Clint unlocked the door to his room and allowed Nadine to precede him.
“Very nice,” she said, walking around the room. She pointed to a door. “Water closet?”
“Yep, complete with bathtub.”
“Ooh . . .”
“It’s at your disposal,” Clint said. “So am I.”
She eyed him and said, “I don’t know which one to use first.”
“I know,” he said, “it’s a hard decision . . . but if you like, I’ll draw you a hot bath.”
“That sounds heavenly,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Then make yourself comfortable, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll come and fetch you when your bath is ready.”
There was an armchair in the room, but she decided to sit on the bed while Clint went into the water closet. Moments later she heard the sound of running water. She reached down and took off her shoes . . .
~*~
George knocked on the door of Emory Bates’ house, located in a high-priced neighborhood not far from Union Square. The door was answered by a black man in his sixties wearing a white jacket and gloves. George often thought that his Uncle E. would have been very happy living in the South prior to the civil war.
“Mr. George,” the man said, “Mr. Griff.”
“Hello, Silas,” George said. “Is Uncle E. here? He wasn’t at his office. We thought we’d look here before we checked his club.”
“He’s here, suhs,” Silas said. “Come in.” Silas backed up to let them in, closed and locked the door, then turned to them. “Stay here, please, and I’ll announce you.”
“Thanks, Silas,” George said.
As the black man disappeared into the house Griff said, “I thought slavery was over.”
“Are you kiddin’?” George asked. “That man makes more money than you or me.”
After a few minutes Silas returned and said, “This way, suhs.”
He led them to a room in the rear of the house, where Emory Bates was sitting in an armchair, wearing a robe and holding a brandy snifter. Around them the walls were lined with books.
“That’s all, Silas,” Bates said.
“Yes, suh.”
After Silas left Bates said, “This better be good.”
“Well . . .” Griff started, but George nudged him.
“Let the man talk, George,” Bates said. “What did you have to say, Griff?”
“Uh, nothin’, Uncle E.,” Griff said. “George always does the talkin’.”
Bates stared at Griff long enough to make the big man fidget, then moved his eyes to George.
“All right, then,” he said, “talk.”
“We, uh, got a name, Uncle E.,” George said. “We followed him for a long time. He went to the gallery, spent a lot of time with that woman. They went to eat—”
“Save it, George,” Bates said. “Who is he? What’s his name?”
“Well, sir—”
“You said you had a name.”
“Well, sir,” George said, again, “we got a first name. Uh, nobody at his hotel will talk about him.”
“So who’d you talk to?”
“A cab driver who took him and the woman to his hotel.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“He said she called him ‘Clint’.”
“Clint?”
“That’s right.”
“Clint what?”
George shrugged. “That’s all we got, sir.”
Bates sipped from his glass.
“Get out.”
“Uncle E.—” George started.
“Get out, and send me Silas.”
“Uh, whataya want us to do, Uncle E.?” George said.
“I just told you,” Bates said. “Get . . . out!”
“Uncle E.—” Griff started but George turned and pushed the big man toward the door.
They found Silas in the dining room, doing something with some silverware, and said, “Silas, he wants you.”
“Thank you, suh.”
“And he wants us to leave.”
“Then you betta leave, suhs,” Silas said.
“Uh, yeah, right,” George said. “We know where the door is.”
They headed for the door while Silas left the dining room, presumably to go to the library.
“George,” Griff said, as they went out the front door, “what do we do now, George?”
“Whatever we want, Griff,” George said, “until we hear from Uncle E. again.”
“Can we get somethin’ to eat, George?” Griff asked. “Can we?”
“Sure, Griff,” George said, “why not?”