Two Trains Running - By Andrew H. Vachss Page 0,12

the guest said, touching the brim of his hat.

“Yes suh!” the operator said, flustered. He had been driving that elevator car for more than twenty years, and this was the first time anyone had ever taken note of his dextrous touch, much less complimented him on it.

The bellhop led the way down the hall. When he came to the last door on his left, he put down one of the suitcases and withdrew a key from his pants pocket in one fluid motion. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, stood aside for the guest to precede him, then picked up both suitcases and followed.

The bellhop opened the door to the bathroom, turned on the taps, opened the medicine cabinet. Then he walked officiously to the windows and drew back the curtains, clearly on a tour of inspection.

“This here’s one of our very best rooms,” he told the guest. “Over to the front side, it can get real noisy, with all the traffic in the street. Back here, it stays nice and quiet.”

“It’ll be fine,” the guest said, handing over a dollar.

The bellhop’s smile broadened. Most professional travelers generally thought a quarter was generous. The action men, the gamblers and the hustlers, they always went for halves. Only Hoosiers and honeymooners tipped dollars. Rufus, who knew an omen when he saw one, resolved to play 809 when the numbers runner came by that afternoon.

“If there’s anything you need, sir, anything at all, you just ask for Rufus. Whatever you might want, I get it for you.”

“This a dry town?” the guest asked.

“No, sir. Truth is, folks comes here, they want to get themselves a taste.”

“Appreciate your honesty,” the guest said, handing over a ten-dollar bill. “This’ll buy me a fifth of Four Roses, then?”

“With plenty to spare, sir,” the bellhop confirmed. “I’ll be right back.”

On his way over to the liquor store a block away from the hotel, the bellhop congratulated himself on not lying about the easy availability of liquor in Locke City—the guest had asked the question as if he already knew the answer. Whoever he is, Rufus thought, he ain’t no Hoosier.

The man who had signed the register as Walker Dett tossed his two suitcases onto the double bed, gave the room a thirty-second sweep with his eyes, then picked up his attaché case and walked out into the corridor. He rang for the elevator.

“Going out already, suh?” the operator said, as the guest stepped into his car.

The man held up his hand in an unmistakable “Wait a minute” gesture. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Just want to talk to you for a couple of minutes, Moses.”

“Me, suh?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

The operator turned his head, looking squarely at the man standing behind him. Waiting.

“My name’s Dett,” the tall man said, extending his hand to the operator. “Walker Dett.”

“It’s my pleasure to know you, Mr. Dett,” the operator said, palming the five-dollar bill as smoothly as he handled the elevator car. “Anything you need around here, you just—”

“You had time, size me up yet?”

“No, suh. It ain’t my place to be—”

“You’re a man who keeps his eyes open, I can tell.”

“Now, I don’t know nothing about that, suh. All I can see, you some kind of a businessman. A serious businessman,” the operator said. He kept his hand on the lever, ears alert for the buzzer which would summon the car.

“That’s right,” Dett said. “I’m here on business. And in my line of work, you know what’s really valuable?”

“No, suh.”

“Information. Every workingman needs his tools. And information, that’s a tool, isn’t it?”

“Sure could be, suh.”

“Some people, they think, in a hotel, it’s the desk clerk that knows everything that goes on. Others, they think it’s the bellhops. Some, they read too many paperback books, they think it’s the house dick. But you know what I think?”

“No, suh,” the elderly man said, evenly. “I don’t know what you think.”

“I think it’s not the job you do, it’s how long you’ve been doing it that makes you the man in the know. I think, a man gets to be a certain age, instead of people having respect, instead of them listening to him, they talk around him like he’s not even in the room. Like he’s wallpaper. A man like that, he gets to hear all kinds of things. You think I could be right?”

“Yes, suh. I believe you could be.”

“And a man like that, he’s not just worth something for what he knows; he’s worth double, because