The Missing Chapter

“Sorry, but you’ve got problems big-time.” He shook his head like an auto mechanic telling me that my car was on life-support systems. “I remember workin’ on this baby years ago, and it was ancient then. They quit making this model before I was born, and I’m sneaking up on retirement. Howie and me have just now been on the roof of the cab, in the shaft from top to bottom, checked the cables, the counterweights, the motor, the bearings, the bushings, the electrical system, the works. And I gotta tell you, the thing’s just plain dangerous the shape she’s in right now. I’m surprised the city inspectors didn’t whistle you on it the last time they was here. But I see by the certificate in the cab that they gave it a pass. Come on up — I’ll show you just how bad it is.” He — his name was Carl — and I walked up the three flights, where his partner Howie was packing up his tool box.

“See here?” Carl said, stepping into the elevator, crouching and playing his flashlight along the floor. “It’s rusted through in four or five places where the wall joins the floor. Thing’s ready to come to pieces. And the door” — he grabbed it and shook it — “is hanging on by its imagination. I’m surprised none of you had noticed how bad it is.”

“How long will it take and how much will it cost?” I asked.

“Depends. There’s so much wrong that we strongly recommend a new unit — including a cab. If the platform — the base of the cab, that is — was in better shape, maybe we could salvage it, but” — Carl shrugged — “that’s not the case, not by a long shot.

“I know it probably sounds drastic to you, but startin’ over’s actually cheaper than tryin’ to patch this old bus together, especially because a lot of the parts aren’t even made anymore. And the motor’s totally shot, too — totally. You may want to get a second estimate, but I think anybody else’ll find the same stuff wrong that we did. If you go the whole nine yards, and I really think you should, we can start, oh, probably next Monday, assuming everything is in stock. We can have the new setup operational in ten working days, twelve at most. And we won’t have to tear out any walls; the new cab can be assembled right in the shaft — after we dismantle the old one, of course, which is a big job. If you call our emergency number today with the go-ahead, I’m pretty sure that a crew can be here early next week.” He thrust a clipboard at me with a list of things needing fixing and the cost of each. The figure at the bottom made me glad that we currently had a client.

I told Carl that I would check with Wolfe and get a decision, probably later today. He gave a thumbs-up, and the three of us descended the stairs to the front hall, where we said good-bye and I let them out.

Wolfe can be a trouper when times are tough, I’ll give him that. It was only 11:04 when he strode into the office, and he wasn’t even breathing hard from the mind-boggling exertion of walking down three flights. He placed a raceme of Phalaenopsis in the vase on his blotter and dipped his head in my direction but did not say “Good morning,” since we already had seen each other earlier. I got up from my chair and walked to his desk, laying the estimate in front of him. He picked it up, pressed his lips together, and set it down. “Pfui. Exorbitant.”

“Pfui, indeed,” I agreed. “You’re the only one who ever uses the elevator. Didn’t it seem to you that the thing was getting pretty rickety?”

Wolfe shrugged away the question, ringing for beer.

“The work will take two weeks, maybe a little more, beginning early next week, or so the guy who was here thinks,” I went on. “Do you want me to get a second estimate?”

“Would it be appreciably different?”

“Probably not. This outfit has a top-flight reputation, the best in the city — or at least they did. The reason we called them originally, you may remember, was that I checked with a high roller Lon Cohen knows who’s in real estate, and he recommended them. But that was several years back, although we’ve used them for minor repairs three or four times since without any problems. I can do some calling around to see if they’re still well-thought-of.”

“No,” Wolfe responded, holding up a palm. “Proceed.” I did, and when I called them to give the go-ahead, the still-sleepy voice at the other end promised that a crew would be on the job Monday morning, “no later than eight-thirty.” I reminded Wolfe that I would be on my way to Indiana on Monday and asked if he’d like me to get either Saul Panzer or Fred Durkin to fill in for me at the desk, as has been the case sometimes when I’ve gone out of town. “How long will you be gone?” he asked.

“That is a question I should be tossing at you,” I said with a smile. “It all depends on what you expect me to accomplish while I’m there.”

“Your notebook,” he grumbled. “Instructions.”

Ten