Of course, if you don't believe me, go right ahead and do it yourself." He waved his hand in the general direction of a large double doorway. T.S. peeked inside. Dozens of people were poring over pages of records at scarred, ancient library tables. Others were engaged in arguments with bored-looking clerks who stood behind a pair of counters at one end of the room. Rows and rows of card catalog drawers lined the walls and the clock on the far wall was ticking ominously closer to five o'clock.
"Better hurry. You got all of five minutes," Lenny Melk assured him smoothly. "These people are civil servants. They're going to start dragging their feet in about five minutes." He checked his watch—a bad Rolex imitation—and began to whistle the theme from Rocky.
"All right, all right," T.S. agreed. He dug into his pocket for the money. "But I'm waiting here. This is the address I need the info on." He handed the man a handful of bills plus Emily's apartment building number. "I want to know who owns it and if a condominium conversion plan has been filed. And anything else pertinent."
"No sweat," Lenny promised him, pocketing the money with practiced ease. "But I do need two more fivers, on account of the time."
T.S. raised his eyebrows and stared at the man.
"Not for me. For the clerk," Lenny explained defensively.
"Of course," T.S. murmured in resignation. "I forgot for a moment where 1 was." He handed over two more fives and watched as Lenny practiced his magic. The man was right. He was not an amateur at all. He was truly an entrepreneur. He quickly snatched an oversized bundle of building plans from an abandoned spot on a nearby table and sidled up ahead of several people waiting in line. He held one hammy finger to a spot on the plans and stared at it in mock confusion. Murmuring apologies to those behind him, he bellied up to the front of the counter and snapped his fingers at the clerk. The clerk, a skinny man blessed with the embalmed attitude of all civil servants, turned his way with an astonished glare that quickly changed to a look of barely concealed recognition and what T.S. suspected was a spark of greed. Shielding himself from the view of others with the large building plans, Lenny slipped a five to the clerk and quickly barked out a question. To the chagrin of the entire line, the clerk promptly disappeared in back, behind a stack of drawers that bulged with unfiled papers. Lenny half-turned and gave T.S. a coquettish wave. Feeling foolish, T.S. waved back.
It took several minutes, but when the clerk reappeared, he had a handful of papers that he handed over to Lenny. Lenny stuffed them under his arm and quickly shook the clerk's hand, passing another five to him as he did so. Smiling at the enraged line still waiting, he headed back to T.S., pretending to be unaware of the fact that the clerk was quickly sliding down a wooden barrier and closing his station. "Sorry," the clerk's expression conveyed to the line as he pointed to the clock. "But not really. Better luck next time."
"Let's get out of here before you get lynched," T.S. suggested. A large man, who had been elbowed aside while preoccupied with his official papers, was making a beeline for Lenny. His expression hinted that he was a man of action.
"No problem," Lenny said, glancing over his shoulder. He grabbed T.S.'s elbow and pulled him out into the hallway and into the first open door. It was the ladies' room and, fortunately, it was empty. Pink paint peeled from dingy walls and a cracked mirror had been decorated with a lipstick to read rosalyn loves randy forever.
"Here's the story," Lenny announced in a superior tone of voice. He scanned the papers quickly, his expressions ranging from professional boredom to slight interest and back again to boredom. "Looks like the building is owned by some kind of holding company, probably just a dummy corporation, that calls itself Worthy Enterprises, Inc. They've owned it just over two years. They give their address as 1515 Broadway. I never heard of them." He shrugged. "No conversion plan. It's all rental apartments." He glanced at the date. "A couple of them go for pretty cheap. Rent control, I guess. Real estate taxes are $8,567 a year. Paid on time. Sort of. Anything else you need to know?"
"Anything else you can tell me?" T.S.