”They better,“ I said.
Her clothes were all hung up. She was very careful with them. She checked herself in the mirror, made an unidentifiable adjustment to her hair, went to the other room and said, ”Come on, Paul. We’ll go for a mystery walk.“
”What’s that?“ Paul said.
”You’ll find out,“ Susan said.
Paul opened the door. Susan paused in it and said to me, ”I want the Four Seasons,“ she said.
”Tonight,“ I said. ”It’s yours.“
When they were gone I made the reservation and then took Patty’s picture and went down to the lobby. There was an assistant manager’s desk near the elevator bank. The assistant manager was behind it, in a three-piece black pinstripe suit and a pink shirt with a pin collar. I took my license out and placed it on the desk in front of him. He read it without expression. Then he looked at me. ”Yes?“ he said.
”Who’s your security man and/or woman as the case may be?“
”What can we do for you?“
”Gee,“ I said. ”The sign says assistant manager.“
”A harmless euphemism,“ he said. He had receding hair and a neat mustache and good color. I noticed that his hands were manicured and his fingernails were buffed. ”Euphemism?“ I said. ”What kind of security person says euphemism?“
”I was a cop in this city for twenty-two years, sailor. You want to try me out.“
I shook my head. ”Not me,“ I said, ”I need to find out about this lady here.“
I showed him Patty Giacomin’s picture.
”In what context?“ the assistant manager said.
Trying to explain what I was doing was too complicated. ”She’s missing,“ I said. ”Husband’s worried. Asked me to come down and look.
“She stayed here overnight about once every month,” I said. “Last time was about three weeks ago.”
“She’s not here now?”
“No.” I said, “I already checked.”
He looked at me for a moment. His shaving lotion was strong and expensive. “You got somebody to vouch for you?” he said. “I don’t like talking hotel business with every jerk that comes in here and waves a license at me.”
“I liked you better when you were saying things like euphemism,” I said.
“I don’t care what you like. You got somebody to vouch for you?”
“How about Nicky Hilton?”
He almost smiled. “Best you can do?”
“Look at me in profile,” I said. “Could I be anything but trustworthy?”
He heaved a sigh. “Come on,” he said. He came out from behind the desk and we walked down the lobby to a cocktail lounge. It was almost empty at three in the afternoon. The bartender was a tall trim black man with a tight Afro and big handlebar mustache. The assistant manager gestured him down the bar with his head.
“What’ll it be, Mr. Ritchie,” the bartender said.
Assistant Manager Ritchie said, “Jerry, you know this babe?” I held up the picture of Patty Giacomin. Jerry looked at it carefully, his hazel eyes expressionless. He looked at Ritchie.
Ritchie said, “Tell him, Jerry. He’s okay.”
“Sure,” Jerry said, “I know her. She comes in here about once a month, gets fried on Chablis, picks up a guy, and goes out with him. To her room, I assume.”
Ritchie nodded. “Yeah, to her room. Next day she checks out, pays her bill, and we don’t see her for a month.”
“Different guy each time?” I said.
“Yeah. I guess so,” Jerry said. “Couldn’t swear there was never somebody twice, but if it was, it was an accident. She was in here to get laid. She didn’t care who.”
“Know any of the guys?” I said.
Jerry looked at Ritchie. Ritchie said, “No.”
“And if you did?” I said.
“I wouldn’t tell you,” Ritchie said.
“Unless I come back with somebody from your old outfit,” I said.
“Come back with a New York cop on a missing person’s investigation, we’ll spill our guts. Otherwise, you have found out all you’re going to.”
“Maybe enough,” I said.
