in here alone, were you?”
“Of course,” I said, angrily rising from the bed and looking around for any trace of Pauline. “What are you going to do about this?”
“Remain calm,” he said, going over to the hole in the window to examine it. “Remain calm.” The window told him nothing. He sighed deeply before moving close to me to whisper, though no one else was with us.
“I can’t see that the po-leese would be much help here now. We’ll find another room for you and I’ll send my men out to go over every room, every nook and cranny in the hotel, looking for this white-haired fellow with the Walther. We’ll find him. If you’re uneasy, why, I’ll have one of my men keep an eye on your door all night. And I’m sure I can get the hotel to forget about your bill.”
He had no men and no intention of spending five minutes looking for Whitey. He’d probably give the description to the desk clerk and the doorman, and go back to listening to the radio and reading a novel in some corner of the lobby.
“Someone will watch my door?” I said, somewhat calmed.
“Every moment of the night. You have my promise,” said Security.
“Then I’ll just stay in this room and lock the door. I’m too tired to start moving things around now, it’s been a very difficult night. You sure you’ll find him?”
“Positive,” Security beamed, showing yellow false teeth. “Guaranteed. They can’t get away with that kind of thing in this hotel.”
Two minutes later he was gone. I propped a chair under the door handle and moved the bed next to the bathroom out of the line of fire. Then I got undressed, looked at my watch, which told me it was eleven, though I knew that was at least five hours from the truth, turned out the light, and got into bed. A lesser or saner man might have been worried, but I was feeling great. I had the name of the guy who had probably sent the threatening letters to Einstein, and I had someone worried enough to take shots at me. I figured the shooting had been to scare me off. Of course Security might have been right. It might have been a random drunk or lunatic or someone who had some other reason for wanting to shoot me. Or Pauline might be Pauline after all and there might be a white-haired Paul who had come looking for her. I wasn’t going to cross these possibilites off the list, but I wasn’t going to give up on my gut feeling either.
A cool draft came through the hole in the window. I looked at it before I fell asleep. It didn’t look like Abe Lincoln anymore. The magical moment had passed. A voice inside my head said, “Cowardly Pianos.” I wondered what impish game the voice was playing with me.
“Cowardly Pianos,” the voice repeated, and kept it up till I fell asleep and dreamed I was ten years old and holding my father’s hand while we stood at the edge of the desert and looked out at an endless line of yucca trees. The arms of the yucca trees trembled and I sensed they were going to reach for me. I squeezed my father’s hand and he chuckled.
“Cowardly Pianos,” he said. “They’re just Cowardly Pianos.”
5
A sour, angry screech of a note on the mad piano in my mind opened my eyes and had me grabbing my .38 on the night table and rolling onto the floor even before I knew why I was reacting. I found myself on my knees, facing the door to the room. The chair I had propped under the knob was flat on its back. The door itself had been transformed. I got off my knees and opened the unlocked door in time to see a carpenter whistle his way down the hall.
I closed the door, picked up the chair, and realized that I not only needed glasses to read with but that my animal alarm system was beginning to fail me. It was a depressing thought. The hotel had changed the door first thing in the morning, so waking guests would not be puzzled by the strangely punctuated sight as they groped their way down to breakfast. And I, every sense alert, had heard only the last hinge
“Of course,” I said, angrily rising from the bed and looking around for any trace of Pauline. “What are you going to do about this?”
“Remain calm,” he said, going over to the hole in the window to examine it. “Remain calm.” The window told him nothing. He sighed deeply before moving close to me to whisper, though no one else was with us.
“I can’t see that the po-leese would be much help here now. We’ll find another room for you and I’ll send my men out to go over every room, every nook and cranny in the hotel, looking for this white-haired fellow with the Walther. We’ll find him. If you’re uneasy, why, I’ll have one of my men keep an eye on your door all night. And I’m sure I can get the hotel to forget about your bill.”
He had no men and no intention of spending five minutes looking for Whitey. He’d probably give the description to the desk clerk and the doorman, and go back to listening to the radio and reading a novel in some corner of the lobby.
“Someone will watch my door?” I said, somewhat calmed.
“Every moment of the night. You have my promise,” said Security.
“Then I’ll just stay in this room and lock the door. I’m too tired to start moving things around now, it’s been a very difficult night. You sure you’ll find him?”
“Positive,” Security beamed, showing yellow false teeth. “Guaranteed. They can’t get away with that kind of thing in this hotel.”
Two minutes later he was gone. I propped a chair under the door handle and moved the bed next to the bathroom out of the line of fire. Then I got undressed, looked at my watch, which told me it was eleven, though I knew that was at least five hours from the truth, turned out the light, and got into bed. A lesser or saner man might have been worried, but I was feeling great. I had the name of the guy who had probably sent the threatening letters to Einstein, and I had someone worried enough to take shots at me. I figured the shooting had been to scare me off. Of course Security might have been right. It might have been a random drunk or lunatic or someone who had some other reason for wanting to shoot me. Or Pauline might be Pauline after all and there might be a white-haired Paul who had come looking for her. I wasn’t going to cross these possibilites off the list, but I wasn’t going to give up on my gut feeling either.
A cool draft came through the hole in the window. I looked at it before I fell asleep. It didn’t look like Abe Lincoln anymore. The magical moment had passed. A voice inside my head said, “Cowardly Pianos.” I wondered what impish game the voice was playing with me.
“Cowardly Pianos,” the voice repeated, and kept it up till I fell asleep and dreamed I was ten years old and holding my father’s hand while we stood at the edge of the desert and looked out at an endless line of yucca trees. The arms of the yucca trees trembled and I sensed they were going to reach for me. I squeezed my father’s hand and he chuckled.
“Cowardly Pianos,” he said. “They’re just Cowardly Pianos.”
5
A sour, angry screech of a note on the mad piano in my mind opened my eyes and had me grabbing my .38 on the night table and rolling onto the floor even before I knew why I was reacting. I found myself on my knees, facing the door to the room. The chair I had propped under the knob was flat on its back. The door itself had been transformed. I got off my knees and opened the unlocked door in time to see a carpenter whistle his way down the hall.
I closed the door, picked up the chair, and realized that I not only needed glasses to read with but that my animal alarm system was beginning to fail me. It was a depressing thought. The hotel had changed the door first thing in the morning, so waking guests would not be puzzled by the strangely punctuated sight as they groped their way down to breakfast. And I, every sense alert, had heard only the last hinge
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