Two Trains Running
Page 4
Under other circumstances, the clerk would have asked a couple of questions—friendly questions, of course. But there was something about this man, some . . . stillness to him, that made the clerk nervously finger the single pearl anchored precisely in the center of his plum-colored necktie.
“Rufus will show you up to your room, sir,” the clerk said, as a handsome mahogany-colored man in his early thirties approached the front desk, dressed in a resplendent red bellhop’s uniform, with rows of gold braid across the chest and “Claremont” spelled in the same material on his round cap. “We hope you enjoy your stay with us. If there’s anything you need, just let us know.”
“Thanks,” said the guest. He picked up his attaché case, and pointed with his chin to the two suitcases on the floor. The bellhop hefted the two suitcases, said, “This way, sir,” and started toward the elevator.
In response to the bellhop’s ring, the elevator cage slowly descended. It was opened by an elderly man whose teakwood complexion was set off by a skullcap of tight gray curls. He was wearing a red blazer with the “Claremont” name and crest on the breast pocket.
“We need eight, Moses,” the bellhop told him. “The top floor,” he added, unnecessarily.
“Sure thing,” the elderly man said. “Welcome to the Claremont, suh,” he told the guest.
“Thank you,” Dett replied.
The cage came to a dead-level stop on the eighth floor, the operator working the lever so smoothly there was no sensation of movement.
“Very nice,” the guest said, touching the brim of his hat.
“Yes suh!” the operator said, flustered. He had been driving that elevator car for more than twenty years, and this was the first time anyone had ever taken note of his dextrous touch, much less complimented him on it.
The bellhop led the way down the hall. When he came to the last door on his left, he put down one of the suitcases and withdrew a key from his pants pocket in one fluid motion. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, stood aside for the guest to precede him, then picked up both suitcases and followed.
The bellhop opened the door to the bathroom, turned on the taps, opened the medicine cabinet. Then he walked officiously to the windows and drew back the curtains, clearly on a tour of inspection.
“This here’s one of our very best rooms,” he told the guest. “Over to the front side, it can get real noisy, with all the traffic in the street. Back here, it stays nice and quiet.”
“It’ll be fine,” the guest said, handing over a dollar.
The bellhop’s smile broadened. Most professional travelers generally thought a quarter was generous. The action men, the gamblers and the hustlers, they always went for halves. Only Hoosiers and honeymooners tipped dollars. Rufus, who knew an omen when he saw one, resolved to play 809 when the numbers runner came by that afternoon.
“If there’s anything you need, sir, anything at all, you just ask for Rufus. Whatever you might want, I get it for you.”
“This a dry town?” the guest asked.
“No, sir. Truth is, folks comes here, they want to get themselves a taste.”
“Appreciate your honesty,” the guest said, handing over a ten-dollar bill. “This’ll buy me a fifth of Four Roses, then?”
“With plenty to spare, sir,” the bellhop confirmed. “I’ll be right back.”
On his way over to the liquor store a block away from the hotel, the bellhop congratulated himself on not lying about the easy availability of liquor in Locke City—the guest had asked the question as if he already knew the answer. Whoever he is, Rufus thought, he ain’t no Hoosier.
The man who had signed the register as Walker Dett tossed his two suitcases onto the double bed, gave the room a thirty-second sweep with his eyes, then picked up his attaché case and walked out into the corridor. He rang for the elevator.
“Going out already, suh?” the operator said, as the guest stepped into his car.
The man held up his hand in an unmistakable “Wait a minute” gesture. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Just want to talk to you for a couple of minutes, Moses.”
“Me, suh?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind.”
The operator turned his head, looking squarely at the man standing behind him. Waiting.
“My name’s Dett,” the tall man said, extending his hand to the operator. “Walker Dett.”
“It’s my pleasure to know you, Mr. Dett,” the operator said, palming the five-dollar bill as smoothly as he handled the elevator car. “Anything you need around here, you just—”
“You had time, size me up yet?”
“No, suh. It ain’t my place to be—”
“You’re a man who keeps his eyes open, I can tell.”
“Now, I don’t know nothing about that, suh. All I can see, you some kind of a businessman. A serious businessman,” the operator said. He kept his hand on the lever, ears alert for the buzzer which would summon the car.
“That’s right,” Dett said. “I’m here on business. And in my line of work, you know what’s really valuable?”
“No, suh.”
“Information. Every workingman needs his tools. And information, that’s a tool, isn’t it?”
“Sure could be, suh.”
“Some people, they think, in a hotel, it’s the desk clerk that knows everything that goes on. Others, they think it’s the bellhops. Some, they read too many paperback books, they think it’s the house dick. But you know what I think?”
“No, suh,” the elderly man said, evenly. “I don’t know what you think.”
