He stepped behind the reception desk and produced a sheet of paper from a drawer.
‘Fill this in,’ he said, placing a registration form on the counter, a pen beside it. ‘That’ll be nineteen hundred fifty. You get the deposit back minus any damage and breakages when you leave.’
‘You take a credit card?’
‘Machine’s broke, cash only.’ The man reeled off the phrase as if he’d said it a thousand times.
Stratton had bought a couple of thousand dollars with his debit card at the airport but the taxis had eaten into it a bit. ‘Can I give you nineteen and the rest tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow’s fine. Room 411,’ the manager said, placing a ring with two keys on it on the counter as Stratton counted out the money. ‘The small key fits the lobby entrance. You gotta car?’
‘No,’ Stratton said, pushing the money towards him.
‘If you get one, parking’s fifty more a week. The health club’s free for you, ten dollars for guests,’ he said as he deftly counted the hundred-dollar bills. ‘We
‘Ocean Avenue, on the cliff front. Beach is a minute’s walk.’
‘Can we take a look?’
‘Sure thing.’
The taxi took a left at the lights on Second Street a block before the end of the boulevard, then second right towards Ocean Avenue, the main boulevard running along the top of the tree-lined cliffs. It pulled over in the middle of the block and stopped at the kerb outside a large pink building with a neon sign advertising Pacific Towers Apartments. Stratton paid the man, climbed out with his backpack, and looked up at the sixteen-storey structure.
Stratton walked in through the glass doors of the entrance. AChinese restaurant took up the ground floor on the left side and he went on through a short lobby and out into an open-air courtyard. The building took up three sides of a square and was open on the beach side. An old, dribbling fountain stood in the centre of the courtyard and a modern health club behind full-length glass windows was located on the right-hand side. Stratton crossed to a corner and went to push through another set of glass doors into what was obviously the reception area but they were locked. He could see a reception desk tucked away in the corner of a small lobby but there was no sign of life.
There was an electronic registry fixed on a wall to one side of the doors with a call button beside a small LED screen. He pushed the button. The screen requested him to enter an apartment number. One of the options he scrolled through was ‘manager’ so he selected it and hit the call button again. A moment later a dial tone purred from the small speaker followed by the electronic beeps of a number being dialled and then a ringing tone.
Seconds later a click was followed by a man’s voice. ‘Manager,’ it announced.
‘Hi. I’m looking for an apartment.’
‘We got no full-time apartments available.’
‘Short-term would be fine.’
‘It’s six-fifty a week plus utilities. How long you want it for?’
‘I don’t know. Couple of weeks, maybe.’
‘You pay weekly plus a two-week deposit up front.’
‘What floor’s it on?’
‘Fourth. In the back.’
Fourth was fine, Stratton thought.
‘You want it or not?’ the voice croaked.
Stratton had an image of a crusty middle-aged man who chain-smoked. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said.
‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
The phone went dead and a buzzer in the door sounded. Stratton pushed it open and walked into the lobby that was clean and devoid of furniture apart from the reception desk. A pair of elevators occupied the centre of the lobby with a fire escape opposite and two corridors leading off in opposite directions, disappearing around corners and into the wings. A door slammed along one of the corridors and an overweight man in his forties with a cigarette hanging out of a large stubble-surrounded mouth walked around the corner where a sign indicated the entrance to the health club. He stepped behind the reception desk and produced a sheet of paper from a drawer.
‘Fill this in,’ he said, placing a registration form on the counter, a pen beside it. ‘That’ll be nineteen hundred fifty. You get the deposit back minus any damage and breakages when you leave.’
‘You take a credit card?’
‘Machine’s broke, cash only.’ The man reeled off the phrase as if he’d said it a thousand times.
Stratton had bought a couple of thousand dollars with his debit card at the airport but the taxis had eaten into it a bit. ‘Can I give you nineteen and the rest tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow’s fine. Room 411,’ the manager said, placing a ring with two keys on it on the counter as Stratton counted out the money. ‘The small key fits the lobby entrance. You gotta car?’
‘No,’ Stratton said, pushing the money towards him.
‘If you get one, parking’s fifty more a week. The health club’s free for you, ten dollars for guests,’ he said as he deftly counted the hundred-dollar bills. ‘We
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