Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 11 Who Lived High

"I don't know exactly." Another security guard arrived on the scene. "I was down there. I seen it. One of them kooks that wanders around - kind of unsteady on his feet - wanted to get on the escalator, and I told him not to. He grabbed this man's arm." "I rode up feetfirst," Qwilleran explained to the bartender. "I've gone feetfirst into worse situations than this, but I'll admit this was a peculiar sensation." "You need a stiff drink. What'll it be?" "My days as a stiff drinker are over, but I could use a strong cup of coffee." "Coming right up." Qwilleran sipped the brew gratefully while security personnel hovered about to prevent his escape, pending the arrival of a hotel official. He said to the bartender, "You know my name but I don't know yours." "Randy. Randy Jupiter. I remember reading your column when you wrote for the Fluxion - the reviews about restaurants, I mean. I clipped every one and then checked them out on my day off. You were always right on!" Qwilleran smoothed his moustache. Having his column clipped was his favorite kind of compliment. "A lot of new eating places have opened since then," he said. "I've been away for three years." "They sure have! It looks like nobody stays home and cooks anymore. How long are you going to be here? I could recommend a few good ones." "My plans aren't definite. I'm here to write a book on the Casablanca, and it will depend on what luck I have with research." "The Rampage said you're going to buy the building," Jupiter said with a grin.

"No one believes the Rampage. Stick with the Fluxion, boy." "Didn't you say you're on Fourteen?" "In 14-A." "That must be the Bessinger apartment. I've never seen it, but I hear it's something else." "It's unique," Qwilleran agreed.

The assistant manager appeared, and Qwilleran assured her he was not hurt and saw no reason to hold the hotel responsible. He willingly supplied the personable young woman with the information she needed for her report and accepted vouchers good for dinner and dry cleaning. When the transaction was completed the bartender said to Qwilleran, "That's not too shabby." "She might have offered to go to dinner with me. Then it would be worth the indignity of riding up feetfirst. How long have you lived at the Casablanca?" "Just a few months. Do you like jazz?" "I was a jazzhound in college but I haven't done much listening lately." Qwilleran felt comfortable with the bartender. It was his private theory that men with large moustaches tend to gravitate toward other men with large moustaches. Likewise, fat men get together. Men with beards or long hair like to talk to men with beards or long hair.

Jupiter said, "I've got a super collection of old jazz artists. Any time you want to hear some great sounds like Jelly Roll, the Duke - " "Do you have Charlie Parker?" "I have everything. Just knock on my door. I'm in 6-A." "My apartment has a fantastic stereo system and spectacular acoustics," Qwilleran said. "Perhaps you'd like to bring some recordings upstairs." "I'd go for that." "I'll get in touch with you." "Call me here or at home." Jupiter scribbled two phone numbers on a cocktail napkin.

"Okay. Now I'm ready for lunch." Lunch at the Penniman coffee shop was agreeably uneventful. Qwilleran also welcomed the scholarly silence of the library's history department, where he selected photos and signed an order for copies to be made.

Back at the Casablanca, 14-A was equally quiet. Too quiet! Koko seemed preoccupied as he waited for the mincing of the roast beef from the deli, and Yum Yum did not report at all until Qwilleran went to the bedroom and said, "Would Cleopatra consent to rise from her divan and repair to the dining salon for a light repast?" He should have known that Koko's distracted demeanor was the countdown before the blast-off.

15

KOKO'S ABNORMAL BEHAVIOR during the preparation of his dinner meant that mischief was hatching in that fine brown head. But Qwilleran had other matters on his mind, such as: what to wear for his dinner engagement at Courtney Hampton's apartment. Amber had specified that dress would be casual. Remembering the clothing salesman's supercilious gibe ("Just in from the country?"), he deliberately chose to wear his cashmere pullover, a garment that would impress anyone who knew the price of sweaters. At the appointed time he walked downstairs to the eighth floor and knocked on Amber's door. When she opened it he caught a glimpse of a room piled high with cardboard cartons and shopping bags.

"How recently did you move in?" he asked as they walked down the hall to the front of the building.