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 8
I made the quick
deduction that Apartment 31 was on the third floor and started up the
stairs. They were noisy. I walked as softly as possible but
I still sounded like a herd of thundering Buicks. I was right
about Apartment 31 - it was on the third floor, halfway down the hall.
I
paused at the door and heard shuffling inside. I displayed the
quick thinking I am known for and decided it would be better to use a
false identity and quickly thought of one.
I knocked on the
door. A scruffy, middle-aged man opened it. His hair was
very short and it stood straight up. Tiny stubbles of beard poked
out of inappropriate parts of his face.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"I'd like to see Irene Atom."
"Who?"
"Irene Atom."
He looked at me funny. I thought that perhaps for once James had gotten it wrong.
"She used to be an entertainer," I said. "Does she still live here?"
"Oh, Irene." His eyes became opaque. "What do you want to see her for?"
"I'm a journalist. I'd like to interview her." It seemed like a good story to me.
He
looked at my custom-tailored, dark gray double-breasted suit and
recently shined black Italian shoes. Ferragamo, of course.
"You look like a lawyer to me," he said.
"I say, there's no need to get nasty," I said. "I really am a journalist. From Cleveland."
"Journalist," the man mumbled. "How do I know you're a journalist?"
People in this city are so suspicious.
"You'll have to trust me, I guess."
He looked me over again. I think he liked my shoes.
"Wait
a minute." He closed the door and I heard some whispers and more
shuffling. After a few minutes, he reopened the door. I
should have known that James would not have gotten it wrong. Good
chauffeur, that James.
"Come on in," he said.
"Thank you."
© 2008 David Biagini