"I'm looking for Adrian Arne. He rents this apartment."
"Uh-uh," the guy said. "That's been empty for months."
I glanced at the number on the door and it was the right one. I began to frown, then it clicked-kids had rearranged the plates.
"Somebody's been screwing with the doors," I said. "Switching the numbers."
"The fuck they have," the supervisor growled. "I'd crack shinbones if they tried that and they know it. Who were you looking for?"
"Adrian Arne."
He spat again. "No Adrian Arne here. We got an Aidan Aherne up top. Could be him you're after?"
I stared at the supervisor, then examined the door again. I'd been here several times and there was a scratch beneath the mail slot that I remembered Adrian making one night when he'd lost his bottle opener. This was the right place.
I shuffled down a few steps toward the basement. The supervisor raised a hand to shield his eyes and edged backward, squinting at me suspiciously. "I've got nothing any good to you," he said quickly. "No money, drugs or any of that shit."
"I've not come to rob you," I assured him. "Could you let me in the apartment to check around?"
"What for? Nobody's there."
I reached for my wallet and pulled out a fifty. Snapped it flat a couple of times. "That real?" he asked, taking the note with his fat, greasy fingers, lifting it to his nose, sniffing its creases.
"Real as Christmas," I said.
The supervisor snorted, spat into the lake, then rumbled to the top of the stairs, muttering about missing a game on TV and crazy crackheads wasting his time. He jerked out a massive bunch of keys, spent a few seconds selecting the correct one, opened the door sullenly, flicked on the light and let me in.
The room was empty. No furniture, TV or video. No mustachioed Mona Lisa grinning from the wall. The bed was gone, the toothbrushes, Adrian's collection of empty beer bottles. It was as if nobody had lived here in ages.
I turned angrily on the supervisor. "What is this shit? Where's Adrian?"
"I told you there'd been nobody here for months," he said smugly. "But you're not getting your money back, so-" I slapped him before he could say any more. "Hey, stop! Fucking stop it, you-"
He shut up when I slammed him against the wall. I reached down and pinched one of his fat nipples. He squeaked like a mouse. I pinched the other, then lowered my hand and held it inches in front of his sweaty groin. "What happened to him?" I hissed.
"I don't know," he said, lips quivering, stunned by this sudden bout of violence. I was stunned myself, hardly aware of what I was doing. I watched as my hand slapped him again. "I don't know!" he screeched. I undid his fly. "Fuck you!" he screamed as I reached in and pulled his prick out. I held it between the teeth of the open zipper, then pulled the zip half up, catching him firmly and painfully.
"Adrian Arne," I said calmly. "Where is he?"
"You're a nut!" he sobbed. "Fuck you! I'm not saying a-" I gave another quick tug and his face went purple.
"A few more notches and you'll never piss straight again," I said cheerily. "They'll have to put a tap in your stomach to let it out."
"Please," he cried, "I don't know any Adrian Arne. I swear on my life, man. On my mother's life. On-"
"Don't try shitting me," I snapped. "I was here not a week ago, and plenty of times before. I'm going to ask one more time. If I don't hear the right answer, you better hope the ambulances are running on time."
"No! I swear! Fuck it, man, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Adrian Arne? Yeah, I know him, sure I do, only please don't…"
I released his prick and let him tuck it away, his hands trembling. There was fear in his voice, but also honest ignorance. "Tell me truly," I said, "do you really know him? Don't lie to me. I won't hurt you if you tell me the truth."
He hesitated, considered a lie, then shook his head, hands covering the front of his trousers protectively. "No. But please don't do that again. Please!"
"Who's been renting this room?" I asked.
"No one, not since the Moores, I think, or the Sims… shit, it's been a while. There have been inquiries but the owner tells me not to rent it, so I don't. I just work here. I don't make the fucking decisions." He was growing cockier now that the immediate danger was past. "Come look at the register. That'll prove it."
His living quarters stank of beer, piss and vomit. Empty beer cans and porno mags littered the floor. Posters of naked women on the walls. The kitchen was visible from where I stood, but I chose not to look. The TV was an ancient machine with a poor-quality picture and those wavy lines you don't get on the newer models.
He yanked the register out from under a pile of dirty linen, sat on the couch and opened it. "There. The Moores. I remember them now. The Sims were just before them. You want a beer? I've got plenty in the fridge. A man can never have too much fucking beer, right? I'll get a couple bottles."
I concentrated on the register while he rooted through the fridge for a beer. Handwritten entries, torn pages, stains and smudges from months back. No trace of any Adrian Arne. Nobody had been in that apartment-officially anyway-for months. I glanced at the supervisor as he came back, sweating, opening the beers. He probably knew nothing, but I called his bluff just in case.
"Do you think I'm a fool?" I snapped. "This has been fixed."
"No fucking way! Gimme it!" He snatched the register and stared. "Nah, this hasn't been touched. That's my handwriting. And that jam stain… I remember making that. You trying to stir up shit, man?"
"Who owns this building?" I asked. "Who pays your wages?"
"Some business corporation. They pay cash. Never volunteered their names and I never asked. I've been here six years and never had a spot of trouble. Don't put up with any shit. Now why don't you piss off and-"
"I don't care what this book says," I told him. "I've been here before. With Adrian. You can't tell me that room's been empty because I know it hasn't. Even if he was squatting, you'd have heard him. You're telling me you never heard any noises from above?"
"Damn fucking straight," he replied, sipping his beer. "Mister, I'm gonna tell you something and I'm gonna be blunt. You're fucked in the head. You've got the wrong house, wrong city or the wrong fucking world. I check the rooms a couple times a week. Believe me, there's no Adrian Arne here."
He took a drink and waited. Could it be true? Had I gotten the wrong building? No! Damn it, they might all look the same from a distance, but they weren't. I knew one from the other. I knew Adrian's. There was no mistake and I wasn't crazy. The supervisor had to be lying. Somebody had put the frighteners on him. Someone so threatening, he wouldn't crack even when his prick was on the line. An expert got to him and fixed it so he'd never talk about his lodger. It took a lot to put a man in that state. Maybe he had a family somewhere, or a dark secret he could never risk emerging. Whatever it was, I wasn't going to get anywhere with him.
"Tell them Capac Raimi's after them," I said softly. "Tell them Adrian Arne has a friend who won't put up with this. Tell them I'm coming. I'll find them and make them sorry. Whoever they are." I left.
The supervisor came to the door after me. "Fucking nut," I heard him chuckle. I almost turned back but he wasn't worth the hassle.
There was a beggar with a tin box standing on the street near my car. He was wearing dark glasses and carried a white cane. "Some spare change?" he asked. I normally didn't bother with beggars-the city was full of them-but my mind was elsewhere and I tossed him a few coins. "Thank you, Mr. Raimi."
I was four or five steps past before I realized what he'd said. I stopped. Turned slowly. "How do you know-," I began.
"-Your name?" He smiled and removed his glasses. His eyes were white blanks and I suddenly recalled the blind man I'd seen outside the station on my first day here, and the one at the building site during the fog. This wasn't the same guy if memory served me right-he was taller-but the eyes were the same.
"I know many names," he said. "Capac Raimi. Y Tse Lapotaire. Adrian Arne."
"You know Adrian?"
"Who?"
"Adrian Arne."
"I've never heard of him."