bond was linked somehow to the rest of the money that Sol stole.”
“But that don’t make no sense, Paris,” Fearless said after a long ponder.
“What?”
“Minor spendin’ all that time and money to get at the bond. By the time Leon got outta jail, it should’a been gone.”
“No. The bank needed Sol to cash it, and even if Elana had passed it on, she might have written the numbers down or at least remembered who she gave it to.”
“Oh,” Fearless said. I don’t think that Fearless was incapable of understanding me, he just wasn’t interested in my puzzler’s mind.
“Minor and Leon still lookin’, but I just might know where the bond landed.”
“Oh yeah?” Fearless said.
THE EXETER HOTEL ON Hooper had a red velvet phone booth with a louvered door that shut out all noise and gave the caller a good deal of privacy. I dialed the phone number that I’d put in my pocket for safekeeping four days before.
“Pine Grove Hotel,” a fresh, young female voice declared.
I hung up.
“JOHN MANLY,” I said to the hotel clerk.
“And to what is this pertaining?” the snooty, suited white man asked.
“He the one wanna see me, man.” I was being needlessly argumentative. “Just tell him that I have something to tell him about Sol Tannenbaum.”
“Maybe you’d prefer to leave a message,” the coal-eyed, hollow-chested clerk suggested.
“Maybe you don’t understand English,” Fearless said.
The clerk dialed a few numbers. He picked at the cord nervously while shooting glances at my friend. I thought he was calling for help, but instead he said, “Mr. Manly? I have two men down here who want to talk to you about a Mr. Tannenbaum.”
I smiled and nodded.
“But sir,” the clerk said. “Wouldn’t you prefer to come down and meet them first?”
The clerk didn’t like the answer he was getting.
“Yes sir. I’ll send them up directly.” He put the phone down behind the counter somewhere, then took up a brass bell, which he shook, causing a shrill ring.
A Negro bellman came running from somewhere. Ignoring us he spoke to the hotel clerk. “Yes, Mr. Corman?”
“Not you, Randolph. I want Billings.”
“Yes sir,” Randy said, and he darted away.
While we waited, Mr. Corman became very interested in a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. He took out a pair of scissors and tried to see if he could cut the errant strand at the root. But the run was halfway between his wrist and elbow and it was impossible to hold the thread and cut it at the same time. It was a dilemma. He couldn’t cut the string without taking off his jacket and couldn’t take off his jacket while standing at the front desk. But he couldn’t leave his desk with two Negroes standing there unattended.
“Are we waiting for something?” I asked.
Mr. Corman concentrated on his sleeve.
A new bellman, white this time, came to the desk.
“Yes, Mr. Corman?” he asked, just as fawning as Randolph had been.
“See these gentlemen up to three-twenty-two.”
“Yes sir.”
The walk through the lobby with its plush carpets and potted bird-of-paradise plants was even more humiliating than Corman’s condescension. The women wore fine clothes and all the men had suits on. I was in the same tired slacks and loose shirt, in shoes that had done more than their share of walking. It felt like going to church in your dirty work clothes.
We didn’t molest our escort. It wasn’t his fault that he had to accompany us every step of the way. He knocked for us. The door was answered by a handsome and well-built white man in his late twenties. The same man I had seen bidding farewell to Sergeant Latham and Elana Love.
“Mr. Manly?” I asked affably.
