I stood in the center of the room as Sue knelt down for a moment near the futon. The apartment was as hot as the stairwell, and I was sweating through my shirt. Sue stood up, probably noticing how uncomfortable I looked, because she said, "The fan broke."
I glanced at the old, dusty fan in the corner, wondering when was the last time any air had circulated in this room.
"Yeah, it is kind of hot in here, huh?" I said.
"It's the tar roof," she said. "Anytime the sun's out it gets boiling in here."
I took my first good look at Sue, double-taking at how thin her arms were. She was wearing old, ripped khaki shorts and a tank top and she was much thinner than I'd thought. Her face was gaunt, with her cheeks sunken in, and her body reminded me of the photos of Auschwitz victims.
Her skin was more than pale it had a worn-out, ghostly appearance and her eyes were as lost and vacant as Barbara's had been during her final days in the hospital.
I stood there for several seconds, broiling in the heat, wanting to leave and get the hell back to my air-conditioned office.
"So," I said, "my wallet…"
"I have it," she said, not moving. I noticed how her mouth moved in a strange way when she talked, as if her jaw were misaligned.
"Great," I said. I waited a few seconds, then said, "So… can I have it back?"
"Sure," she said, "but you're gonna give me a reward, right?"
I don't know why I didn't expect her to ask for money or why this question offended me so much. Of course, I didn't mind giving her something as a token of thanks, but I guess I felt like she should have been up front about it on the phone.
"I don't have a lot of cash on me," I said, reaching into my pocket and taking out some crumpled bills. "My wallet was stolen last night and I didn't have a chance to go to the bank yet." I found a twenty and said, "How's this?"
"Not enough," she said, staring at my hand, suddenly seeming very agitated, wiping her nose repeatedly with the back of her hand.
I reached into my pocket. I had a ten and a few singles.
"Thirty-three's all I have," I said.
"I want three," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"Hundred," she added.
"What?"
"I want three hundred bucks."
"That's crazy," I said. "I already canceled most of my cards anyway. I just wanted the wallet back to save me some inconvenience»
"Three hundred's the price," she said.
"I'm not giving you three hundred dollars," I said.
"Then I'm not giving you your wallet," she said.
We stood there in the sweltering apartment, staring at each other. Sue had a serious, unyielding expression, but I still felt sorry for her.
She looked very nervous and agitated and I realized she was probably a junkie.
I would've left right then if it weren't for that picture of Barbara. I still knew I wasn't being entirely rational about it, but I felt like if I didn't get it back, I'd always regret it.
"Look, I'm trying to be reasonable," I said. "I appreciate that you called me and I want to give you a reward, but three hundred's crazy. I have an idea. How about you can keep the money that was in the wallet too there must be fifty, sixty bucks in it»
"The wallet was empty when I found it," she said. "Your cards and everything were in it, but there was no money."
Her dark, lifeless eyes were focused straight ahead at my chest; by the way she was avoiding eye contact, I was positive she was lying about something. Either she'd stolen the money herself or she was working with Eddie Lomack, the drunk who'd distracted me in the bar last night.
Suddenly I could picture her and Eddie meeting last night, after Eddie had walked away. They'd probably split the money from my wallet and then tried to figure out how they could soak me for more.
"I don't have any more cash on me," I said. "I don't know what you expect me to do."
"Go to an ATM," she said.
"With what?" I said. "I don't have a cash card."
"I'll give it back to you."
"I canceled it already."
"Go to any Chase branch," she said. "They'll give you a new temporary card, or you can take out money right away with picture ID."
She spoke with such assurance about banking policy that I wondered how many other wallets she'd held for ransom. I was also irritated by how she knew that I had an account at Chase. Obviously she'd gone through my wallet pretty carefully.
"Did you steal my wallet last night?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" she said, overly defensive. "I found it on the train."
"You told me it was the bus."
"That's what I meant the bus, the First Avenue bus."
"Look," I said, "I know you're trying to make some money off me, but it's not gonna happen. I have my driver's license in that wallet and some personal things that I'd like to have back, but I'm not paying you three hundred dollars. If you won't give it back to me I guess I'll just have to live without it."
I turned to leave when she said, "Two hundred."
Without turning back toward her I said, "No."
"One-fifty," she said.
I opened the door.
"A hundred bucks," she said, "but that's as low as I'm going. I don't care I'll throw the fuckin' wallet away."
"Deal," I said.
She held out her hand to shake; I saw the track marks on her arm some looked fresh and I kept my hand right where it was, by my side.
"You got picture ID on you, right?" she said.
Because I'd been planning to go to my bank during lunch today, I had my passport with me.
"Yeah," I said.
"Good," she said.
I headed back down the stairs, holding my breath most of the way and breathing under the collar of my shirt when I had to. When I left the building I took a series of deep breaths, as if I'd been working in a coal mine all day.
I remembered seeing a Chase branch on Broadway and Eighth Street when I'd gotten off the subway. I walked there as fast as I could. It was almost twelve-thirty, and the deadline for my article was two o'clock.
I could have handed the article in late and it probably wouldn't have been a big deal, but I didn't want to have to get into it with Peter.
At the bank, two of the three bank officers were taking breaks, and there were two people ahead of me, waiting to see the other officer.
After waiting for more than half an hour, one of the other officers returned from his break and helped me. His name was Stanley Carmichael. He was a squat, balding guy with very thick glasses, and he had to be the slowest bank officer in New York. It would have taken an average person a few minutes to reactivate my account and issue me a temporary banking card, but it took Stanley Carmichael nearly half an hour. It was excruciating to watch this guy squinting at the computer monitor, typing with one finger, and calling other bank workers over to help him input information. Finally, I had my new ATM card and I withdrew three hundred dollars one for Sue and two for myself.
It was almost one o'clock when I left the bank and started jogging back to the apartment building on Sixth Street. I rang Sue's apartment, hoping she would come down to meet me this time, but naturally she buzzed me up and I had to climb the four flights of stairs. When I reached the top floor, the door to apartment fourteen was ajar, but Sue wasn't standing there waiting. I knocked two times, then went inside and said, "Hello?"
Sue was walking toward me, coming from the direction of the futon.
There was a funny burning odor in the apartment.
"Did you get the money?" she asked, seeming much more relaxed than she had before.
I reached into my pocket and handed her the one hundred dollars in twenties. As she counted the bills, I glanced beyond her and saw a syringe on the futon. Adjacent to the futon, on the floor, there was a small frying pan.
"So can I have my wallet?" I asked.