her head.
I leaned forward over the table and put my hand over hers. “Liz, let’s just say she’s right. That means somebody is out there who did this. And as of now, they’ve gotten away with it.”
She nodded.
“Because no one, including the police, sees any reason to investigate this, because no one besides Robbie Steele, and possibly me, thinks anything happened here.”
“And what, you have a strong sense of justice?” she asked.
“You could say that,” I said.
She had some more of her coffee and studied me, then said, “Or, you want a story to help your career.”
I dawned on me that Liz Harrison knew me better than I realized.
Chapter Thirteen
The Show Doctor was located on a bland strip of Fifth Avenue between Thirty-first and Thirty-second Streets, a few blocks south of the Empire State Building. The company was on the third floor of a squat, ugly building five floors high. It was just before ten on Monday morning when I got there.
I rode the slow-moving elevator to the third floor and it opened into a sunny room with a battleship-gray metal desk a few feet in front of me. An attractive young woman with shoulder-length black hair that matched her black-framed librarian glasses greeted me.
“Well, hello,” she said with a wide smile.
I checked behind me, thinking maybe Brad Pitt had also stepped off the elevator. He hadn’t.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I said.
Off to my right was a small seating area with windows that looked down onto Fifth. To my left was a wall with a door that I guessed led back to the examining rooms of the Show Doctor.
The wall looked as if Jerry, or maybe a brother-in-law who was supposed to be handy, had slapped it up. It barely reached the ceiling in some spots and seemed like a good solid wind would take it out.
“I know you,” the young lady said. She was brimming with energy. “You’re on Channel Four.”
It was my guess she didn’t get many visitors during the day, and she was determined to make the most of this one.
“Oh, no I’m not,” I said.
“Channel Five?”
“Uh, no.” I extended a hand to prevent her from marching up the channel list. “Sam North, with Liberty News.”
“Oh, yes. Liberty. I’m Sherri,” she said.
“Sherri,” I said, “I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping the Show Doctor could see me. It’s an emergency.”
She picked up a pen and had a small note pad ready to go. “Okay, and this is in reference to what show?”
“I don’t have a specific show. It’s more of a personal visit. Jerry does a lot of work for Liberty.”
“Yes, he does,” she said.
“I have something I need to talk to him about.”
She stood up and gave me a smile. “Let me see if Mr. Drake is free.”
I suspected Mr. Drake was always free when it came to Sherri. I went over to the windows that looked down onto Fifth and saw a double-decker tourist bus stopped at the light. Faces scanned the buildings like they were on safari.
“Mr. Drake is available,” Sherri said from behind me.
“Imagine that,” I said.
She led me to the door and showed me in and closed it behind me. I stepped into a windowless room that took up the rest of the floor. Drake’s desk was against the exposed brick wall to my right. There were two Chinese screens set up in the corners opposite him, with empty desks behind them.
Either everyone was at lunch at ten in the morning, or the Show Doctor was experiencing a drop-off in patients.
Drake was seated behind his desk and got up to greet me.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, “nice to see you. I’m a fan.”
He came around to me and we shook hands, and he put a hand on my arm as he did.
He was a skinny guy in wrinkled tan dress slacks and wore a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt open at the collar. There was no sign of a t-shirt, so I was treated to a view of his chest hair.
He went back behind his desk, and I took a seat on the only other place to sit, a beat-up brown leather couch to
I leaned forward over the table and put my hand over hers. “Liz, let’s just say she’s right. That means somebody is out there who did this. And as of now, they’ve gotten away with it.”
She nodded.
“Because no one, including the police, sees any reason to investigate this, because no one besides Robbie Steele, and possibly me, thinks anything happened here.”
“And what, you have a strong sense of justice?” she asked.
“You could say that,” I said.
She had some more of her coffee and studied me, then said, “Or, you want a story to help your career.”
I dawned on me that Liz Harrison knew me better than I realized.
Chapter Thirteen
The Show Doctor was located on a bland strip of Fifth Avenue between Thirty-first and Thirty-second Streets, a few blocks south of the Empire State Building. The company was on the third floor of a squat, ugly building five floors high. It was just before ten on Monday morning when I got there.
I rode the slow-moving elevator to the third floor and it opened into a sunny room with a battleship-gray metal desk a few feet in front of me. An attractive young woman with shoulder-length black hair that matched her black-framed librarian glasses greeted me.
“Well, hello,” she said with a wide smile.
I checked behind me, thinking maybe Brad Pitt had also stepped off the elevator. He hadn’t.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I said.
Off to my right was a small seating area with windows that looked down onto Fifth. To my left was a wall with a door that I guessed led back to the examining rooms of the Show Doctor.
The wall looked as if Jerry, or maybe a brother-in-law who was supposed to be handy, had slapped it up. It barely reached the ceiling in some spots and seemed like a good solid wind would take it out.
“I know you,” the young lady said. She was brimming with energy. “You’re on Channel Four.”
It was my guess she didn’t get many visitors during the day, and she was determined to make the most of this one.
“Oh, no I’m not,” I said.
“Channel Five?”
“Uh, no.” I extended a hand to prevent her from marching up the channel list. “Sam North, with Liberty News.”
“Oh, yes. Liberty. I’m Sherri,” she said.
“Sherri,” I said, “I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping the Show Doctor could see me. It’s an emergency.”
She picked up a pen and had a small note pad ready to go. “Okay, and this is in reference to what show?”
“I don’t have a specific show. It’s more of a personal visit. Jerry does a lot of work for Liberty.”
“Yes, he does,” she said.
“I have something I need to talk to him about.”
She stood up and gave me a smile. “Let me see if Mr. Drake is free.”
I suspected Mr. Drake was always free when it came to Sherri. I went over to the windows that looked down onto Fifth and saw a double-decker tourist bus stopped at the light. Faces scanned the buildings like they were on safari.
“Mr. Drake is available,” Sherri said from behind me.
“Imagine that,” I said.
She led me to the door and showed me in and closed it behind me. I stepped into a windowless room that took up the rest of the floor. Drake’s desk was against the exposed brick wall to my right. There were two Chinese screens set up in the corners opposite him, with empty desks behind them.
Either everyone was at lunch at ten in the morning, or the Show Doctor was experiencing a drop-off in patients.
Drake was seated behind his desk and got up to greet me.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, “nice to see you. I’m a fan.”
He came around to me and we shook hands, and he put a hand on my arm as he did.
He was a skinny guy in wrinkled tan dress slacks and wore a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt open at the collar. There was no sign of a t-shirt, so I was treated to a view of his chest hair.
He went back behind his desk, and I took a seat on the only other place to sit, a beat-up brown leather couch to
Similar Books
