Detective

it increased and decreased, sort of in the manner of playing the children’s game of “hotter and colder,” would enable you to locate any stationary transmitter in a matter of minutes.
    I lifted the transmitter part out of the box.
    “How does it attach to the car?”
    “It’s magnetic. Clamps right on underneath. Just stick it on to the gas tank.”
    “What if it falls off?”
    “It won’t. It’s very strong. It’s fully guaranteed.”
    “You mean if it falls off I get my money back?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What about the car?”
    “What about the car?”
    “Right,” I said. “All right, I’ll take it.”
    I paid for the transmitter with three of Albrect’s hundred-dollar bills. I felt bad doing it, but my Master Charge wasn’t going to stand this one, even with a $2000 limit. And after all, I was sort of doing this for Albrect. Besides, he didn’t need the money.
    I packed up the unit, picked up my car, and drove to the Essex Hotel. I registered at the front desk, paying with another hundred-dollar bill. It was easier the second time. I took my room key, went back out, got in my car, and drove around to the indoor garage. I flashed my key at the guard and he waved me in. I found a parking spot, locked my car and got out.
    It took me fifteen minutes to find Red’s car, which was parked down on the third level. I took out the transmitter, looked to be sure no one was in sight, bent down, and pressed it against the bottom of his gas tank. As the guy had assured me, it stuck like glue. I tried tugging at it, but it seemed fairly secure.
    I went back up to the first level and got in my car. I took out the receiver and switched it. on. Sure enough, I was getting a beep. The only trouble was, the direction vector was having trouble figuring out where to point. That’s all I need, I thought. The one faulty unit in the store. Then I remembered. I tilted the receiver on its side, and the vector, happily reassured, pointed straight down at level 3.
    I switched off the unit, stuck it in the glove compartment, got out, and locked the car. There was an elevator against the far wall of the garage. I went over and rang the bell. The elevator arrived promptly. I got in and rode up to the lobby.
    I went to the front desk, slid my key across the counter, and said, “I’d like to check out.”
    The desk clerk stared at me. “Check out? You just checked in.”
    “That’s right. Now I want to check out.”
    “Is something wrong with the room?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t been up to the room.”
    “You haven’t been up to the room?”
    “No.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s perfectly simple. Here’s my room key. I’m checking out.”
    “Are you asking for a refund? “
    “Certainly not.”
    The clerk was making an effort to understand. “You say you haven’t used the room? You’re saying we’re free to rent it again?”
    “Well, you’re welcome to try,” I said. “Some guests may be more picky than I am.”
    I smiled at the discomfited room clerk, and headed for the elevator. God, I felt cocky. Three days ago, such jive repartee never would have occurred to me, and even if it had, I wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.
    Taking the elevator back down to the garage brought me back down to earth. Doing it made me realize I could have just walked through the lobby, gotten in the elevator, and gone down to find Red’s car without ever having rented the room at all. So I wasn’t the sophisticated, suave, smooth private investigator I’d thought I was; I was still the same old naive, bumbling asshole, groping his way in the dark, that I’d always been.
    I got in my car, drove out of the garage, and back to my first hotel. I took the receiver out of the glove compartment, and went up to my room. I pulled the briefcase out from under the bed, opened it, and assured myself that the receiving unit would fit in it. Then I started to pack up to go.
    Which presented me with a problem. What to do with the cocaine. The bank was closed, so I couldn’t put it back in the safe deposit box. I couldn’t leave it in the hotel room unless I rented it for a week, which seemed a poor idea, prices being what they were. Even then, I’d have to find some way of getting back down here in a week’s time, which wasn’t going to be easy.
    I toyed with the idea of wrapping it up and mailing it to my office in New York, but somehow that seemed like a poor idea. Surely packages from Miami would