Hit and Run

18

If anyone was watching the place, Keller couldn’t spot him. He spent a full half-hour looking and never saw anybody suspicious. Nor could he find any route into his building that didn’t lead past the doorman. The closest thing to a possibility would involve finding a six-foot ladder somewhere and using it to reach the fire escape in the rear, from which he might be able to break into one of his fellow tenants’ apartments. He’d have to be awfully lucky to pick an empty apartment, and even if he did, how was he going to get back down the fire escape with a king-size suitcase loaded with stamp albums?

The hell with it. The first thing he did was take off the Homer Simpson cap, which was all wrong for what he had in mind. He might need Homer soon enough, so he didn’t just toss the cap but folded it as best he could and put it in his pocket. Then he crossed the street, shoulders back, arms swinging slightly at his sides, and walked right up to the doorman and into the lobby.

“Evening, Neil,” he said as he entered.

“Evening, Mr. Keller,” the doorman said, and Keller saw his blue eyes widen.

He gave the fellow a quick smile. “Neil,” he said, “I bet I’ve had a few visitors, haven’t I?”

“Uh—”

“Nothing to worry about,” Keller assured him. “Nothing that won’t get itself straightened out in a day or two, but right now it adds up to a lot of aggravation for me and a batch of other people.” He dipped a hand into his breast pocket, where he’d put aside Miller Remsen’s two fifties. “I have to see to a few things,” he said, palming the folded bills into Neil’s hand, “and nobody needs to know I was here, if you follow me.”

There was nothing like the air of self-assurance, especially when it was coupled with a hundred dollars. “Sure, and I never saw you, sir,” said Neil, with that slight Irish lilt to his speech that was rarely present outside of moments like this one.

He rode up in the elevator, wondering if there’d be one of those seals on his door, proclaiming it a crime scene. But there was nothing like that, not even a paper band assuring him that the apartment had been sanitized for his protection. Nor had anyone changed the locks; he used his key and the door opened. Things were not as he’d left them, he saw that right away, but he didn’t waste time on any of the unimportant stuff. He went straight to the bookcase where he kept his stamps.