“Auerbach.”
“Right. See him.”
“Thanks.”
“You want I should come along?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Take care of yourself, Mikey.”
“You too.”
Florek went out to the bright light of the street. He walked up toward Brookfield, thinking that the walk and the air would clear his head. Two beers and he was half-lit. He didn’t much care for the feeling of being unsteady on his feet, but the beer gave him confidence, put a can-do swagger in his step. He’d find Lola now, bring her back home for Sunday supper. He’d do that, and things would be all right.
Florek stepped into the hotel lobby. Upon entering, he could hear the sound of an old man talking to himself and cursing under his breath from a small adjoining room. Florek knew from stories that this room held a slot. Another old man sat behind the desk, reading a dime novel. He looked up at Florek, coughed consumptively into a yellow handkerchief, then returned to his paperback. Florek moved over to the desk.
“Yes,” said the desk clerk.
“I’m looking for the bellhop who works here. Fellow by the name of Danny Auerbach.”
“You got bizness with him?”
“Yessir.”
“What kind of bizness.”
“The personal kind.” Florek shifted his feet. “I’ll just wait till he comes out.”
“Suit yourself. But he don’t come out unless we got a new guest. And we ain’t takin’ on any new guests tonight. We’re all full up.”
“Can you ring him out, then?”
The desk clerk dabbed the handkerchief at the saliva glistening on the edge of his pink mouth. “Maybe I can locate him for you.” He had never taken his eyes away from the book. Florek stood over him for a couple of minutes. Neither he nor the desk clerk said a word. Then Florek pulled a one-dollar bill from his trousers and placed it in front of the old man. The desk clerk took it, slipped it somewhere beneath the counter with a swift and unexpected dexterity.
“Straight back down the hall, then make a left. Auerbach’ll be there, workin’ on a cigarette.”
Florek walked past the lobby’s staircase and back into an unlighted hall, dark as it was deep. He felt along the wall, stumbled once, hooked a left at the light of the hall’s end. Down the hall, a compact, pale man in a red bellman’s uniform stood talking to a maid. He was smoking a cigarette, the cigarette dangling carelessly between his fingers. The guy was leaning into the maid like he was trying to make time. He looked at Florek, then back at the maid. He said something to the maid, and both of them laughed.
Florek squinted through the cigarette smoke that roiled in the hallway light. “You Auerbach?”
Auerbach nodded, smiled, saluted by lightly touching his hat in a wise kind of way. He stabbed his cigarette into an ashtray by the maid’s stand and walked down the hall toward Florek with an exaggerated spring in his step. He was a small one, with tiny blue eyes and the hands of a boy. He moved with the jerkiness of a windup toy.
“Yes, sir,” said Auerbach, standing in front of Florek. “What can I get you?” Up close, Auerbach looked like a blond mouse.
Florek took the picture of Lola from his mackinaw, held it out for Auerbach. Auerbach studied it, looked up cheerfully.
“She’s somethin’.”
“You seen her?”
“She’s a dish,” said Auerbach.
“Her name is Lola. She’s my sister.”
Auerbach shrugged. “Consider yourself lucky, pally. Some guys got ugly sisters, they have to look at that mess all their lives.”
“I heard she might be stayin’ here.”
“Maybe.”
“A guy over at the Clover Club—”
“What guy?”
“Just a guy. He told me my sister might have a room here. Said you might be able to help me out.”
“I might.”
Florek didn’t wait this time for the touch. It had already been a long day, and the smoke in the hallway had begun to sting his eyes. He reached into his pocket, withdrew the last of his money, a one and a five. He held the one dollar bill out to Auerbach.
“Uh-uh,” said Auerbach.
“I’m just lookin’ for directions. It shouldn’t cost all that much.”
“You got me confused with that old desk jockey, pally. That guy comes straight out of the last century. You can romance him with a one, maybe, but a one don’t even begin to buy my drinks.”
“What do you want?”
Auerbach pointed his sharp chin at the bill in Florek’s hand. “The fin.”
Florek handed it over. Auerbach folded it neatly, tucked it into the watch pocket of his trousers.
Auerbach stepped around Florek. “C’mon.”
Florek and Auerbach went down the hall, through a door and into a back stairwell. Florek figured they would take the stairs up to the second floor, but instead Auerbach headed down toward the basement. Florek had been in a few hotels; he couldn’t think of any, even the cheapest flophouses, with rooms in their basements. He followed Auerbach, watched the cocky roll of the little guy’s shoulders as he hit the bottom of the stairs.
They went into another hallway, passed rooms housing cleaning supplies and a bathroom with a floor slick from grease. The hall ended at an open-doored boiler room, where Florek could hear the steady hum of the house furnace. It was warm down here, close to hot, the heat dry and raw. Florek pulled the zipper down on his jacket.
Auerbach turned the knob on a door adjacent to the boiler room. He pushed the door open, reached in and flicked on an overhead light. He waved Florek through, stepped aside.
“Here you are, pally.”
Florek went inside. On the floor lay a mattress covered with tossed, wrinkled sheets and a blue and black afghan blanket. Next to the mattress a lamp with a scorched shade sat on an overturned lettuce crate. A glass basin topped a plywood dresser pushed against the wall. The walls, empty of decoration, had been painted a pale gray. The floor was naked gray concrete.
“Where is she?” said Florek. He stared at the afghan on the bed. His mother had knitted it for Lola one very cold winter, three years back.
Auerbach walked into the room, leaned against the wall. He raised one foot, rolled down his sock, pulled free a pack of cigarettes. He extracted one, covered the pack up with his sock, put the foot back down on the concrete. He rolled the cigarette elaborately in his fingers, examined it like it was something special.
“I asked you where she was.”
Auerbach tore a match from his book, lighted the cigarette. He kept the cigarette dangling in his mouth as he glared impishly at Florek.
“I can’t hear you so good,” said Auerbach.
“What, you’re gonna hit me up again?”
“You asked to see her room. Anything else is extra.”
“You took my last nickel.”
“Then I guess we’re done.” Auerbach rolled his shoulders. “’Cause information like that don’t come free.”
“Information.” Florek felt a tickle of sweat on his back. “Maybe I got a little information for the cops in this township. Maybe they might like to know that the bellhop in this place is a lousy pimp.”
“Sure, they’d like that.” Auerbach took the cigarette from his mouth and grinned. “And while you’re singin’ about it, don’t forget to tell ’em about your sister. Yeah, and you might want to go back to your little town and brag about her, too. Tell ’em all how your sister ain’t nothin’ but a three-dollar whore.”
Florek lowered his head, stared at the floor. “Where is she?” he muttered.
“See? That’s a whole lot better. A guy like you shouldn’t try and wear a man’s suit. It just don’t hang on you right.” Auerbach flicked a speck of tobacco off his pants. “Aw, hell, you seem like a nice kid. I guess it’s only right I give you a few details, seein’ as how she’s your sister—”