“Hmmm … I have not been told anything about this.”
“Yeah,” said Diller. “The guy left really clear instructions. If you don’t mind me asking – are you the regular doorman?”
“No, I have been sent here by an agency.”
I should have come by and checked this morning, thought Smithy. Why did I not come by and check?
“Ah,” said Diller. “Maybe he left instructions with the other guy?”
“Well, we cannot ask him. He has been fired.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. He was found attempting to have sex with a domestic appliance.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes. A vacuum cleaner. He has been removed from his position with immediate effect. I do not know what they have done with the vacuum cleaner.”
“Right,” said Diller.
“No, it is very wrong.”
“Yeah, I mean, obviously.”
“There are some very sick people in this world, let me tell you.”
“You ain’t kidding, buddy. All kinds of weirdos.”
Smithy, while trying to focus on staying calm, couldn’t help thinking that this new information put the doorman’s interest in the Guatemalan cleaning lady into a new and even more disturbing light.
“Yes,” said the doorman. “Follow me and we can leave this delivery in the storage area.”
“I wish I could, fella, but my instructions were really clear. This has got to be delivered right into apartment 2601.”
“Hmmm. What is it?”
“It’s a dishwasher.”
“I see. Perhaps the tenant was concerned that the doorman might attempt to have sex with it. Such a disgusting man.”
“Too right,” said Diller. “This is what happens when people do not let the light of Jesus into their lives.”
“Praise the Lord.”
“Praise the Lord.”
This was precisely why Smithy had wanted Diller to be the one to deliver the crate. It should have been straightforward. The former doorman, being the lazy sort, used to accompany delivery men up to the apartments to drop off big deliveries directly. He didn’t want to do what the doorwoman did and take them up personally when the tenant came home. You could rely on lazy – except when lazy got caught being a sicko with a vacuum cleaner and then, well, you couldn’t rely on it at all. Smithy could rely on Diller, though. He was a people person. It was a remarkable ability. He knew how to get on with anybody. Praise the Lord.
“So,” said Diller, “can we just drop this crate upstairs, please? I would hate to have to come back. My church has a social tonight and I promised my auntie I’d help with putting the chairs out.”
The doorman paused to consider this. “I will tell you what I will do – I shall ring the tenant and confirm the instructions. We have a sheet of working hours contact numbers for residents for this eventuality.”
“Ummm. Oh, there’s no need to trouble the guy.”
“It is no trouble – apartment 2601, you say?”
“Yes,” said Diller, because what else could he say?
“I have a number here that says it is for his office. Let us call and see.”
Smithy sat in the dark, listening as a firm hand punched buttons on a phone.
“It is ringing,” said the doorman.
“Honestly, you don’t need to—”
“Hello, may I speak to Mr Lou Reed, please?” Pause. “Thank you.” Another short pause. “They are putting me through. Isn’t that the name of a famous singer? Maybe that is why Bruce Springsteen is sending him a— Yes, hello. My name is Jacob Anan and I am the temporary doorman at Mr Reed’s building. I am contacting you regarding a delivery.”
Pause.
“I see. Will he be in the meeting long?”
Pause.
“Oh, I see. I believe it is a delivery from Bruce Springsteen.”
“No,” said Diller, “it’s …”
“Yes. I just wanted to know if he wants it delivered directly to his apartment?”
“Sorry,” tried Diller again. “I think there’s—”
“OK,” said Jacob. “Thank you for your time.”
The phone was put firmly back in its cradle.
“It’s not a delivery from Bruce Springsteen.” Diller sounded increasingly exasperated.
“Oh,” said Jacob. “She said you could take it straight up if it was.”
“It’s less of a delivery. More of a gift.”
“Ah, OK. Well, follow me. This Bruce Springsteen, he seems like a very generous man.”
“Yes,” said Diller. “Yes, he is.”
Chapter Four
“Aw, hell no!”
Smithy had already put on his Bluetooth headset, so he took his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialled Diller.
His friend spoke in a whisper. “Is everything OK?”
“No.”
“Oh God. Have you been arrested?”
“What? No. And why are you whispering?”
There was a moment’s pause as Diller realised he didn’t have a good reason for his low voice. He coughed. “I’m … My throat is sore.”
“Yeah. Hey, great improv with the doorman, by the way. I thought we were royally screwed there.”
“I know,” said Diller. “I’m just glad that Lousy Louis was in a meeting, otherwise we’d have been done for.”
“Yeah.”
“Did everything go OK getting out of the crate? Oh my God, are you stuck in the crate? You’re stuck in the crate, aren’t you? I knew it!”
“Dill, relax. I’m not stuck in the crate.”
In fact, Smithy had discovered that crates were harder to open from the inside than the outside, but it hadn’t been anything the crowbar couldn’t sort out. Once he was out he’d blown up a dozen helium balloons and filled the crate with them. When Lousy Louis came home, he’d discover someone had inexplicably sent him a crate full of balloons, but hey, who didn’t love balloons?
Last year, Smithy had scored a short-lived delivery gig for a gift company. In the two weeks he’d worked there, he’d delivered a colonic irrigation gift set; a basket of muffins, upon each of which was an iced picture of a supreme court justice; and a “congratulations on your divorce” basket that contained everything a person might require for some quality alone time – unless they were the ex-doorman of this building.
In short, a crate full of balloons wasn’t that weird. More importantly, you wouldn’t open it and think someone had used it as a means by which to sneak into your apartment. Smithy was particularly pleased with this part of the plan. It was essentially a modern-day take on the classic Trojan horse. If it ain’t broke …
“OK,” said Diller. “If you’re not stuck in the crate, what’s the problem?”
“Guess what this a-hole has on his bedroom wall?”
“You know I love a guessing game, Smithy, but this feels like it could take a while.”
“I’ll give you a clue – it’s a sort of trophy.”
“Oh God. The guy who won the leprechaun thing – he had him stuffed and mounted?”