(Our saga continues…If you’re new to this site, please click to the Archives section at the July 16th post, They Had the Right to Remain Silent (1), where it all begins.  For those who are ready for the next installment, it awaits below.  Thanks for stopping by.   Enjoy!)
They Had the Right to Remain Silent
Richard S. Jachimecki
Chapter ( xxiii ) continues….
     The uniformed doorman tipped a greeting, “Good luck in tomorrow’s game, Mr. Williams,” he said, mistaking Tony for the Detroit shortstop scheduled to play the Yankees that weekend. Tony entered the revolving door. He was the only one occupying a wedge in the glass cylinder, but needed only to exert a light push and the mammoth circle began to glide. He stopped, startled by the ease of breaking the carousel’s inertia. His section halted.
     He pressed once more, and it resulted in the same effortless motion. It reminded him of physics class in high school; the ability to move huge masses when suspended in a vacuum, devoid of gravity, like the astronauts in space, working on the shuttle.
     He pushed a third time with the same effect, then increased the pressure. The wheel’s speed climbed to a point. Tony now felt resistance. He decreased the pressure; the resistance faded but the speed never wavered. He removed his hand and the section stopped. Tony realized he had traveled a full revolution and was back at the beginning, facing the smiling doorman.
     “Happens to a lot of people the first time through, Mr. Williams,” he explained. Tony touched the door, looked up, and listened for the whir of the motor atop the axis. Pressure- sensitive, assisted movement with a governing mechanism for safe maximum rate. Fucking applied engineering, he thought as he entered the lobby.
     To his left in the distance, he heard the subtle notes of sax, piano, and bass escaping from the darkened bar. The lobby lighting spilled into its entryway, revealing the corner of the bar itself on the right and a crossed set of long legs, a thigh exposed by the slit running up the side of its owner’s body- clinging taffeta dress. His eyes met with the brunette’s, as she sipped her martini then slid an olive off the miniature plastic saber with her enticing smile.
     Have I been with you before? he pondered, then headed for the front desk located diagonally to his right. He gave his name to the clerk and mentioned Ms. Greene. She handed him the envelope. Vicky’s name and room number was in the top left corner, Tony’s name centered, and to its right a freehand drawing of a ‘smiley face’, only this rendition was frowning.
     He tore open the top and found three twenty- dollar bills wrapped in hotel stationery. He read the note:
After leaving you I went to my last business appointment. It ran over what I expected. THEN I GOT ROBBED IN THE HOTEL PARKING LOT. The bastard got everything but my plane ticket, clothes and some cash still in my room. Now I have to go with the police to look at pictures to see if I can identify him. Then I head out first thing in the morning. I called your garage but got no answer. I don’t have your personal number. I’m SO SORRY about this. I’ll be back in New York soon. I’ll DEFINITELY make it up to you. Enclosed is the money for the tire. I’ll call you when I’m in town. We have UNFINISHED BUSINESS.
– Vicky
     “Shit!” he hissed, and crumpled the note, the twenties floating to the floor.
     “Something wrong sir?” the clerk asked.
     “No, no,” Tony said quietly, and waved her off, then realized his loud burst had attracted the attention of others around him.
     He pulled the note open, smoothed it on the counter, then reread the message. She didn’t say she was hurt. She’d make it up to him.
Just a case of bad luck, he thought, and picked up the twenties off the floor.
     He suddenly had a taste for sax. He went to the bar, took a stool at the corner and ordered the legs another martini.

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