Lively Game of Death by Marvin Kaye Page B

shrugged, turning around and beginning to fish papers from a desk drawer.
    That didn’t thrill me, either: disturbing evidence at the scene of a crime. I decided I’d be less ulcerous on the other side of the door, so I made its acquaintance.

9
    I N CASE IT SEEMS that my main concern at that moment was to play John Q. Public by phoning the cops, let me clarify my position: the only reason I was worried was that I didn’t want to end up with my name and face in the police log and the newspapers.
    The way I figured it, I could easily get slammed for obstructing justice, at the very least. And if those damned Scrabble tiles in my pocket meant anything as dire as I was dreading, I wasn’t sure that the charge might not turn into accessory after the fact.
    Under the circumstances, I didn’t want to leave Hilary alone in there too long, so my initial plan was just to check the very closest showrooms, which would be easy, because 1111 Broadway is not a wide building, and its corridors contain few enough offices. On top of that, the tenth floor had only recently been completed, and several of the spaces had not yet been rented. In the corridor Goetz Sales was in there were only two other firms: PeeJayCo., next door to Goetz Sales, and Bell’s Toys and Accessories, right across the hall.
    I later learned that Goetz and Bell used to have smaller showrooms in FAB, and had moved to 1111 about a year ago. PeeJayCo. was a recent addition to the tenth floor.
    I stepped down the hall to the latter firm, noting as I walked that buyer traffic was light on this floor, compared with 1111’s ninth level, where crowds streamed back and forth across the ligamentary bridge. When I reached the door of PeeJayCo., I was surprised to see the lights were off. Two companies not in business on Toy Fair morning? It must be a new kind of commercial disease, I thought.
    I tried the handle; it was locked. Peering in, I could see the length of the room—a single narrow corridor, maybe ten-by-thirty, with one long business table down the center with chairs around it; on the walls were shelves with a sparse assortment of toys and games competing for space with large signs claiming the firm to be the “youngest, most inventive supplier in the trade.” Though I have small claim to pass judgment on the merits of a new toy, I’m something of a strategy game nut and, from what I could see of the sample products in the dark office, the claims may have been justified. The ratio of games to toys was about three-to-one, so I could see where the owner’s sympathies lay.
    The only toy that held my attention was a racer, set apart on a pedestal in the middle of the long table. No, it bore absolutely no resemblance to Tricky Tires. But it was intriguing, because the printed poster standing next to it proclaimed the toy to be a unique automatic plaything that could run for long stretches of time on a flat surface in various patterns. The secret? A little metal programmed dowel that, when inserted into the toy’s fuel tank, fed any of a number of “run” circuits to the motor. Batteries not included.
    There wasn’t much point hanging around the locked room, so I ambled back the way I came to room 1005, Bell’s Toys and Accessories (“If it Sells, it’s Bell’s,” a slogan which I detested, was festooned around the door on bunting). The accessories were swimming-pool equipment; Bell dealt mostly in above-ground pools and their necessary adjuncts: ladders, filters, skimmers, purifying chemical, and so on. The toys referred to in the company name were outdoor inflatables—water toys, such as punch bags and floating air mats with comic-strip characters and other simplistic designs imprinted in primary colors on the exteriors.
    I got as far as the front desk, but the angular receptionist politely halted me when she saw the inappropriate badge on my lapel.
    “This is the way it is,” I lied to her, “I’m supposed to meet Sid Goetz and talk about the