find out who lived there, and maybe get another look at the photo while I was there and make sure it was really King Vlados.
I had my hand on the doorknob and the tip of one of my picks a quarter-inch into the top lock when it occurred to me to ring the bell. I was sure no one was home, I just took that for granted, but I reminded myself that this was one of those little professional procedures I never neglected to perform, and I might as well play this one by the book.
So I rang, and I waited for a moment because that too is part of the way you do it, and you can just imagine my surprise when I heard the footsteps approaching the door.
I just had time to get the incriminating evidence out of the lock and back in my pocket when the door opened to reveal a young man standing about six-two, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and a handsome, square-jawed, open countenance. He had a big smile on his face; he may not have had the faintest idea who I was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad to see me.
“Hello,” he said heartily. “A beautiful day, yes?”
“Gorgeous,” I agreed.
“And how may I help you?”
Good question. “Ah,” I said. “I’m Bill Thompson, and I’m the building’s representative for the American Hip Dysplasia Association.”
“You are from the building?”
“I live in the building,” I explained. “On another floor. I work on Wall Street, but I volunteered to collect for this charity. Very good cause, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes,” he said, one hand dipping into a pocket of his jeans. He was wearing black Levi’s and a polo shirt that I’d call blue-green, but that the Lands’ End catalog probably calls teal. “Well, of course I would like to make a donation.”
Jesus, maybe I was in the wrong business. “I don’t even have my receipt book with me,” I said. “That’s not what I came to see you about. Let’s see now, you’d be James Driscoll, have I got that right?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“No? How can that be?” I dug out my wallet, consulted a slip of paper—one I’d be well advised to hang on to, if I ever wanted to get my shirts back from the Chinese laundry—and looked up at him again. “O’Driscoll,” I said. “You’re either James O’Driscoll or Elliott Bookspan. Or else I’ve got the wrong apartment.”
“It would seem you have the wrong apartment.”
“Well, I’ll be. This is Eight-B?”
“It is.”
“And your name is—?”
“Not O’Driscoll, I assure you. Or the other either. What was the second name you said?”
What indeed? I had to think a moment myself. “Bookspan,” I said.
“Bookspan,” he agreed. “No, not that either.”
“Well, hell,” I said, and shook my head and clucked my tongue. “I guess you’d be a better judge of that than I. Man’s a good bet to know his own name. Obviously I copied down the apartment number wrong, and I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no trouble.”
What did I have to do to get a name out of him? Or a look around his apartment? Tentatively I said, “I don’t suppose I could use your phone?”
Another smile, another shake of the head. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but that would be awkward. I have company.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Ordinarily it would be my pleasure, but—”
“I understand. Say no more.”
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” I said. “Again, my name’s Bill Thompson”—and what’s yours, you idiot?—“and I’m very sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Please. There is no need for apology.”
“That’s damned decent of you,” I said, “and I hope you’ll be just as gracious a couple of days from now when I come around again to ask you for a donation.”
“Ah,” he said, and went for his pocket again, this time coming up with a black morocco billfold. He reached in and drew out a twenty.
“That’s damned generous of you,” I said, “but I wasn’t planning on collection today. I don’t have my receipts with me.”
“I won’t need a receipt. And this will save you a visit next week.” And would save him an interruption, but that he left unsaid.
“Well…”
“Please,” he said.
I reached for the bill but did not let my fingers close around it. “I’m supposed to give you a receipt,” I said. “I suppose I could put it in the mail. At any rate, I need your name for the records.”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s Todd.”
“Good to meet you, Todd. And your last name?”
“No, no. Todd