“I think it’s not the job you do, it’s how long you’ve been doing it that makes you the man in the know. I think, a man gets to be a certain age, instead of people having respect, instead of them listening to him, they talk around him like he’s not even in the room. Like he’s wallpaper. A man like that, he gets to hear all kinds of things. You think I could be right?”
“Yes, suh. I believe you could be.”
“And a man like that, he’s not just worth something for what he knows; he’s worth double, because people don’t know he knows. Could I be right about that, too?”
“You surely could, suh.”
“You know what a ‘consultant’ is, Moses?”
“No, suh. I never heard of one.”
“Well, a consultant is a man you go to for advice. You ask him questions, he’s got answers. You ask him how to solve certain problems, he’s got the solutions. Man like that, he could make a good living, doing what he does.”
“Is that what you do, suh?”
“I think,” Dett said, tucking another five-dollar bill into the breast pocket of the operator’s blazer, “that’s what you do.”
The buzzer sounded. The two men exchanged a quick look. Dett stepped out of the elevator car, and the operator slid the lever to the “down” position.
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 12:25
* * *
The knock on the door of Room 809 was that of an experienced bellhop—firm and deferential at the same time.
“Come on in,” Dett called from behind the partially opened bathroom door. He had positioned himself so that the medicine cabinet’s mirror gave him a clear view of the doorway. As the bellhop closed the door behind him, Dett slipped the derringer he had been holding into the pocket of his slacks and came out, giving his hands a finishing touch with the washcloth he carried.
“Here’s your liquor, sir. I don’t know how you takes it, so I brought you some ice, just in case,” the bellhop said, holding up a small chrome bucket.
At a nod from Dett, the bellhop placed the bottle and the ice bucket on top of a chest of drawers. Next to it, he ostentatiously deposited the change from the ten dollars he had been entrusted with.
“There’s too much there,” Dett said.
“Too much? But, sir, you said a fifth.”
“Too much money, Rufus,” Dett said. “You’re about a dollar heavy, the way I see it.”
“Just about so much,” Dett said, indicating a generous inch with his thumb and forefinger. “Over the rocks.”
“There you go, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“Yes, sir. If you need anything else . . . ?”
“What hours do you work?”
“Me? Well, my regular shift is six to six. But I never mind putting in no extra time, if it’s needed. Everybody got to do that, even Mister Carl—that’s the deskman.”
“I got it,” Dett said, carrying his drink over to the room’s only easy chair and sitting down. It was clearly a dismissal.
The bellhop started for the door, then turned slightly, his eyes on the carpet. “Sir, what I said about needing anything else? That don’t have to be from the hotel, sir.”
“I don’t want any—”
“No, sir, I understand. Man like you, he don’t want no colored girl. But I got kind of an . . . arrangement, like. Make one phone call, get you anything up here you might want.”
“I’ll remember,” Dett said.
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 12:36
* * *
As soon as the bellhop left, Dett closed the curtains. Then he opened the smaller of his two suitcases, took out a wooden wedge, and walked over to the door. He kicked the wedge under the door, then turned the knob and pulled it toward him. Even against strong pressure, the wedge held securely.
Turning his back on the door, Dett moved to the window, parted the curtains a slit, and peered outside. He glanced at his watch, then carried the untouched bourbon into the bathroom and emptied it into the sink, ran hot water over the ice cubes, and returned the unwashed glass to the top of the bureau. Moving methodically, he filled a second glass with fresh ice cubes and added tap water.
From the larger suitcase, Dett took a box of soda crackers. He drank a little of the water, then began eating, alternating the slow, thorough chewing of each bite with a sip of water.
Finished, he took a series of shallow breaths through his nose, pressing the first two fingers of each hand hard against his diaphragm as he exhaled.
Dett closed his eyes. A nerve jumped in his right cheek, so forcefully that it lifted the corner of his mouth. He continued the breathing, going deeper and deeper, until he fell asleep.
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 17:09
* * *
When Dett opened his eyes, the room was dark, but it was the artificial darkness of closed curtains. The luminescent dial on his wristwatch told him it was just past five; his body told him that it was afternoon. Dett got up, used the bathroom, and drank another glass of water.
Crossing over to the far wall, Dett again parted the curtains. He tried both windows, found they opened easily but only went up less than halfway, held in place by metal stoppers in the channels. Behind the hotel was an alley, on the other side of which was the back side of an undistinguished brick building.
Dett took a street map from his suitcase, turning it in his hands until he was oriented to his own location. Office building, he said to himself, looking out the window. Probably goes dark after they close for the day.
Dett picked up the phone, dialed “0,” and told the hotel operator he wanted the front desk.
Connected, he asked the foppish clerk if he could get a sandwich sent up to his room.
“Certainly, Mr. Dett,” the desk clerk said, pridefully. “At the Claremont, our kitchen is always open until one in the morning, for anything from a snack to a full-course meal. And you can get a breakfast order anytime after six as well. Just tell me what you’d like, and I’ll have it sent right up.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Dett said. He ordered a steak sandwich, a side of French fries, and two bottles of Coke. Then he undressed, took a quick shower, and put on fresh clothes.
