Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Meets His Match
by Tux Toledo
Page 7
“James, any ideas on how to find Irene Atom?” It was a silly question as it turned out.
“Yes,
sir, I do. In fact, I’ve been making a few inquiries on my own
and I believe I have discovered her place of residence.”
"I say, good job!" Good chauffeur, that James. Do you know how hard, no you don't.
“She is living with someone is North Beach and no longer uses the name of Irene Atom.”
“I
suppose that was to be expected. Still, it’s unusual that none of
the old-timers had ever heard of her. But never mind. Take
me to her, James.”
“Yes, sir.”
James prepared the Rolls
and soon we were slicing through the streets of North Beach. He
drove several blocks down Columbus then turned right onto an upwardly
sloping street lined with multiple-floor apartment houses. Most
of them were Victorians but several modern boxes had unfortunately been
wedged in between the older structures. They looked like weeds
growing between cracks in the sidewalk. As usual, parking was
impossible. James temporarily double-parked the Rolls in front of
one of the Victorians and let me out.
"She lives in Apartment 31," he said.
I
nodded and approached the building. It used to be white but dirt
and cracked paint had turned the facade dull tan. A man with long
gray and black hair sat on the steps. He wasn't doing anything
but staring. I approached the steps and he looked up.
"I'm looking for Irene Atom," I said.
His eyes were as hard as marbles. He shrugged.
"Do you live here?" I asked.
Again
he shrugged. I don't think he lived anywhere. I left him to
his private world and climbed the three steps to the front door.
It was a nice door - dark wood with frosted glass etched with an art
deco ethereal design. It could have used some refurbishing,
though. I twisted the door knob and found the door
unlocked. I eased it open and stepped in. The foyer had the
musty smell that foyers get after a century of sweat, tobacco smoke,
and leaky windows. The mailboxes were to the right of the
doorway; the stairs in front of me. Someone opened a door on the
next floor but I couldn't see who it was. I got the impression,
however, that I was being watched.
© 2008 David Biagini