Chapter 6 - "Denouement"
Ilan Greenwald was frustrated. In his suite at the Four Seasons Boston, he was sitting at the desk. Spread out before him were a collection of train, airline and bus schedules for destinations up and down the Eastern seaboard.
They hadn’t doubled back to Boston, of that he was sure. But where _had_ they gone? To D.C.? All the way South to Florida? Maybe they went West, heading for Chicago, or perhaps were even on their way towards Los Angeles.
With a grunt of disgust, he pushed away from the desk and the endless timetables and schedules, and stood up. Picking up the box of cigarettes from the table nearby, he headed for the tiny balcony.
Greenwald stepped out into the bracingly frigid Boston air and lit one of the long, thin European cigarettes. He inhaled the heavy smoke and let it out slowly, through a bitter scowl.
Even he had to admit that this chase was exciting. Far more exciting than any of the half-dozen others he’d been on. His prey was cagey. Both of them were intelligent and resourceful, and with the two of them together, it was doubly so. He knew going in it would be more difficult, but he was actually finding himself thinking of these two– Eric Umali and Mary Patire– with a certain grudging respect.
He stared out at the skyline that they no doubt had stared at many times, trying to gauge his targets better. Greenwald had never harbored any uncertainty as to whether he would be the victor in this contest– he’d won too many times before. This time, though, it could be a close thing, and that thought excited him to no end. *Finally,* he thought, *worthy opponents.*
He flicked the finished cigarette out onto the street and lit another. *They’d be fools to go back to New York…*
**********
“On behalf of the flight and cabin crews of USAirways Shuttle 1020, I’d like to welcome you all to New York’s LaGuardia International Airport. The local time is 2:12 PM, and the temperature is 32 degrees and sunny. We hope you enjoy your stay in New York, or wherever your final destination is, and we’d like to wish you all a very happy New Year. Thank you for flying USAirways Shuttle.”
Mary unbuckled her seat belt. “It feels like we just got on this plane.”
“I know,” said Eric, smiling. “After all the train traveling we’ve been doing, this little jet hop went pretty quickly.”
They took their place on the line waiting to get off the plane. “So where do you think we should stay this time?” she asked.
“It’s going to be kind of tough finding a hotel room in Manhattan for the next few days.”
“That’s right. You know, I’ve never been to the Times Square for New Year’s Eve.”
“Neither have I.”
“But you grew up near the city, didn’t you?”
Eric shrugged. “My parents never thought it was worth standing around all day and night in the freezing cold when we could just watch it on TV with their friends.”
“I guess that’s a good point.” They headed down the jetway to the gray-on-gray terminal. “But we’re going to do it, got it?”
“I can’t see why not. Even if he’s here in New York, I doubt he could find two people out of the two million or more tomorrow night.”
“Did you ever have a choice?”
“My mistake.”
Though the cab ride from LaGuardia to Manhattan was a long one, Eric and Mary had the god fortune of running across one of the true New York characters, an ebullient cabbie named Ernie. As Ernie proceded to inform them through truly hilarious anecdotes, he was a native Brooklynite of almost sixty years and a rabid Mets fan. He called them “Mister” and “Miss” and kept them laughing all through a twenty-minute construction delay on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.
They were almost disappointed when the cab pulled up to the Mariott Marquis, arguably the finest hotel in the Times Square area. “And here we are,” Ernie announced through his thick Bugs Bunny-esque accent.
“Ernie, we asked for a hotel that might have a vacancy,” said Eric. “This place has probably been booked solid for a year.”
“Mister, you need a little more faith. You talk to Jimmy, the concierge– he’s my nephew. He’ll take care of you.”
They hauled the backpacks out of the trunk, and Mary handed over the fare, along with a very generous tip. Ernie took the cash without a single look at it. “Now you and the young Miss here have a great New Year’s, all right?”
“The same to you, Ernie,” said Eric, shaking the cabbie’s hand vigorously. Mary did the same, and they headed inside the revolving doors.
The gigantic lobby towered above them, reaching straight up through the entire building, centered around the massive pillar that housed a dozen glass elevators. They headed straight for the concierge’s desk, where the sharp-looking young man behind it wore a tag that read, “My name is Jimmy.”
Mary nudged Eric in the ribs, and in return, he gave her a gentle shove towards the desk. Jimmy looked up.
“Can I help you?”
“Um, Jimmy?”
“That’s me.”
“Well, Ernie sent us.”
The young man smiled broadly. “I see. So it’s a room for two for how long?”
Eric gaped. “That’s it? ‘Ernie sent us,’ she says, and we get a room?”
Jimmy nodded. “My uncle is probably the best judge of character in the world. Besides, he gave me a call while you were on the road.”
“When did he do that?”
“Probably while you were laughing too hard at one of his stories to notice.”
A few minutes later, Jimmy showed them personally to one of the small suites on the twelfth floor. From the huge windows, they looked down over the three-block long area that would soon be filled with people from all over the world, celebrating the turn of another year. In the distance, they could see, covered with a heavy tarp, the world-famous ball that would be making its final trip in less than thirty-six hours.
With a nod, Jimmy closed the door. Mary dropped her pack and dropped herself onto the bed.
“Absolutely amazing,” she said.
“Absolutely,” Eric agreed.
“So I figure we lay low tonight– do the room service thing again, turn in early, then stake our claim on the street first thing in the morning.”
Eric stretched out on the sofa in the other room. “Sounds like a plan. What’s on the TV?” he called out.
Mary rolled over, grabbing the remote from the nightstand. She started zapping. “Infomercial… news… sitcom… cartoon… infomercial… MTV…” Suddenly, she started laughing.
Eric walked in. “What’s so funny?”
“I think I found our movie.” She pointed at the screen, where at the moment, a decidedly gray and bearded Harrison Ford was running frantically from the oncoming fifty tons of steel that had derailed behind him. Eric sat on the bed and started laughing.
*_The Fugitive_,* he thought. *It figures.*
After both catching naps, they ordered a dinner as sumptuous as the one at the Plaza days before. As usual, Mary shook her head as Eric pulled out the sofabed and tossed on the pillows and blanket. Both slept better than they had in weeks.
**********
They left the suite at eight the next morning, and found that Times Square had already been closed off to traffic, and at least several hundred would-be revelers were already camped out. Radio reports that morning had placed the expected attendance for this year’s celebration was currently at 1.75 to 2 million extra bodies squeezed onto the tiny island of Manhattan, with the vast majority concentrated around the ten-square block area of Times Square.
Mary and Eric chose a position carefully. They finally settled on a spot with a clear view of the ball drop and the Sony Jumbotron, but right against the aluminum scaffolding of a TV broadcast platform. They would be right under Dick Clark’s camera, and so counted on being out of its angle.
As morning turned to afternoon, they took turns holding the place while the other would stretch their legs and pick up provisions for the wait. At about four o’clock, Eric was returning with what was probably the eighth round of hot chocolate, and some muffins.
Taking her cup, Mary looked up at him. “What took you so long?”
Eric took his seat on the curb beside her. “We’re not the only ones around here who’re freezing.”
“Well, it was your idea.”
“What?! You’re the one who wanted to watch this.”
“I mean it was your idea to come back to New York.”
“Ah,” said a voice from behind them, “then I know who to thank.”
Eric and Mary spun to find Greenwald standing over them, a blatant bulge in his overcoat pocket pointing straight at them. “Please don’t run. I really would hate to shoot you in the street– this has all been far too much fun.”
To be concluded...
