"No fooling, it's just personal stuff. Not worth a penny to anybody
but me, understand? So don't get any ideas--"
He said in an injured tone: "Mister, naturally the _staff_ won't
bother your stuff. What kind of a hotel do you think this is?"
"Of course, of course," I said. But I knew he was lying, because I
knew what kind of hotel it was. The staff was there only because being
there gave them a chance to knock down more money than they could make
any other way. What other kind of hotel was there?
Anyway, the way to keep the staff on my side was by bribery, and when
he left I figured I had him at least temporarily bought. He promised
to keep an eye on the room and he would be on duty for four more
hours--which gave me plenty of time for my errands.
* * * * *
I made sure Arthur was plugged in and cleaned myself up. They had
water running--New York's very good that way; they always have water
running. It was even hot, or nearly hot. I let the shower splash over
me for a while, because there was a lot of dust and dirt from the
Bronx that I had to get off me. The way it looked, hardly anybody had
been up that way since it happened.
I dried myself, got dressed and looked out the window. We were fairly
high up--fifteenth floor. I could see the Hudson and the big bridge up
north of us. There was a huge cloud of smoke coming from somewhere
near the bridge on the other side of the river, but outside of that
everything looked normal. You would have thought there were people in
all those houses. Even the streets looked pretty good, until you
noticed that hardly any of the cars were moving.
I opened the little bag and loaded my pockets with enough money to run
my errands. At the door, I stopped and called over my shoulder to
Arthur: "Don't worry if I'm gone an hour or so. I'll be back."
I didn't wait for an answer. That would have been pointless under the
circumstances.
After Philadelphia, this place seemed to be bustling with activity.
There were four or five people in the lobby and a couple of dozen more
out in the street.
I tarried at the desk for several reasons. In the first place, I was
expecting Vern Engdahl to try to contact me and I didn't want him
messing with the luggage--not while Arthur might get nervous. So I
told the desk clerk that in case anybody came inquiring for Mr.
Schlaepfer, which was the name I was using--my real name being Sam
Dunlap--he was to be told that on no account was he to go to my room
but to wait in the lobby; and in any case I would be back in an hour.
"Sure," said the desk clerk, holding out his hand.
I crossed it with paper. "One other thing," I said. "I need to buy an
electric typewriter and some other stuff. Where can I get them?"
"PX," he said promptly.
"PX?"
"What used to be Macy's," he explained. "You go out that door and turn
right. It's only about a block. You'll see the sign."
"Thanks." That cost me a hundred more, but it was worth it. After all,
money wasn't a problem--not when we had just come from Philadelphia.
* * * * *
The big sign read "PX," but it wasn't big enough to hide an older sign
underneath that said "Macy's." I looked it over from across the
street.
Somebody had organized it pretty well. I had to admire them. I mean I
don't like New York--wouldn't live there if you gave me the place--but
it showed a sort of go-getting spirit. It was no easy job getting a
full staff together to run a department store operation, when any city
the size of New York must have a couple thousand stores. You know what
I mean? It's like running a hotel or anything else--how are you going
to get people to work for you when they can just as easily walk down
the street, find a vacant store and set up their own operation?
But Macy's was fully manned. There was a guard at every door and a
walking patrol along the block-front between the entrances to make
sure nobody broke in through the windows. They all wore green armbands
and uniforms--well, lots of people wore uniforms.