39
Tommy Chang landed the Beech Baron at Essex County Airport as darkness was coming on. He arranged for hangar space and called a car service to drive him into New York.
The car arrived very quickly, his luggage was loaded, and they started into the city. Tommy got out his iPhone and tapped on the locator app. The blue dot appeared on Fifth Avenue, at the corner of East Sixty-first Street. This was a surprise, as he was expecting her to be on East Forty-ninth Street. “Driver, what’s your name?”
“Gene, sir.”
“Gene, what’s at the corner of Fifth Avenue and East Sixty-first Street?”
“The Pierre hotel,” Gene replied. “You want to go there?”
“Let me make a call.” He called American Express Travel and asked them to book him into The Pierre. In moments, he had an affirmative reply. “Okay,” Tommy said, “take me to The Pierre.”
“Right.”
AT THE PIERRE, Tommy got out of the car and asked Gene for his card. “Gene, are you going to be available for the next few days?”
“Sure, you can call me directly on the cell number.”
Tommy paid and tipped him generously, then followed the bellman with his luggage to the front desk and checked in.
The desk clerk’s nameplate read “Gloria.” “Gloria, I’m meeting a friend here. Her name is Meg Harmon. Has she checked in yet?”
Gloria checked her computer. “Yes, she has, but she’s just left to go out to dinner. I saw her go out.”
“I guess I didn’t get here soon enough,” Tommy said. “What’s her room number? I’ll give her a call later.”
“I’m afraid our security precautions prevent me from giving you her room number, Mr. Edwards,” she said. He had checked in and presented a Texas driver’s license and a credit card in that name.
“I’ll just leave her a note, then. May I have paper and an envelope?” She handed it to him. He wrote a note saying: “Carl, I’m in town. Call me on my cell.” He tucked it into the envelope, sealed it, and handed it back to Gloria, then he completed the registration form.
“How many keys, sir?” Gloria asked.
“Two, please.” She gave them to him in a small packet, and he turned to follow the bellman to his room. As he did, he saw Gloria put the envelope into a box with the number 212.
“You’re on the third floor,” the bellman said, as they boarded the elevator, “with a view of the park.”
“Perfect,” Tommy replied.
The room was large, with a king-sized bed and a comfortable seating area. He asked the bellman for some ice, then he went to the window and looked out at the park. “I’ll bet you have the same view,” he said. The bellman returned.
“Tell me, Frank,” he said, reading the man’s name tag, “I like to go for a run in the morning, and I noticed a stairway across the hall. Can I go down and come back that way, instead of taking the elevator?”
“Yes, sir, just use your key card,” Frank replied.
Tommy overtipped him and he left. Tommy gave him a head start, then left the room, went down the stairs, and let himself out of the stairwell with his key card on the second floor. Room 212 was just across the hall. He examined the door and its lock carefully: just like his own room’s. He walked down to the ground floor, found the bar, and ordered a drink and some dinner. He finished dinner a little after ten, charged his food and drink to his room, and left. With any luck, the shift would have changed at the front desk. He was right.
Tommy approached the front desk and took his spare key card from its packet and handed it to a young man on duty there. “My name is Harmon. I’m in room 212 and my key card isn’t working. Can you give me a new one, please?”
The young man checked his computer for the name. “It says here ‘Meg,’” he said.
“Michael Edward George Harmon,” Tommy said. “Meg, for short.”
“I see.” He put a new card into a slot and tapped in a code and the room number. “There you are, Mr. Harmon,” he said, handing Tommy a new packet. He thanked the young man, then went to his room. He opened his weapons case, chose a small 9mm pistol, and screwed a silencer into the barrel. Then he stretched out on the bed for a moment. He would wait until the middle of the night to visit Ms. Harmon. He dozed.
TOMMY WOKE UP with sunlight streaming into his room; he checked the bedside clock: 7:20 AM. “Shit,” he said. He had been more tired after the long flight than he had thought. He ordered some breakfast from room service, then shaved and showered. There was a New York Times slid under his door, and he put on a robe and read it until breakfast came.
When he was done, he dressed in a business suit, went downstairs, and crossed the street, carrying the Arts section of the Times. He took up a position on a bench along the wall that separated Fifth Avenue from Central Park and had a good look at the hotel. Room 212, he calculated, was to the left of the front door and one floor up. He took a small monocular from a pocket, concealed it in his fist, and pointed it at the windows. The curtains were still drawn; she must be sleeping late.
He folded the paper open to the crossword puzzle, took out his pen, and began. Twenty minutes later he was halfway through the puzzle and the curtains were open in room 212. He took the folded page from the business magazine containing the article on Meg Harmon and studied the face in the two photographs, committing it to memory. She was a very good-looking woman, he thought.
He began the puzzle again, checking a clue, then checking the hotel’s front door, then writing in the answer and checking the door again. More than an hour passed in this fashion, then finally the hotel door opened and a well-dressed blonde walked outside and was immediately shown into a waiting Town Car, which drove away. He couldn’t find a cab quickly enough to follow her, but at least she was out of her room.
He went back into the hotel and went up to his room. He opened the weapons case and took out some miniature electronics equipment, then he left his room, went into the stairwell, and went down to the second floor, opening the door with his 212 key card. A maid’s cart was a few doors down the hall, and a card saying PLEASE MAKE UP MY ROOM was hanging on the doorknob of 212. He used his new key card to let himself inside, turning the door card over to read PRIVACY, PLEASE.
It was a large, handsome suite, sitting room and bedroom. He went to work installing a tiny camera and a microphone in each room. He wished he’d had a third camera; it would have been nice to install it in the bathroom so he could see her naked. Well, time enough for that, he thought.
He opened the front door a crack, checked for the maid, who was closer now. He turned the card on the door handle over again, then closed the door and took the stairway down to the street.
Might as well do some shopping, he thought. He’d check on Ms. Harmon around six, when she might be changing to go out.