She frowned at the half–empty glass in front of her. “Will this get me drunk?”
“Probably not,” Kelp said. “Unless you’re one of those rare people with the funny chemistry, you know.”
She looked at him as though she might begin to doubt him soon. She said, “How long are you here for?”
“Oh, for a while,” he said, and sipped from his own half–full glass.
She thought about that. “You like this hotel?”
“I’m not staying here,” he said.
She was surprised. “Why would you come in here,” she asked, “if you’re not staying here? You couldn’t have been just passing by.”
“I’ve got an appointment in the neighborhood,” he told her, and looked at his watch, and said, “pretty soon. So I’m killing time here.”
“So we’re ships passing in the night,” she said.
“Possibly,” Kelp said. “In this hotel, do they have that little refrigerator in the room full of stuff?”
“Beer,” she said, “and champagne, and macadamia nuts and trail mix.”
“That’s the one. Does it have bourbon?”
She considered, then pointed at her empty glass. “This stuff? I’m not sure.”
“I could come around later, take a look,” Kelp suggested. “I figure, my appointment, I’m probably done by three, maybe earlier, something like that.”
“That’s some late appointment,” she said.
“Well, you know, New York,” he said. “The city that never sleeps.”
“Well, I sleep,” she said. “Though not so much, actually, since Howard left. I suppose he isn’t coming back.”
“Doesn’t sound it,” Kelp said.
“I’m in 2312,” Anne Marie said. “When your appointment’s done, you know, you could try, knock on the door. If I’m awake, I’ll answer.”
Chapter 20
----
When Dortmunder woke up, he had no idea where the hell he was. Some beige box with the lights on and faint voices talking. He lifted his head, and saw an unfamiliar room, with a TV on, all the lights on, himself sprawled on his back atop a king–size bed with its thick tan bedspread still on it, and May slumped asleep in a chair off to his left, one of her magazines on the floor beside her. On the TV, people covered with blood were being carried to ambulances. Wherever it was, it looked like a real mess. Then, as Dortmunder watched, the people and the ambulances faded away and some candy bars began to dance.
Dortmunder sat up, remembering. The N–Joy Broadway Hotel. Max Fairbanks. The lucky ring. The service elevator. Andy Kelp coming by, later; one in the morning.
There was a clock radio bolted to the table beside the bed; its red numbers said 12:46. Dortmunder moved, discovering several aches, and eventually made it to his feet. He sloped off to the shiny bathroom, where he found his own personal toothbrush and toothpaste, plus the hotel’s soap and towels. When he finally came back out of the bathroom, feeling a little more human and alive, May was stirring in her chair, looking for her magazine, coming awake just as fuzzily as he had. Seeing him, she said, “I fell asleep.”
“Everybody fell asleep.”
They’d checked in late in the afternoon, hung around the room for a while to unpack and think things over, then had a pretty good dinner down in the hotel’s restaurant. Then May had gone back to the room to read while Dortmunder did a preliminary walk–through of the hotel, getting to know the lay of the land, then went back to compare what he’d seen with the floor plan placed on the inside of the room door in case of fire. “You Are Here.” “Use Staircase A.” “Do Not Use Elevator.” Still, they were marked, the elevators, on the floor plan.
The layout was simple, really. The hotel was basically a thick letter U, with the base of the U on Broadway and the arms of the U on the side streets. The space in the middle was occupied, down below, by the theater and by the hotel lobby, with a glass roof at the top of that lobby on the sixteenth floor. The U
“Probably not,” Kelp said. “Unless you’re one of those rare people with the funny chemistry, you know.”
She looked at him as though she might begin to doubt him soon. She said, “How long are you here for?”
“Oh, for a while,” he said, and sipped from his own half–full glass.
She thought about that. “You like this hotel?”
“I’m not staying here,” he said.
She was surprised. “Why would you come in here,” she asked, “if you’re not staying here? You couldn’t have been just passing by.”
“I’ve got an appointment in the neighborhood,” he told her, and looked at his watch, and said, “pretty soon. So I’m killing time here.”
“So we’re ships passing in the night,” she said.
“Possibly,” Kelp said. “In this hotel, do they have that little refrigerator in the room full of stuff?”
“Beer,” she said, “and champagne, and macadamia nuts and trail mix.”
“That’s the one. Does it have bourbon?”
She considered, then pointed at her empty glass. “This stuff? I’m not sure.”
“I could come around later, take a look,” Kelp suggested. “I figure, my appointment, I’m probably done by three, maybe earlier, something like that.”
“That’s some late appointment,” she said.
“Well, you know, New York,” he said. “The city that never sleeps.”
“Well, I sleep,” she said. “Though not so much, actually, since Howard left. I suppose he isn’t coming back.”
“Doesn’t sound it,” Kelp said.
“I’m in 2312,” Anne Marie said. “When your appointment’s done, you know, you could try, knock on the door. If I’m awake, I’ll answer.”
Chapter 20
----
When Dortmunder woke up, he had no idea where the hell he was. Some beige box with the lights on and faint voices talking. He lifted his head, and saw an unfamiliar room, with a TV on, all the lights on, himself sprawled on his back atop a king–size bed with its thick tan bedspread still on it, and May slumped asleep in a chair off to his left, one of her magazines on the floor beside her. On the TV, people covered with blood were being carried to ambulances. Wherever it was, it looked like a real mess. Then, as Dortmunder watched, the people and the ambulances faded away and some candy bars began to dance.
Dortmunder sat up, remembering. The N–Joy Broadway Hotel. Max Fairbanks. The lucky ring. The service elevator. Andy Kelp coming by, later; one in the morning.
There was a clock radio bolted to the table beside the bed; its red numbers said 12:46. Dortmunder moved, discovering several aches, and eventually made it to his feet. He sloped off to the shiny bathroom, where he found his own personal toothbrush and toothpaste, plus the hotel’s soap and towels. When he finally came back out of the bathroom, feeling a little more human and alive, May was stirring in her chair, looking for her magazine, coming awake just as fuzzily as he had. Seeing him, she said, “I fell asleep.”
“Everybody fell asleep.”
They’d checked in late in the afternoon, hung around the room for a while to unpack and think things over, then had a pretty good dinner down in the hotel’s restaurant. Then May had gone back to the room to read while Dortmunder did a preliminary walk–through of the hotel, getting to know the lay of the land, then went back to compare what he’d seen with the floor plan placed on the inside of the room door in case of fire. “You Are Here.” “Use Staircase A.” “Do Not Use Elevator.” Still, they were marked, the elevators, on the floor plan.
The layout was simple, really. The hotel was basically a thick letter U, with the base of the U on Broadway and the arms of the U on the side streets. The space in the middle was occupied, down below, by the theater and by the hotel lobby, with a glass roof at the top of that lobby on the sixteenth floor. The U
Similar Books
