The Darkness - Jason Pinter [39]
this world...you'll find a few of those moments."
"If I die having had just one of those moments," I said,
"I'd die a happy man."
"Maybe you already have, Henry," Jack said. "You
just don't know it yet. Maybe this story is even it."
"Well, if it is, Brett Kaiser sure isn't going to make it
any easier."
"Well, let's try the good old-fashioned ambush
method."
"What do you suggest?" I said.
"I'll go to the firm's office, buy myself a big old cup
of coffee, sit in the lobby and wait for Mr. Kaiser to leave.
If security doesn't want a fellow such as myself loitering, I'll simply wait outside. And if they tell me to leave,
I'll tell them to kiss my wrinkly old ass."
"And my job?"
"Why, you're going to wait at Mr. Kaiser's Park
Avenue apartment building and do the exact same thing.
You might even try sweet-talking his doorman. You have
no idea how much information those guys have, and what
they're willing to tell you if you treat them like human
beings. Unlike Park Avenue tenants who usually treat
their doormen like they're one step above pond scum."
"And what if Kaiser shows up?"
"Simple," Jack said. "You tell him what we have, and
ask him to discuss it with you. Guys like this, these alpha
male pricks, hate hiding behind publicists and lawyers,
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even if they are one. They don't like being shown up by
punks like you."
"Punks like me?"
"Yes," Jack said, arching his eyebrow. "Punks like
you. At least that's how he'll see you. Actually, I'm kind
of hoping he does see you first. Young guy, you're less
of a threat. Probably figures you write for the school
newspaper. If you see Kaiser, you don't walk away with
less than something we can print that doesn't rhyme with
'Woe Bomment.'"
"I think I can manage that."
"Good. Keep your cell on. I'll call you if anything
happens on my end." I got up to leave. Jack put his hand
on my shoulder, said, "Good luck, Henry. Get this."
I nodded, went over to my desk and packed my things.
15
I arrived at Brett Kaiser's apartment at just after two
o'clock. There was a Korean deli on the corner where I
bought a cup of coffee and an energy bar.
I walked over to the building, a bright Park Avenue
complex that by my count was twenty stories high, with
beautiful western views where you could see all the way
down for miles. There was one doorman on duty, a man
in his early forties wearing a blue uniform and the kind
of top hat you only saw in movies about the 1920s. He
was slightly heavyset, the beginnings of jowls on his
face, a fresh razor burn under his chin.
A cab pulled up, and the doorman approached, leaning
down to open the car door. A slender blonde in her forties
slid out, thanked the doorman and went into the building.
The doorman watched her as she entered the building,
holding his gaze just long enough for me to know that had
she turned around, she wouldn't have been pleased.
When the woman disappeared into the elevator, I approached.
"Afternoon," I said.
The man nodded. "Can I ring someone for you, sir?"
he replied.
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"Not yet," I said. "Is Mr. Kaiser home?"
"I haven't seen him yet today."
"Ah, let me guess, you're on the eight a.m. to four p.m.
shift. I guess that means Mr. Kaiser is up and at work
early." The doorman looked at me oddly.
"Sir?"
"No sweat, just making an observation. Name's
Henry," I said, extending my hand. The doorman hesitated. "I'm a reporter with the New York Gazette. "
If he'd considered shaking my hand before, that idea
was now gone.
"As I said, sir," he replied, his voice much colder, "Mr.
Kaiser is not home at the moment."
"I know, you mentioned that. I have to ask him a few
questions."
"Questions?"
I had to stop myself from smiling. Here's the thing
about New York City doormen: they love to talk. Your
average doorman opens and closes a door for eight hours
a day, but barely gets more than two words from their
tenants. If you stop to chat, they'll talk your ears blue. So
few people actually talk to doormen, that if you