He blinked slowly.
"Perhaps this will jog your memory," Ethan said, extending a folded twenty-dollar bill between his fingers.
The doorman took it and slipped it into his coat pocket, then crossed his arms again. I guess Jackson wasn't his favorite president.
"How about President Grant?" Ethan asked, offering a fifty in the same way.
The doorman cast a suspicious gaze at it. "I prefer Benjamin Franklin's commonsense advice and down-home humor. But President Grant has his finer qualities." He took the bill and tucked it into his pocket. "What can I do for you this evening?"
I bit back a smile. "These two," I reminded him, wiggling the phone. "Have you seen them?"
This time his gaze slid to the screen. "I saw them," he said with a nod. "They went to the registration office."
"How do you remember them?" I wondered.
"They took photographs of themselves in line, like they were heading into a concert instead of registering with the city." He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess that seemed unusual to me."
It seemed unusual to me, too, but I didn't have a strong enough sense of Oliver and Eve to know whether it was unusual for them.
"What happened after that?" I asked.
He shrugged and looked straight ahead again.
"Really," I flatly said.
He cast me a sideways glance. "Inflation, don't you know."
Irritation building, I put a hand on my sword and stepped forward.
Sentinel, Ethan silently cautioned, but it was time to walk the walk.
"This sword isn't for show," I said. "It's honed steel, and it's very sharp, and I'm very good at using it."
"She is," Noah and Ethan simultaneously agreed.
"We aren't asking you for much - only information, for which we have handsomely paid." I tapped the top of the sword's pommel. "I can't imagine your residents would be thrilled to learn that you irritated people carrying weapons instead of simply telling them what they wanted to know and allowing them to be on their way."
He scowled.
"Commonsense advice," I reminded him with a saccharine smile.
The doorman scowled again, his upper lip curled, but relented. "They went in, came out again."
"And got in their cars and drove away?" I wondered.
"Actually, no," he said. He pointed across the street. "Car pulled up in the alley."
The dry cleaner sat on one side of the registration office, the alley on the other.
"A car?" Noah asked. "What kind of car?"
He shrugged. "Didn't see it. Just the headlights - they were shining out of the alley. The vampires walked over there like they were checking it out, maybe talking to the driver. Then headlights dim like the car's backing out of the alley."
"Did you see them leave again?" I asked.
The doorman shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. Maybe they were meeting up with friends? This is America. I don't keep track." Thinking he'd been insulted, he turned his gaze blankly back to the street again. We'd lost his interest.
"Thanks," I told the doorman. "We appreciate it."