After that he took a cab to the post office, had the driver wait while he rented six postal boxes under the name A. Parr and bought twenty sheets of air mail stamps.
In the cab once more, he concentrated on the city map that had been impressed electronically on his brain. "Drive out Sixth Street," he ordered, being very careful of his enunciation.
A half dozen blocks out Sixth, Parr located a hotel on the right side of the street. It was a reasonably safe distance from the Biltmore. He ordered the driver to stop.
The building sat atop a hill, the street before it twining briskly toward the center of town. Parr studied the building for a moment, memorizing details of architecture for reference.
Then settled with his purchases in a front room on the 3rd floor, Parr opened the Atlas to the Western United States and marked out the territory assigned to him with the heavy ink lines of his pen.
Having done that, he listed all the names of the included towns.
Then he sat down at the portable, inserted a sheet of paper and wrote:
"To the Chamber of Commerce, Azusa, California. Gentlemen: Please send me the current city directory." He looked at the postal numbers. "My mailing address is ..." He typed in the first number on the list. "... Los Angeles, California. Inclosed is five dollars to defray the costs. Thanking you in advance, A. Parr."
He studied the letter. It was a competent job of typing. He flexed his fingers, found them slightly stiff from the unaccustomed work.