New York City
After spending some time dealing poker on a Mississippi riverboat, Clint Adams felt it was time to head East and see what was happening in New York City. It had been quite a while since he last visited the thriving metropolis. He made arrangements for Eclipse to be looked after in St. Louis, and then caught the train.
During the ride he thought about the various people he’d met in New York, such as Teddy Roosevelt and P.T. Barnum, who had given him Eclipse as a gift after Clint had to put his black gelding, Duke, out to pasture.
He had also met various writers, artists, detectives, doctors, gangsters, politicians, both men and women. Usually, when he returned, they were gone, having moved on with their lives.
He actually preferred it that way. After all, the city seemed changed each time he went there, why shouldn’t the people? The city got bigger, why shouldn’t people’s lives?
So when he felt his life getting smaller—like on a Mississippi riverboat—he had to do something to make it larger. And what was larger than Manhattan?
~*~
And it had grown even larger.
He caught a horse drawn cab from the train station to the New York Bastion Hotel. During the ride he noted the streets looked wider, the buildings looked taller, and there seemed to be more people on the streets.
Clint got out of the cab with his one carpetbag, purchased in St. Louis just for this trip, and paid the driver. As the cab pulled away he stared up at the hotel, an impressive concrete structure extending upward for ten floors. The ornate carvings in the concrete over the hotel’s front doorway were an architect’s dream. Clint had heard of the hotel, but had never been there before. He decided to just walk in and try it out, hoping there was a room available.
He entered, walked across a concrete, wood and marble lobby to the huge front desk. Artwork dominated the space—paintings on the wall, plaster busts sitting on pedestal and crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings on long, gold chains.
Clint stopped at the desk and set his bag down. He knew his clothes and choice of luggage did not bode well for him getting a room here, but figured, what the hell? He knew he could always get a room at one of the older, Bowery hotels, which he didn’t mind, at all. And, of course, there were a lot in between the luxury of the Bastion and the common Bowery.
“Can I help you sir?” the well-dressed clerk asked. If he had any doubts about Clint being able to afford a room there, he kept it from showing on his face. In his thirties, he was obviously experienced at what he did. Even Clint’s Colt in the holster around his hip didn’t seem to give the man any pause.
“Yes, I’d like a room, please.”
“Oh, yes, well . . . how long were you thinking of staying, sir?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “I haven’t decided, yet.”
“Yes, well . . . our rooms are quite expensive, and—”
“I didn’t ask you that,” Clint said, “did I?”
“Uh, no, of course you didn’t, sir,” the clerk said. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“What’s your name?” Clint asked.
“Oh, oh, it’s Louis, sir.”
“Well, Louis,” Clint said, “the only way I want you to be helpful is by giving me a room. I wouldn’t have walked in here if I thought I was going to have a problem paying for it, now would I?”
“Uh, no sir, I suppose not. Just, uh, give me a minute, please.”
Clint had spent the past month riding the Mississippi, playing poker and wearing a black gambler’s suit that probably would have fit well, here, but he had decided to pack it rather than wear it.
“Is there a problem, sir?” asked a second man, who had appeared behind the desk. He was older than the clerk, even better dressed, and obviously the younger man’s superior.
“And you are?” Clint asked.
“Mr. Bender, sir,” the man said. “I’m the assistant manager of the hotel.”
“Well, once I’ve finished talking to you, am I going to have to wait for the manager to appear?”
“No, sir,” Bender said. “I am empowered to handle any problems that might arise.”
“Well, I don’t see any problems, Mr. Bender,” Clint said. “All I did was ask your clerk for a room. But there seems to be a problem.”
The assistant manager didn’t speak.
“I guess he’s not sure I can pay for it,” Clint went on. “Fact is, I can.”
The man behind the desk studied Clint for a few moments, then said, “I’m sure you can, sir.” He turned the register around. “Why don’t you sign in and I’ll see to it you get a room.”
“Much obliged,” Clint said.
Bender turned and took a key from the board behind the desk while Clint signed the book. When the man turned around with the key he looked in the book first. His expression didn’t change when he saw Clint’s name, but he did turn back, return the key he was holding, and take down a different one.
“Your room is on the third floor, Mr. Adams,” he said. “The elevator is right over there, and we’re very pleased to have you.”
“Thank you,” Clint said, accepting the key.
“Can I have someone carry your bag for you, sir?” the assistant manager asked. The clerk was standing off to the side, obviously wondering why Bender was suddenly treating Clint with such respect.
“No, that’s alright,” Clint said. “I can handle it. Thanks again for the room.”
As he headed for the stairs—he hated elevators—he heard the clerk start to ask a question, but the manager shushed him and said, “Later.”
He was sure that as soon as he went up the stairs, Bender would be telling the clerk who their guest was.