Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)
Page 55
"I'm a social worker from Brooklyn?" Rune said.
"You asking me?"
"I'm telling you who I am."
"Yeah, a social worker."
"I'm trying to find some information about a patient of mine, a man who stayed here for a month or so."
"Don't you call 'em clients?"
"What?"
"We get social workers here all the time. They don't have patients. They have clients."
"One of my clients," she corrected herself.
"You got a license?"
"A license? A driver's license? Look, I'm older than I--"
"No, a social work license."
A license?
"Oh, that. See, I was mugged last week when I was on assignment. In Bedford Stuyvesant. Visiting a client. They took my purse--my other purse, my good purse-- and that had my license in it. I've applied for a new one but you know how long it takes to get a replacement?"
"Tell me."
"Worse than a passport. I'm talking weeks."
The man was grinning. "Where'd you go to social work school?"
"Harvard."
"No shit." The smile didn't leave his face. "If there's nothing else, I'm pretty busy." He picked up a National Geographic and flipped it open.
"Look, I have my job to do. I have to find out about this man. Robert Kelly."
The clerk glanced up from his magazine. He didn't say anything. But Rune, even through the scuffed plastic, could see caution in his eyes.
She continued. "I know he stayed here for a while. I think somebody named Raoul Elliott recommended that he come here."
"Raoul? Nobody's named Raoul."
Summoning patience, Rune asked, "Do you remember Mr. Kelly?"
He shrugged.
She continued. "Did he check anything here? A suitcase? Maybe a package in the safe?"
"Safe? We look like the kinda hotel's gotta safe?"
"It's important."
Again, the man didn't respond. Suddenly Rune understood. She'd seen enough movies. She lifted her purse slowly and opened it, reached in and took out five dollars. She slid it seductively toward him. Just like an actor in a movie she'd seen a month or so ago. Harrison Ford, she thought. Or Michael Douglas.
That actor'd gotten results; she got a laugh.