CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

 

 

Henry pulled out of the drive, the book resting on the passenger seat and the Four Knights' 'I Get So Lonely,' playing on the radio. The steering wheel was cold, really cold, but Henry didn't even notice. His gloves were in his pocket, all warm and napping, just waiting to get in the game. In his mind, he was laying out the cards that had been dealt, looking them over and searching for patterns. It was obvious, at this point, his hand was weak.

Henry reached down and flipped through the radio stations. Frankie Laine & Jimmy Boyd's 'Tell Me A Story' seemed appropriate, so he stopped searching. Snow began to fall again. The wiper blades seemed to be keeping time. It was one thing to know that one was on the right path; it was an entirely different thing to know where that path was heading. Henry stood on the metaphorical path. It was a maze. Though he knew the 'Goal' was to end up in the DA's office with the journal and key in hand, he wasn't sure where to turn next. Henry was sure of one thing: if he weren't careful and got lost in the maze, it could be deadly.

The cityscape changed. He crossed the bridge, and the buildings grew and the traffic thickened. Whether it was paranoia or his aching ribs, Henry kept checking his mirrors. He had a feeling he was being watched from the moment he left the bridge and arrived in the city. Left, right, left, right, right and left put him back on course. He didn't see anyone, but the feeling of being watched persisted.

Henry pulled up to the address on the back of Bobby's card. Henry couldn't believe it. He stood looking up at the Flatiron Building at 23rd Street, famous for its triangular shape and its responsibility for the saying, 'Twenty-three skidoo.' The draft from the height and shape of the building had, after the completion in 1902, caused women's skirts to fly up, which meant the local constables had to "skidoo" the men who hung out for a peek. Henry had always hated right angles. He loved a room with character and had always been curious to see the inside of this famous address. For a moment, Henry forgot about his sore ribs, the business card from the future, and the general feeling of being watched.

He walked into the building, climbed the stairs to the third floor, and started down the hall. The numbers got larger as he walked. There it was at the end of the hall: office 309. It would have the window looking out from the point of the triangle. He hadn't called ahead as he wanted to check the place out without Bobby yammering on. Henry reached down and found the door unlocked. He opened it slowly and walked in.

"Hey, Mr. Wood, I am so glad you decided to check the place out. It really suits you. Don't you love the building? You know, the phrase, 'Twenty-three skidoo' is because of the Flatiron building?"

"Bobby," Henry said, momentarily startled, "Yes, I did know that. What are you..."

"I had a feeling you would be coming over today. I mean, you can't work for too long without an office, can you? You need to find a place fast, and this place is perfect for you. Here, look around. There is plenty of space out here in the waiting room for a secretary and a desk, and the office is fantastic - here take a look. I know you will love it." Bobby opened the door and held it. Henry walked through, and it was, indeed, perfect for him. He wasn't about to let Bobby know.

Bobby, a seasoned realtor, was better at reading poker faces than Henry was at wearing one. "I knew it! You do love it. It's perfect for you. You don't have a secretary do you? I know a woman who would be fantastic. She is blonde, types 85 words a minute, and has legs that go on for miles. I can get you her number if you like. Should I get the rental contract?" he asked and presumably took a breath. Henry thought it was possible that Bobby could talk for hours without stopping or breathing. Henry didn't answer.

He walked around the room, stopping at the window to look down on the street. The room felt like a fortress, which was comforting. He turned around and looked at Bobby who stood silently, a feat Henry would have guessed was beyond his abilities. Short, Henry guessed about five feet, and stout. He wore an old overcoat and a somewhat worn hat and had a notebook in one pocket and a racing form peeking out of the other. His round face seemed honest, even kind, but his constant chatter made him annoying. Henry stared at Bobby, sizing him up, looking for a clue. Who was this guy? Where did he come from? Why did Sylvia have one of Henry's cards with this address on it? Why was he wearing a coat indoors?

The room was silent; the flow of chatter out of Bobby had completely ceased. After 30 seconds, it became uncomfortable for Henry. He expected Bobby to start blathering at any moment, but he didn't. He was mute. Finally, Henry decided he wanted to try something and said, "It is ok, but I was wondering if you have anything else in the building, maybe on a different floor?"

"Nope, the building is full; this is the only office available. Shall I get the paperwork?" he responded. He was concise and to the point. This also surprised Henry. He couldn't get a read on Bobby.

Henry said, "I think I would like to think about it for a while."

Bobby, now a paragon of brevity, said, "Why?"

Henry knew he was outmatched. He turned and looked out the window as he didn't want the little man to see his smile. He liked Bobby despite his chatter. Henry thought it best to keep that from the strange, little man. He also liked the office and, since taking the place seemed to be in the cards, he decided not to fight it. "I'll take it."

Bobby made a strange noise, which might have been laughter, Henry wasn't sure. "Great, I have the contract in my office. I knew you would love the place; it is a great building. Oh, you know what? I almost forgot to tell you the best part, aside from being next to the greatest deli in the world, the best part is that my office is right down the hall! We will be neighbors. I know you will love it here. The other tenants are great except for old man Conner, but don't you worry about him. He keeps to himself. I will get the paper work. I will be right back." He scurried out of the room. Silence seemed to hesitantly creep back in, not sure if it was ok.

Henry didn't know how Sylvia had gotten one of his business cards, which he had yet to print. He didn't know why it was important he have this office. All he knew was that, like it or not, he had a new friend. From down the hallway, the sound of papers being shuffled, a door creaking as it closed, and someone's radio playing Tony Bennett's hit 'From Rags to Riches' seemed to say Henry was on the right path.