Scandalous Behavior

45

Dr. Don came into the kitchen for breakfast and found his wife dressed to go out.

“Do you have any plans for today?” she asked.

“Nothing important. Something I can do for you?”

“I need to hit half a dozen shops, and the service doesn’t have a driver available. Would you drive me around? I’m only going to need a few minutes at each place, then we can have a good lunch somewhere.”

“Sure, why not?”

“Ready in half an hour?”

“Sure.” Calhoun dug into his eggs.

Calhoun called down to the garage for the car and had it waiting at the curb when Cheree came down. “Where to first?”

“Let’s start with Lord & Taylor, then work our way uptown.”

Calhoun managed an illegal U-turn on West Fifty-seventh Street, then turned downtown on Fifth Avenue. They were lucky with traffic and the lights and arrived at Lord & Taylor in ten minutes. Cheree went inside, and somebody pulled out of a space at the curb, so Calhoun swung in. He saw something in the store window, so he switched off the car and got out to have a look. When he turned to go back a traffic officer was standing at the rear of the car, writing a ticket. He didn’t disturb her, just waited until she had taped it to the windshield and worked her way down the street. What the hell, he thought, it’s already got a ticket on it, so I won’t get another if I run inside for a minute.

He trotted to the men’s department and asked to try on the jacket in the window. He liked it, a tailor came and marked some alterations, then he paid for it and went back outside. A UPS van was parked in the spot once occupied by his car. Jesus, had it been stolen?

The UPS driver stopped on his way into the store. “Was your car the Bentley parked there?”

“Yes. Did you see who took it?”

“Tow truck. They take them to a police garage downtown on the West Side. You can Google it for the address.”

“Thank you.” He sat there, steaming, until Cheree came out.

“Where’s the car?”

“Towed. I have to go downtown and pay the fee to get it back.”

“Oh, swell. Well, I’ll hoof it up to Saks while you do that. Call me when you’re ready to pick me up for lunch.” She started up Fifth Avenue, while Calhoun looked for a cab; it took fifteen minutes, and he got inside gratefully. “You know the police garage downtown where your car goes when it gets towed?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go there. Can I have some air-conditioning?”

“Sorry, it’s broken.”

The drive downtown took all of half an hour, and Calhoun had sweated through his shirt by the time they got there. He paid the driver, went inside, and presented himself at a window.

“Help you?” a man in a uniform said.

“My car was towed about forty-five minutes ago on Fifth Avenue in the Forties.”

“What kind?”

“Bentley Mulsanne.”

The man checked his clipboard. “Not here yet — I’d have noticed. You can wait for it.” He pointed at some uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Calhoun took a chair, one with a leatherette seat, patched with duct tape. There were half a dozen other people waiting, and it reminded him of being in the holding cell in Katonah. He took several deep breaths to calm down and cool down. No air-conditioning here, either, just a fan. An hour and two trips to the window later, he once again presented himself at the window.

“Ah, the Mulsanne,” the cop said. “Not here yet.”

“How long can it take for the truck to drive here from Fifth Avenue? It only took me half an hour in a cab, and it’s been an hour and forty-five minutes.”

“License number?”

“New York, TCF-1.”

The cop turned to his computer and did a search. “Ah, here’s the problem: they took it to the Queens garage.”

“Queens?”

“Sometimes we get short of space here, and they get redirected.” The man handed him a card with the address, and Calhoun went outside to get a cab. Nothing, and he could see for blocks. He started trudging east, and took off his jacket to cool down. Finally, he found a cab on Ninth Avenue and gave the driver the address in Queens. He called Cheree.

“Yes? You hungry?”

“Starved, but the car is at the police garage in Queens, and I’m on my way there. Go ahead and get something. I’m going to be a while.”

“Okay.”

He hung up and waited the forty minutes it took to get to the Queens garage through heavy traffic, then presented himself at the window. “Bentley Mulsanne, New York plate TCF-1.”

“Nice ride,” the cop said, and checked his clipboard. “Oh, yeah, it’s upstairs. Check out with me, and I’ll give you the keys.”

“How much?”

“Let’s see, a hundred and twenty-five for—”

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars?”

“That’s for the ticket, plus the towing charge — that’s another one-fifty.” He checked his computer. “Oh, and you’ve got a few other tickets.”

Calhoun’s heart sank. “How much?”

“Let’s see, there’s eleven at one-twenty-five each, plus late-payment charges, comes to twenty-nine hundred bucks. Cash or credit card?”

Calhoun handed over a card. “I haven’t got that much cash on me.”

The cop ran it. “Sorry, it didn’t work. You got another one?”

What was going on here? He paid his bills on time. The second card worked. He signed the slip and was given the keys.

“Fourth floor, space 103,” the cop said.

“Where’s the elevator?”

“Out of order. The stairs are over there.”

Calhoun trudged up the four airless flights and found his car. It was blocked in by two others.

“Help!” he yelled repeatedly. No one around, no keys in the cars. He went back down the stairs to the window. “My car is blocked in by two others.”

“Sorry about that.” The cop picked up a phone and paged somebody, then hung up. “He’s on the way.”

Calhoun trudged up the four flights again, and by now he was light-headed, as well as soaking wet. He got to the fourth floor just as the second car was moved, but he didn’t make it to the Bentley. His knees buckled, and the lights went out.

He woke up in an ambulance, the siren going, an oxygen mask strapped to his face. The ambulance came to a stop.

Calhoun lifted the mask “Where am I?”

“Bellevue Hospital,” the EMT said.