Clint stopped in his hotel long enough to drop off his modified Colt in the room. He put it back in the holster hanging on the bedpost and left.
Clint had made friends the other times he’d been in New York. Some of them had been famous, or gone on to become famous, like Annie Oakley, P.T. Barnum and Teddy Roosevelt. Others were just people he’d met, or had dealings with, like newspapermen and police detectives. But the thing about Manhattan was that people tended to move on. He’d known a private detective from Brooklyn named Delvecchio, worked with him once. He hadn’t intended to contact him, but maybe the man could be some help when it came to protecting Nadine and her gallery. But he’d know more after her party, and after he met Emory Bates. For now, he had a new friend in Nadine Jensen, and that was enough to keep his attention for a while.
In the lobby he stopped at the front desk.
“Yes sir,” the clerk said, hopping to, which led Clint to believe that the assistant manager had told the man to see to his needs.
“Louis, I’m in the market for some new clothes,” Clint said. “Is there a shop somewhere near here?”
“There are quite a few stores along Fifth Avenue, sir,” the clerk said. “Most are general stores that also deal in clothes, but you’ll find some fine shops that specialize in gentlemen’s attire.”
“Why don’t you point me toward one of the specialty stores?” Clint suggested.
“Right down the street here, sir, to the North you’ll find Hannigan’s. It’s a store that deals in very fine men’s wear.”
“I see,” Clint said. “Thanks.”
“Yes, sir.”
Outside he stopped by his other new friend, the doorman, Matthew.
“Matthew, Louis tells me I can find some good new clothes at Hannigan’s.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Adams, but that place is for dudes,” Matthew said. “If I was you, I’d go to Robert’s. It’s right across the street from Hannigan’s, but the prices ain’t as steep.”
“Well, I’m in the market for clothes I can wear to a gallery party,” Clint said, “so maybe I’ll check both places. Thanks, Matthew.”
He tried to tip the man again, but the big doorman waved it away and said, “My pleasure, sir.”
Clint appreciated the man even more for that, and started off down the street.
~*~
Sure that Clint Adams was out of sight, George approached the doorman
“Hey, I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine,” he said, “and I think that was him.”
“Really?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah, what’s his name?”
“He’s your friend and you don’t know his name?”
“Well, I ain’t seen him in a while,” George said. “I was just wonderin’ . . .”
“Well,” Matthew said, “you can still catch him and find out. He’s just up the street, there.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” George said, frustrated. He didn’t want to press the doorman, because he didn’t want the man to remember him. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
George started up the street, figuring he’d just continue to follow the man . . .
~*~
Clint did hit both stores. He bought one expensive suit at Hannigan’s—complete with modifications while he waited—and then went across to Robert’s and bought some shirts and a pair of trousers, still not spending what he had dropped on the suit.
He carried his packages back to the hotel, thinking he’d have a quick supper in the dining room before dressing and walking to the gallery for Nadine’s party.
“Made a few purchases, I see,” Matthew commented.
“Just a few.”
“Which store?”
“Both, actually.”
Matthew reached out and touched a package, but when he spoke it was on another subject.
“You should know there was a man here asking about you,” the doorman said.
“When?”
“Just after you started up the street.”
Neither of them looked around. Clint took out a package, so it would look like they were talking about it.
“What did he want?”
“Your name.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No,” Matthew said, “I told him to run after you and ask you.”
“Good. Did he say who he was?”
“No, he just said he thought you were a friend of his he hadn’t seen in a long time.”
“So he was fishing for information.”
“Yup.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said, “I’m going inside to eat and change. I’ll be out again later. Keep a sharp eye for me, will you?”
“I sure will.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Clint started in, but stopped. “Do you ever get any time off?”
“Now what would I do with time off?” the big doorman asked.
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Maybe we should find out some time. I’ll buy you a beer.”
“We can do that,” Matthew said, with a grin.
Clint went into the lobby, and up to the desk.
“I see you found your store, sir,” the clerk said.
“Yes, I did, Louis, thank you. Now I need one other favor.”
“Name it, sir.”
“If anyone comes in asking questions about me,” Clint said, “Don’t give them any answers.”
“Uh, what should I say, sir?”
“Whatever you say,” Clint said, “make it not the truth.”
“You mean . . . lie, sir?”
“That’s what I mean, Louis.” He passed some folded paper money over to the man, who snatched it. “Lie.”