CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

The day had been long, very long and tiring. Henry's flash of genius was looking more like a flash of imbecile. When the number 17 started to flash in his brain, he searched and searched for what it might mean. After a while, he had it. Francis was working on a story about a restaurant on 17th Street. Henry was sure the missing numbers were an address. A map, a list, and 12 hours driving around the five boroughs had been less than fruitful. It seemed there would have to be another clue, something that wouldn't be obvious to most but would jump out at him. Maybe, though, he wasn't as clever as he thought.

Doubt had crept into the equation. He had made a couple dozen stops and nothing. He had found an address across from a great tool store, so the day wasn't a total loss. He popped in, and a bunch of guys were watching a demo of jigs and accessories for making woodworking easier. His favorite was a clever device which would aid in making wooden hinges. Henry knew he shouldn't stay too long, noted the address so he could find it again, and continued on his way. With only one address remaining, the possibility entered his mind that 11, 13, 17 and 19 might not have been the clue at all. Maybe he needed to reconsider the original numbers.

His car rolled up outside 1113 West 17th, an apartment building in the warehouse district. A bit of a chill was in the air. Henry walked up the steps and into the building. He glanced at the mailboxes. When his eyes landed on apartment 19, and he read the name, he almost stopped breathing. Tage Frid. Henry didn't have time to ponder the implications of his DVD from the future and his current case; he just knew coincidences like this were never coincidences. He stood, for a moment, outside apartment 19. He thought about the wonderful furniture created by this man. He took a deep breath and knocked. No sound. He knocked again and nothing, not even a peep. Henry slowly turned the knob. It was locked.

Henry looked around. Nobody was in the hall, so he quickly picked the lock. He leaned his head into the apartment and was both disappointed and sure he was in the right spot. When he saw the name on the box, he figured the real Tage Frid might be waiting to give him a message or maybe Mr. Alexander was staying with him. What he found, instead, was an empty apartment. It wasn't just empty; the vastness of the 'empty' was stunning, and obviously the work of a meticulous man. Henry couldn't find as much as a speck of dust. He looked in the cabinets. They were bare.

Pacing back and forth didn't seem to help. It was getting dark, and Henry was tired. What was the clue? What did the emptiness mean? He took out the drawers in the kitchen. He looked behind the icebox. Henry even checked in the vents. Focus, he thought. Henry walked to the window and looked out. Across the street was a warehouse. It did strike him as interesting that it was a furniture warehouse. He wondered what type of furniture they stored.

The street was empty. A few lights were on in the warehouse, but it seemed as if most people had already left for the day. Henry tried to open the door, but it, too, was locked. Looking in the window, he could see a lot of furniture. Bedroom sets, kitchen tables, chairs, and lamps for as far as the eye could see. Henry's eye went to one piece. A cabinet, a Tage Frid cabinet, was sitting against the far wall, but Henry decided he had done enough breaking and entering for the day. Sometimes, it was easier to wait until regular business hours than to be super sneaky; plus, he was hungry.

He swung by Katz' deli on the way home and picked up a couple of sandwiches. Katz' was the oldest deli in NY and had been slicing their own pastrami and corned beef since 1888. Henry loved Katz'.

After dinner, he decided to give his magnetic tool holder a bit of color. This was his first attempt at staining anything. He sanded a practice piece of oak and tried the stain on it. Since there weren't any disasters, he grabbed the tool holder and went at it. Henry didn't have any idea about technique and simply lathered it on with the wooden paint stirrer. As soon as he had one side done, he wiped it off. It only took a few minutes to get the entire board covered. The gloves he wore were making a mess and leaving marks, so he changed them for a new pair. He wiped every inch of the holder one more time, then set it down to dry. It looked better than he had hoped. He preferred to take black and white shots, but he had a roll of Ektachrome and decided to go with color. Henry liked to document his woodworking triumphs. Tomorrow, he would revisit the furniture store as well as try to figure out where to hang his new tool rack.