Nine
The apartment house had originally been built to cater to the type that wanted to make an impression. The front of the place looked like a million dollars. There was an ornate lobby with a desk and a private switchboard. A solemn-faced clerk took care of both and there was even a lift boy clad in blue livery with gold braid and the crest of the apartment house embroidered on the collar and sleeves.
The clerk looked up as I came in. I said, “Mr. Elgin, please.”
“Robert Elgin?”
“Yes.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes.”
“Your name, please.”
“Lam.”
The clerk turned to the switchboard, stabbed a plug into one of the receptacles, waited a moment until the light went off, then said, “A Mr. Lam to see you. He says you’re expecting him... Thank you.”