Installment One

A small pile of newly minted coins was reflected in the vanity mirror. A silver watch, silver lighter, silver cigarette case and silver ring with a large diamond gleamed in the bright white light. Well made and elegantly designed to outlast their present owner, they were laid out in an ecclesiastical harmony.
The hiss of water stopped abruptly and Paul emerged from the steamy bathroom in his shorts with a towel wrapped around his neck. His long smooth white fingers lifted the receiver off the hook. “Get me the Raven’s Nest, please.” His eyes wandered over the suite as he waited. His clothes lay on the bed--his crisp white shirt, his black silk tie, his sharp black pants, and his glossy shoes directly below. “This is Paul Waverly. Can I talk to Mr. Treacher?” He looked out the window into the wet night. The city glimmered. Lights flickered on buildings and jerked through the streets on automobiles. “Mr. Treacher, how’s the action tonight?...Well, don’t worry, you’ll need a shoehorn to pack ‘em in tomorrow night...Me too...Listen, I’m going out on the town tonight and I need a car and driver. You can fix it for me can’t you?...Uh, huh...Yeah...Now look Mr. Treacher, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to me in this big dangerous city would you? There’ll be a lot of disappointed customers tomorrow night if my boys can’t go on when I wind up in the drunk tank?...Of course not, I’m just covering all the angles, you know, looking out for your interests. You should thank me...Exactly...You’ve got my word...Beautiful. You’re the tops...No, I’ll be at least half an hour...No rush at all, the night is still young...We’ll kill ‘em. You can take it to the bank.”
Paul’s teeth flashed briefly from between his thin lips as the receiver clicked back in its cradle. He picked up the white carnation next to the phone and tossed it onto the bed.

Paul hopped in the front seat of the slick black automobile that pulled up in the glistening street. The rain fell softly, as it had for much of the week in various degrees of misty drizzle, and the city gleamed in droplets and puddles.
“Sir, I think you would find it more comfortable in the back seat. Mr. Treacher has provided for food and drink.”
“What’s your name?”
The burly blonde crew-cutted driver answered. “Niles Listek, sir.”
“I like it up here, Niles. Indulge me for a while.”
The driver watched the road without expression. “Where to, sir?”
“Just head uptown for now. How old are you, Niles.”
“Twenty-six, sir.”
They sat in silence as the car splashed through the streets. Paul watched the people sheathed in coats and under umbrellas. “Pull over here.” The car pulled up to a large newsstand at the curb. “Hey, pal, give me a Metronome and a pack of Camels,” he told the newsboy.
The man reached into the array of glossy magazines and pulled out a copy of Metronome. The cover showed Paul holding his clarinet over his head which is in the act of plunging downward, the forelocks of his hair airborne. A light mist of sweat or spit billowed faintly before his head in the light. “You seen this, Mr. Waverly?”
“Hmm...No.” He leafed through the magazine as the newsboy receded. “Keep the change,” Paul said handing him a five. He slipped into the back of the car and sang to himself, “It don’t mean a thing, if...” The door closed and the car disappeared smoothly down the whispering street.


On to Installment 2