When the knock came, twenty minutes later, Dett wasn’t surprised to see Rufus on the other side of the threshold.
“You do all kinds of work around here, don’t you?” he said to the bellhop.
“I tell you the truth, sir. They got a boy in the kitchen, supposed to deliver meals to guests. But I got this . . .”
“Arrangement?” Dett said, smiling thinly.
“Yes, sir. I see you know how things work in hotels.”
“How much of a piece does that Nancy-boy take?”
“Mister Carl? The way he work it, end of my shift, every dollar I get, he supposed to get a dime.”
“He must do all right for himself, then.”
“You mean, he got the same deal with all the boys? Yes, sir. He sure do. Man like him, he in a powerful position around here.”
“Knows what’s going on, huh?”
“Knows it all, sir. I swear, sometimes I think he got secret passageways or something. We had this little game going in the basement,” the bellhop said, miming shaking a pair of dice in his closed hand. “Just a few of the boys, on our break, you know? Well, one day, I come into work, Mister Carl, he tells me there’s a toll due. You see how he is?”
“Not yet, I don’t.”
“I don’t follow you, sir.”
“How much of a toll was he charging?”
“Oh. Well, he said it would cost a dollar.”
“For every game.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you stopped playing down there.”
“That’s right. How you know—? I mean, I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean no backtalk. Just surprised, is all.”
“Remember you asked me, did I see how he was? The desk clerk? Well, now I see how he is. Dumb.”
“Dumb? No, sir. Mister Carl, he a pretty slick—”
“If he charged you a quarter for every game, how much would he have made?”
“Well, we used to play every day, so . . .”
“Right. And how much is he getting from your games, now?”
“He ain’t . . . Oh, I see where you coming from, sir. Mister Carl, maybe he not so smart after all.”
“Let’s see if you are,” Dett said, handing the bellhop two one-dollar bills. “If Carl gets a piece of this, I’ll be real disappointed in you, Rufus.”
“You ain’t gonna have no cause to ever be disappointed in me, sir. My momma only raised but one fool, and that was my brother.”
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 18:19
* * *
The guest in Room 809 opened the steak sandwich carefully.
He removed the lettuce and tomato, examining each in turn. Dett rolled his right shoulder—a small knife slid out of his sleeve and into his hand. He thumbed the knife open, then meticulously trimmed the outer edges of the lettuce, cored the slice of tomato, and removed every visible trace of fat from the meat before he reassembled the sandwich.
Dett picked up all the discarded pieces, carried them to the bathroom, and dropped them into the toilet. He flushed, checked to see if everything had disappeared, then washed his hands.
It took him almost forty-five minutes to eat the sandwich and French fries. He spaced sips of Coke evenly throughout, taking the final one after he swallowed the last of the sandwich.
Dett poured approximately three shots of the Four Roses into a glass. He carried it to the bathroom, emptied the contents into the toilet, and flushed again.
Then he sat and waited for darkness to bloom.
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 21:09
* * *
Walker Dett washed his hands again, put on a tie, pocketed his room key, and walked out into the corridor.
“Evening, suh,” the elevator operator said, as he slid back the grillework for Dett to enter.
“Evening, Moses,” the man said. “I think I’ll take a little walk, help me digest my dinner.”
“Yes, suh,” said the operator, sliding the lever toward the “down” position.
Dett ste
pped close to the operator, holding out his palm and tilting his head in a “Wait a minute” gesture. The operator’s hand stopped the lever a fraction short of engagement.
“This elevator, it goes all the way to the basement?” Dett said, quietly.
“No, suh. Only the service car goes there.”
“But there’s no operator for that one, right?”
“That’s right,” the elderly man said, not surprised this quiet-voiced stranger would know such things.
“Can anyone just get in and run it, or do you need a key?”
“Used to be, like you say, anyone could just use it. But when Mister Carl took over—that was a few years after the war, if I remember right—he said that wouldn’t do. So now, you want to use the freight car, you got to ask Mister Carl, and he loans you the key.”
“But he’s not the only one who has one?”
“Oh no, suh. Nothing could run if things was like that. Plenty folks got keys. They has one in the kitchen, the maintenance man has one, the maids—they don’t like them riding the same cars as the guests, you know—the house cop . . . lots of folks, I bet. Me, I got one myself.”
“Thanks, Moses,” Dett said, moving his head slightly. The operator moved the lever a notch, and the car began to descend.
* * *
1959 September 29 Tuesday 21:59
* * *
Dett left the elevator car and walked over to the front desk.
“Everything satisfactory, Mr. Dett?” the clerk asked.
“It’s fine,” Dett assured him. “I was just going to take a little walk, work off my dinner.” He patted his stomach for emphasis. “A little fresh air never hurt anyone.”